Please Pass the Sugar

            Practically every Friday before work, I allow myself to indulge in a sausage and cheddar breakfast sandwich from Starbucks. I realize this isn’t the healthiest option, especially because I either have or will partake in boneless buffalo wings along with some cheesy pizza at some point during the week, but I figure that grading about 200 essays a month permits me to enjoy a sliver of synthetically made fattening delicacies once a week.

Anyway, recently it has come to my attention that I’m not as sexy as I used to be (I know, it’s hard to believe by just looking at me, but it’s true), and, well, lets face it, the ‘Beanz is not getting any younger. So, I decided to make a “healthier” option today, and ordered the blueberry oatmeal. BIG MISTAKE. Okay, so here’s how this shiz went down. I ordered blueberry oatmeal thinking to myself “Eh, this won’t be that bad, Al. You remember having breakfast from the old man on the Quaker Oats box every morning before school, his oats were comforting, sugary, and supposedly good for you,” and happily took my cup of oatmeal with the baggy containing a spoon and all the goodies that are meant to ensure I have a balanced and tasty breakfast. Amongst the bag of goodies I found a substance called “Agave Syrup.” Lets take a moment to discuss this fad that is the Agave. Um, it didn’t sweeten anything, at least not enough. I suppose it added a hint of something, and it didn’t necessarily seem fake – like for instance those Morning Star veggie buffalo nuggets (yes, I am in a devoted relationship with the magical potion that is butter and Frank’s Red Hot) that look so good on the cover but make you feel like you’re eating seasoned playdough – it just isn’t for me. Mama needs some raw sugar!

This isn’t really the fault of Agave, or Starbucks, for that matter. It’s about a woman’s right to sausage. I’m not even mad at the Agave sweetener because I recognize and appreciate that its soul purpose is to make me look and feel good, but consequently, it makes me unhappy for numerous reasons. First of all, it is a reminder that I could be eating a warm, cheesy, egg and sausage sandwich (I can almost feel the greasy warmth working its way down my esophagus and into my stomach, where it will enchant the organs around it into feeling cozy and satisfied; a gastric feeling that is only otherwise made to feel this way by a perfect slice of pizza), but instead am munching on water-revived blueberries, and wheat oats with a hint of what might be considered sweetness in some land where the concept of sugar has not yet been invented (pathetic fools). Secondly, it’s a harsh realization that I will soon be out of my 20’s, and my body and mind are not working the same way anymore. By making a healthier choice I am entering the realm of actual adulthood, and the image of the five- year old girl who once insisted to her mother that she would eat Mcdonald’s even when she got older is fading. I just want to eat all the junk food I crave and stay thin, is that really too much?

Fallwintery

While it’s always nice to hear the familiar jingle of “it’s the most wonderful time of the year,” it’s sort of been the most wonderful time of the year since late August, early September. I don’t usually have a problem with celebrating the holidays longer – I love the smell of pumpkin spice, cinnamon, and that peculiar cranberry scent that is supposedly cranberry but doesn’t smell a thing like it – but it still is a bit odd. I remember waltzing into Costco towards the end of summer and finding relief that the only wreaths in sight were autumn ones. Naturally that didn’t last long. Come Halloween and you can buy a witch along with a Santa.

            However, my intention is not to keep repeating the bullshit others are saying, such as “the world is changing to a worse place,” or “holidays have become all about making money.” While some of these assertions may have more than a bit of truth to them, who really cares? My fear, I think, is a far more legitimate and probable one; there may eventually be a Santa-Witch hybrid, a creature that is both evil and good, can fly on a broom stick and on a sleigh when we are fast asleep, a creature who will both steal children and toss them gifts down the chimney. The combination is so perverse, and it makes me wonder, will Santa be more evil, or will the corporate gods create a well-intentioned holiday witch? And, will we celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas throughout autumn and early winter? Or, would these holidays maintain their designated time slots, but include all fall/wintery decorations? Hmm, fallwintery, that has a ring to it, kind of like it was always meant to be…

            Another significant aspect that this Costcoian “research” brings up is that Thanksgiving is clearly the middle child of these three holidays. In either scenario, that of the present day and future fallwintery celebrations, Thanksgiving is almost always lost, and either follows the leftovers of Halloween’s bones, skulls, witches, and goblins, or is merely the opening band for Christmas decorations. Thanksgiving doesn’t even really prepare us for Christmas, because we can usually buy those decorations simultaneously. Once Halloween is over all pilgrims and sleigh bells are up for grabz. One Holiday Order is slowly approaching us. I hope your closets are readily packed with individually specified holiday boxes so that when the Fallwintery Holiday Combination Battles begin you are fully armed and prepared.

I'm a Little Tea Cup

I wonder if the size of my coffee cup has an influence over my day, or describes my day. For instance, days that I'm very stressed, I have a bulky coffee cup, mayhaps to carry more liquified energy?, and days where I feel I'm on the right track, my coffee cups tend to be dainty. Today, I'm sipping barely a half cup of coffee (just to line #3 on a 4 cup coffee pot) in more of a tea cup thingy, and well, I feel good about my work and myself today. Naturally, it's china from the 80's, because, well, that is how we roll. I'm also feeling dainty today. I am subconsciously picking out coffee cups that summarize my mood and accomplishments.

Oh, accomplishments, goals, etc. You'd think I've been doing this paper writing thing long enough to get how it works, but I don't. I don't understand how it takes hours and hours upon days and weeks of notes and research, to get to a realization that seemed so simple. I know that's how it's always been, but I just don't get it, and honestly, I really don't want to. It seems way too freaky and twisted, probably involving some crazy Freudian shit, to figure out how the mind gets to its "ah hah!" moment. Everything we do is just a game, and we are all knowingly facing the same ending anyway. Basically what I'm saying is, we should all drop everything, somehow get a hold of lots of money, and go shopping!! I'll have a pair of Miu Miu's, fries, and a coke. Spanks!

A Barthey Kinda Day

Lately my work on my Thesis has been dwindling. I've been distracted by things going on in the "real world" (you know, I really fucking hate that phrase...anything I can physically feel or see is "real" therefore, yes, academia is the "real world." At least for me, especially because that is the Earthly-realm from which my miniscule bills get paid). I decided in order to regain control of my work, and construct a balance insuring my loved ones are cared for AND I am being productive in order to make progress on my work, it was time to revisit my old study spot at Chapman University, with my old, absolute favorite, and productive study buddy (my Egyptian mantra). Upon climbing the stairs to get to the second floor I passed my framed guardian angel, Sir Reginald, whom I used to greet everyday upon my arrival at Leatherby Library. The familiar smells of the library immediately stabbed me with old memories and anxieties from my pre-thesis world. Along with this reunion, I remembered another former memory, Roland Barthes, and swiftly made the connection with my experience with that of a punctum. Although I was able to somewhat deconstruct my feelings, the stabbing jolt in my stomach instigated by my sense of smell punctured me with familiar laughs and pains. You see, before my thesis, my life and graduate career remained up in the air, and if you know me at all, you know I hate the feeling of uncertainty. I used to anxiously walk passed Sir Reginald (a constant reminder of my medieval goals) in hopes of it being a good omen to serve me luck in my future endeavors, and today I walked passed him triumphant and relieved, knowing my goals have been met, and the rest depends on me, not on the consideration of three faculty members scrutinizing my work in a conference room. While my shoulders still remain heavy with the burden of attaining enough motivation and progress to complete this phase in my life in a timely manner, haha "as if" (Horowitz, Clueless), there is a certain ease in knowing it's all up to me. What stands out in all of this non-sense I've been jabbering about is that the same place, the same guardian angel, and the same friend, now give me a different feeling, a feeling of relief and comfort, even though we are all in the same exact place we were a year ago, a time of uncertainty, anxiety, but none-the-less laughs and productivity. 

Smooth Operator?

The best part about doing work that doesn't require too much reading (such as recording grades on a spreadsheet) is listening to music with lyrics. Hmm, that's the title of a Hugh Grant movie. How, oddly quaint. Anyway, it still has to be soft music, so today I chose Sade, naturally. She is so soothing, but I feel old when I listen to Sade at night while I'm working. Not 27 old, but 40 something old, as though I've worked all day, made dinner for my family, tucked my insolent children into bed (yes, my imaginary children are assholes), my husband is off snoring on the couch, and I'm getting some late night work in. Thankfully, I lack most of these things. Don't get me wrong, I look forward to my eminent union (heh), but he's certainly not the snoring on the couch type. You know what I'm talking about; horse-shoe balding, pot-belly, ill-fitting slacks, half undone die, one leg sprawled on the couch while the other dangles off causing his pants to hug his lack-luster ballsack. Uhhh. The other things I thankfully lack, though society looks down on me I'm sure, is a practical job, and of course, children. Don't get me wrong, kiddies are at times okay, but I simply have no room for them on my bookcase right now (or closet, in case SW is reading...don't bother, it's far too complex and inexplicable to those who don't see the reason behind owning 10 coffee machines to understand. See, it all leads into something else. Threads and threads of incomprehensible insanity. I blame the Anglo-Saxon scholars for this, especially John M. Hill - the man who wrote Beowulf).

Let's get back to what I was pondering. Why does music that I like so much, particularly at night, make me feel unlikable and old? I know I'm no teenaged spring chicky, but I'm not exactly old. In fact I can prove it - today at Trader Joe's the very nice cashier lady gave me a grape flavored sucker for going with my mommy. See?! 

Lazy 'Beans Returneth

I really need to blog more. Fuck. Shit.

I guess I'll start with a status update that caught my attention a few days ago. It stated something along these lines, "Some people come into our lives as blessings, and others as lessons." A Mother Teresa quote, apparently. I find it so odd, or perhaps uneasy, that I read it just before running into news that caught me off guard. It's amazing how we can forget about things, and somehow get over even the most deepest feelings, but how the memory of those feelings can absorb us all over again. I agree, many people in my life are blessings somehow. In fact, I don't know any person who is currently in my life that does not, or at least has not at some point, help uplift me, and in return, allowed me to uplift them. But what if those who hurt us are not lessons? What if sometimes we're simply a lesson for someone else, and if so, what do we really get out of it? I know that life throws us unexpected situations, and is hardly ever fair, but shit, there are some things that seem pointless. I'm not suggesting they are pointless altogether, just that they seem that way. At the same time, I read that quote just in time to prepare me for something that came as somewhat of a blow. The truth is I'm not effected by this person, or their news, I just feel that some things, and some people, no matter how good-hearted they may be, should stay in the past, where we chose to leave them in order to move further along our path. That's all.

In better news, I'm quite proud of myself. I have managed to eat two heart-shaped See's chocolate boxes within the last two weeks and not gain a pound. Hmm. I guess one could say I'm on a "diet."

Happy Meal

I was sitting outside the library today having my lunch when the person sitting next to me made me realize that I am a pretty non-creative lunch consumer. My betrothed and I stopped by Ralphs to get some giant sandwiches made (this way, I don't hungry and can work on my projects all day), and I was munching on my mayo drenched macaroni salad, with a single red bell pepper pellet mind you, while this skinny guy next to us pulled out cake after cake after chicken wing after cake. Really. I promise. I am not lying to you fellow reader (assuming there are any). So, first he pulls out an ample piece of chocolate cake, then a similar size piece of a cheese cake, he put that down only to consume two healthy sized chicken wings, then resumed devouring his cheese cake. This guy is awesome. Seriously. He didn't even have a fork, rather, he just let his hands and fingers get all up in that shit. He is my hero. At first glance I thought "dat shit cray", but I am now beginning to regret my meager lunch choices, and hope we can all learn from this intelligent lunch expert how important lunch really is and that we only live once. In the words of Juicy Couture (and Kirsten Dunst in Marie Antoinette), "Let them eat cake!"