Dear Annie,
It is with great fear and trepidation that I make my salad at the Gelson's salad bar every day for lunch. The tongs always fall into the bin of spinach, and as I pick through it I can't help but think about the hundreds of hands that have touched those tongs which subsequently have touched my spinach. My only consolation is that I'm not dead yet, and I've been eating lunch at Gelson's for over four years, almost every day.
The worst part about the salad bar is that they put the cheddar cheese between the tuna and the chicken. I don't know how this happens, but little flakes of chicken end up in the cheese. I see them floating around as I pick through it. (I know what you are thinking: "Why bother with the cheese!!?" I really don't have an answer for you other than that I just really like cheese.)
Today I held up the entire line as, to my horror, I dumped a tong-full of cheese on my salad and noticed a little chunk of chicken fall into the mix. I paused for a moment to stare down at that little chunk, wondering what my next move should be. The lady next to me asked me what the matter was. I informed her that I am a vegetarian, and that there was chicken in my salad. "I know what you mean," she said, "I'm a vegetarian now... well... trying anyway... it's hard!"
SHE HAD NO IDEA WHAT I MEANT!
I gingerly reached my pinky finger into my salad, trying to flick out that chicken speck. I ended up just pushing it down farther. People behind me were becoming impatient, so I dumped a few more items on my salad, in a daze, trying my best to ignore what had just occurred. Finally I decided that I had to get that chicken out of there at all costs. I went straight to the end of the line and grabbed a fork. I picked and prodded all around, but that chicken flake was nowhere in sight. I found other flakes of chicken, but not that big chunk.
I'm sitting here now, eating my salad, and all I can think with every bite is that somewhere lurking in my lunch is a chunk of chicken. I will not taste it when it finally ends up in my mouth, but it has still managed to ruin my meal.
People ask me if I am going to raise my children vegetarian. Frankly, in some ways, it is just too cruel to do such a thing in this carnivorous world. I can't even imagine trying to be a vegetarian back East or in the Midwest. I'd starve. Maybe I'll raise half my kids vegetarian as some sort of odd scientific experiment. Which batch will grow taller and stronger? Which batch will be less prone to disease? Maybe they'll cover it in the local news.
CRAZY EX-ADVENTIST RAISES HALF HER KIDS VEGETARIAN
It would have to be a slow news day of course.
Love,
Taintedsky
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Facebook Stalking My Mother
Dear Ms. "I deleted my blog,"
I am presently chatting with my mother on facebook. She doesn't seem like herself through the chat window. I had to type: "Is this my mother talking?" It's a bit disturbing. In fact, her profile doesn't really feel like her either. The things she types, the pictures she posts, and the comments people leave her.
She just now changed her relationship status to "married," which seems weird. Firstly that she waited so long to do it, and secondly the idea of her being "married" at all! I mean, I know my mother is married to my father but to see the little facebook heart there with "married" next to it forces me to think about my parents in that other way...
YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!
In fact, when I asked her about it this is what transpired:
Furthermore:
WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? I've never heard their names in my life, and this Angela person is having lunch with my mother? What in the world?
Annie, I just can't handle it!!
*hyperventilates*
CONCLUSION: Mothers shouldn't be allowed to have facebook accounts. That's all there is to it.
Love,
Taintedsky
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Secret
Dear Annie,
In 7th grade my parents decided they wanted a change of scenery, so we moved to Santa Rosa, California. We were only there a year, but when we moved back home, everything was different. I remember crying on the car ride there, and crying on the ride back. It's tough when you're a kid, adjusting to such seemingly drastic changes.
So we moved back home and I returned to my old school. There had been an influx of new students, and my best friend Julie had latched onto a whole new group of friends. One girl in particular, Rachel, seemed dead-set on becoming Julie's new best friend!
Julie and I had been best friends since third grade. We used to alter the lyrics to songs like "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" to say inappropriate things. We had countless sleepovers, and my family took her on many of our camping trips. One of our favorite playground pastimes was making fun of the boys at recess who would pretend to fight each other karate style. (We called them the Karate Idiots, and would make up witty things we thought they might say to each other.) Somehow I thought our friendship would last a lifetime.
Rachel and Julie had some sort of connection that I didn't share. I tried desperately to remedy this. Nothing seemed to work. I remember one day we were walking to class, and I thought to ask Julie what her favorite color was. I kid you not, Rachel piped up and asked the same question just seconds before I could utter it!
"Hey, Julie... what's your favorite color?"
"Sea green."
"Wow! Mine too! Let's be best friends forever!"
That's how I remember it anyway.
As the year progressed, I felt increasingly distanced from Julie. I was the "outcast." They would go to parties and events, and somehow I was rarely invited. I felt lucky if they even saved me a seat at the lunch table!
After a while I simply accepted my place on the fringe, and felt lucky I had friends at all. Then, one day during Phys Ed, Julie approached me, motioning that she wanted to whisper something in my ear.
Could this be? A secret? Was Julie actually going to tell me a secret?! Suddenly I felt as if perhaps the tables were turning...somehow secret telling signified the ultimate form of acceptance, and maybe, just maybe, Julie and I were still great friends.
I leaned in eagerly, fully accepting the bait, only to receive not a secret, but an ear full of cold water. That's right. Julie had spit a mouthful of drinking fountain water right into my left ear!
The tears welled up immediately. I sat in the corner of the gym the entire period and cried uncontrollably. Julie must have been shocked. I don't think she had any idea how she had made me feel.
Well life goes on and time heals all wounds. I left for boarding school a year later and made a whole new bunch of friends with an entirely different set of issues. That, however, is a different story for a different time!
Love,
Taintedsky
In 7th grade my parents decided they wanted a change of scenery, so we moved to Santa Rosa, California. We were only there a year, but when we moved back home, everything was different. I remember crying on the car ride there, and crying on the ride back. It's tough when you're a kid, adjusting to such seemingly drastic changes.
So we moved back home and I returned to my old school. There had been an influx of new students, and my best friend Julie had latched onto a whole new group of friends. One girl in particular, Rachel, seemed dead-set on becoming Julie's new best friend!
Julie and I had been best friends since third grade. We used to alter the lyrics to songs like "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" to say inappropriate things. We had countless sleepovers, and my family took her on many of our camping trips. One of our favorite playground pastimes was making fun of the boys at recess who would pretend to fight each other karate style. (We called them the Karate Idiots, and would make up witty things we thought they might say to each other.) Somehow I thought our friendship would last a lifetime.
Rachel and Julie had some sort of connection that I didn't share. I tried desperately to remedy this. Nothing seemed to work. I remember one day we were walking to class, and I thought to ask Julie what her favorite color was. I kid you not, Rachel piped up and asked the same question just seconds before I could utter it!
"Hey, Julie... what's your favorite color?"
"Sea green."
"Wow! Mine too! Let's be best friends forever!"
That's how I remember it anyway.
As the year progressed, I felt increasingly distanced from Julie. I was the "outcast." They would go to parties and events, and somehow I was rarely invited. I felt lucky if they even saved me a seat at the lunch table!
After a while I simply accepted my place on the fringe, and felt lucky I had friends at all. Then, one day during Phys Ed, Julie approached me, motioning that she wanted to whisper something in my ear.
Could this be? A secret? Was Julie actually going to tell me a secret?! Suddenly I felt as if perhaps the tables were turning...somehow secret telling signified the ultimate form of acceptance, and maybe, just maybe, Julie and I were still great friends.
I leaned in eagerly, fully accepting the bait, only to receive not a secret, but an ear full of cold water. That's right. Julie had spit a mouthful of drinking fountain water right into my left ear!
The tears welled up immediately. I sat in the corner of the gym the entire period and cried uncontrollably. Julie must have been shocked. I don't think she had any idea how she had made me feel.
Well life goes on and time heals all wounds. I left for boarding school a year later and made a whole new bunch of friends with an entirely different set of issues. That, however, is a different story for a different time!
Love,
Taintedsky
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Thirsty
Dear Annie,
I am thirsty.
Very thirsty!
The only thing keeping me sitting here so patiently is the knowledge that I can easily get out of my seat at any moment, go to the kitchen and drink a glass of water.
If, for some reason, I realized that there was no water, I'd absolutely panic. I'd feel that I was on the verge of dehydration! I would be wondering how I had survived this long without a drink, and praying my last prayer.
Instead, I can type this calmly and rationally... and even take the time to try and be just a little bit witty...
Love,
Taintedsky
I am thirsty.
Very thirsty!
The only thing keeping me sitting here so patiently is the knowledge that I can easily get out of my seat at any moment, go to the kitchen and drink a glass of water.
If, for some reason, I realized that there was no water, I'd absolutely panic. I'd feel that I was on the verge of dehydration! I would be wondering how I had survived this long without a drink, and praying my last prayer.
Instead, I can type this calmly and rationally... and even take the time to try and be just a little bit witty...
Love,
Taintedsky
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Movie Sweater
Dear Annie,
As a single 29 year old, I have finally learned the joys of going to a movie all by myself. It is quite nice, actually. I am able to eat at whichever restaurant I choose, and I don't have to feel guilty for watching a movie I want to see and no one else does.
I don't go that often... but when I do, it's an event! I pull back my slightly unkempt hair into a pony tail, and throw on my movie sweater. Yes, that's right! I have a favorite sweater to wear to the movies. Normally clothing wears out after a while. Not this sweater. I must have washed it hundreds of times and it still looks brand new. In fact, I've had it for eleven years. It is the most amazingly comfortable sweater in the world... it is red... plaid... polyester... and the thing is three sizes too big for me. It belonged to my high school sweetheart, Michael Bork.
Michael dumped me for my ex-roommate Breanna right after I graduated. The two of them were married last year, but I STILL HAVE THE SWEATER. I'm thoroughly convinced that I got the better deal.
Some may find this odd... firstly that I would keep it, and secondly that I would be so fond of the thing as to tote it along on my solitary movie expeditions, but I do not attach sentiments to objects like some people do. That is simply unhealthy behavior.
I suppose I'll throw it out the day I get married. Perhaps it can be the "something old" or, even better the "something borrowed" at my wedding. Though I suppose if I marched down the aisle wearing that wretched thing it would be a lot more difficult for the poor fellow facing me to say "I do!"
Oh well... a little test of true devotion never hurt anyone.
Cheerio,
Taintedsky
As a single 29 year old, I have finally learned the joys of going to a movie all by myself. It is quite nice, actually. I am able to eat at whichever restaurant I choose, and I don't have to feel guilty for watching a movie I want to see and no one else does.
I don't go that often... but when I do, it's an event! I pull back my slightly unkempt hair into a pony tail, and throw on my movie sweater. Yes, that's right! I have a favorite sweater to wear to the movies. Normally clothing wears out after a while. Not this sweater. I must have washed it hundreds of times and it still looks brand new. In fact, I've had it for eleven years. It is the most amazingly comfortable sweater in the world... it is red... plaid... polyester... and the thing is three sizes too big for me. It belonged to my high school sweetheart, Michael Bork.
Michael dumped me for my ex-roommate Breanna right after I graduated. The two of them were married last year, but I STILL HAVE THE SWEATER. I'm thoroughly convinced that I got the better deal.
Some may find this odd... firstly that I would keep it, and secondly that I would be so fond of the thing as to tote it along on my solitary movie expeditions, but I do not attach sentiments to objects like some people do. That is simply unhealthy behavior.
I suppose I'll throw it out the day I get married. Perhaps it can be the "something old" or, even better the "something borrowed" at my wedding. Though I suppose if I marched down the aisle wearing that wretched thing it would be a lot more difficult for the poor fellow facing me to say "I do!"
Oh well... a little test of true devotion never hurt anyone.
Cheerio,
Taintedsky
Call... Waiting...
Dearest Annie,
I hate call waiting.
Nothing is more annoying than talking with a friend on the phone, only to be ditched for an incoming call. That being said, it is very odd now to call your home line and be met with the interminable "busy" signal. I feel so... helpless! I cannot even leave you a message!
Yesterday I called and your line was busy. I tried a little later... still busy...
........
frustration sets in..............................
still busy.......
....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
It's been an hour now. I get impatient. I call again. Still busy.........
Finally I call twice in a row, with only perhaps twenty seconds between each call, and to my shock and horror, Jim picks up.
JIM: Helloooo?
LISA: Uh... Oh hiii Jim... It's Lisa.... is... Annie there?
JIM: Have you been trying to call this whooole time?
LISA: Um... no.... I haven't been calling incessantly... every minute... for the past hour. I have a life... I'm at work.... I'm, you know, busy and stuff....
JIM: No... of course you wouldn't do thaaaat...
Moral of the story: GET CALL WAITING!
Much Love and Devotion,
Taintedsky
Monday, February 9, 2009
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