Disappointments
Below, in random order, are the three biggest disappointments of my life (to date, check back tomorrow):
1. My Lack of success in the relationship department,
1. My Lack of success in the relationship department,
2. Being kicked out of the drama club in high school - which resulted in me losing the part of Daddy Warbucks in an all girl cast of “Annie” - because I was failing math, and
3. The buffalo chicken sandwich.
Ah, the buffalo chicken sandwich. I just don’t get it. It has all the components of everything I love and stand for. Buffalo chicken, bread, blue cheese….alone or combined into two parts these ingredients are a beautiful thing. But for some reason, when all three come together, it always, always, always leaves me wondering why I ordered it in the first place. But I can’t let it go, just pass it by on the menu. Every now and again I will give it another chance, but the end result is always the same. Disappointment. Utterly horrific dream-shattering disappointment.
One reason this is on my mind right now is that someone in my office is eating this concoction and I am tempted to seek them out to discuss the subject at length. At best I could make a new friend, at worst I could end up in HR for creeping people out. Again.
Another reason is that I am so hungry right now I would cut off my pinky finger for a triscut. I’ve been avoiding food though because either a) I’ve got a stomach bug, or b) I poisoned myself by binge eating two-week-old office birthday cake, or going away cake, or whatever the hell was in the fridge that said “HELP YOURSELF!” yesterday.
Until today I was totally convinced I was suffering from a hangover from me and Regina’s attempt at becoming cultured on Sunday afternoon. We went to see a play at local theater and then followed it up with a “ladies lunch.” The lunch consisted of a bread basket and round after round of cocktails. Fast forward a few hours, Reg and I are at the second bar having an in depth conversation about the origin of popular appetizers with a gentleman who looks like Squiggy of Laverne and Shirley - if of course Squiggy was 87 years old.
It turns out Old Squiggy was not so much interested in the exact year nachos made their way onto menus across the United States, but more so how he could make his way into Regina’s….errr….heart.
Reg, being the great friend that she is, said there was no way she would go on a date with him unless he was able to provide me with an 87 year old counterpart of Lenny so we could double. He said he would try but couldn’t make any promises. Cross your fingers for me, folks.
Happy Tuesday!
Ah, the buffalo chicken sandwich. I just don’t get it. It has all the components of everything I love and stand for. Buffalo chicken, bread, blue cheese….alone or combined into two parts these ingredients are a beautiful thing. But for some reason, when all three come together, it always, always, always leaves me wondering why I ordered it in the first place. But I can’t let it go, just pass it by on the menu. Every now and again I will give it another chance, but the end result is always the same. Disappointment. Utterly horrific dream-shattering disappointment.
One reason this is on my mind right now is that someone in my office is eating this concoction and I am tempted to seek them out to discuss the subject at length. At best I could make a new friend, at worst I could end up in HR for creeping people out. Again.
Another reason is that I am so hungry right now I would cut off my pinky finger for a triscut. I’ve been avoiding food though because either a) I’ve got a stomach bug, or b) I poisoned myself by binge eating two-week-old office birthday cake, or going away cake, or whatever the hell was in the fridge that said “HELP YOURSELF!” yesterday.
Until today I was totally convinced I was suffering from a hangover from me and Regina’s attempt at becoming cultured on Sunday afternoon. We went to see a play at local theater and then followed it up with a “ladies lunch.” The lunch consisted of a bread basket and round after round of cocktails. Fast forward a few hours, Reg and I are at the second bar having an in depth conversation about the origin of popular appetizers with a gentleman who looks like Squiggy of Laverne and Shirley - if of course Squiggy was 87 years old.
It turns out Old Squiggy was not so much interested in the exact year nachos made their way onto menus across the United States, but more so how he could make his way into Regina’s….errr….heart.
Reg, being the great friend that she is, said there was no way she would go on a date with him unless he was able to provide me with an 87 year old counterpart of Lenny so we could double. He said he would try but couldn’t make any promises. Cross your fingers for me, folks.
Happy Tuesday!
posted by Betty Blog at 4:47 PM
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