pancake dippers with bacon center.
Breakfast just dropped the mic and left the stage.
Pancakes are better with sausage, because maple syrup is better with sausage. I like bacon, but this is just a fact. Cute idea, but FLAWED.
Breakfast pigs in blankets. Syrup-dippable finger food utilizing appropriate meat.
I bought some Doritos Locos Tacos flavored Doritos.
They were DELICIOUS.
I do NOT apologize.
Today is the 15th anniversary of the premiere of “Sex And The City.”
I LOVED that show. And the first movie. And Carrie’s Dior t-shirt in the second movie (but really that was just about all I liked in that one, because come on, that movie was just a mess).
Earlier this morning, I went on YouTube to see if I could find a clip that would represent something that I loved about the show. Just one clip. And I TOTALLY COULDN’T. A lot of the writing was smart-ish and funny-ish, and there were some good messages for women in all the rest of the shit that was there, but honestly? It was Carrie’s and Charlotte’s apartments. Mr. Big (only after the fourth season) and Harry (NOT Trey, though, because even though that whole thing was a good lesson in and of itself, Trey - and by extension, Bunny - just gave me the heebie jeebies). The Russian. The very beginnings of Berger. Harry (seriously, I loved Harry so much, even though he made a beeline for what may possibly have been the WASPiest TV character of the 2000s). Candice Bergen. And the copious Hamptons parties. I loved that show on the most superficial levels. And I feel like that is perfectly acceptable.
So Happy Anniversary, SATC. I’m glad you were made, and really? If the third movie gets made, I’m totally going to go see it.
I know that sugar scrub is more abrasive - therefore more effective - than salt scrub, but my salt scrub smells like Vicks Vapo Rub and I am never using anything else ever again.
There’s a Starbucks about two blocks from my office. At that Starbucks works a man who has been there for at least two of the three years that i have worked on and off out of said office. He’s pleasant and inoffensive - good looking, speaks in full sentences, good personal hygiene. I’d definitely give him a third look if I “wore a younger (wo)man’s clothes” (the second look was what led me to deduce that he could put me squarely into puma territory).
I was catching up on Twitter very important emails regarding pressing matters of public health as I waited for my drink so I wasn’t paying attention to its progress, or my general surroundings. I didn’t even notice that this guy was working, to be honest. I’ve heard him speak before, obviously. But for some reason this morning he was lost in thought when he finished my drink. Distracted. Maybe a little sleepy. And as I was reading my 275th tweet reacting to the new season of Arrested Development client’s follow up comments to the meeting we had this morning, I heard “Jenny” coming from behind the counter in a voice so unexpectedly deep that it shook me. Not just *any* “Jenny.” A lazy “Jenny.” A quiet yet not whispered “Jenny.” A “Jenny” that in any other circumstance could be followed by “Are you awake?” or “Do you want to go out or stay in for breakfast?” or “I didn’t want to interrupt your very important public health work, so I made dinner.” It was, without question, the most intimate uttering of my name I have heard in a shamefully long time. And as I looked up in wonder, shaken by the weird sexy turn that my morning coffee stop had taken, I had two thoughts:
“I wonder if I can get him to say that again so I can record it and make it my ringtone,” and
“It would probably be better as a text alert.”
Memorial Day 2013 Edition
