1. play piano
3. catch up on DVR
5. surf the Internet
So far, so good.
I am cruising along enjoying the art of absolute nothingness.
Treating Tuesday like it's Saturday.
Basking in my alone-ness.
Nooooooo problems at all.
Until I get hungry.
And Jason isn't here to feed me.
Lately I've become obnoxiously spoiled. Yes I admit it. Jason takes very good care of me in the food department. Very soon I'll be shopping for my wardrobe at the tent and tarpaulin store.
Very, very soon.
I rarely have to fend for myself when it comes to food. I confess that I haven't cooked a meal in a very long time. I mean a VERY long time. Like try two months, maybe three.
But Jason has this thing called a J-O-B and is out driving around looking busy. And I have these things called hunger pangs.
Not really, but it sounded good.
So I open the fridge.
And the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
I am faced with a dillema.
A) Clean out this very frightening fridge and risk throwing out something good.
B) Eat something from this very frightening fridge and risk ingesting something bad.
C) Sink even further into pathetic-ness
D) Notify Hoarders as soon as possible
I remember test taking strategies.
When in doubt, choose C.
I pick up the phone.
Jason, do we have any left over chicken fried rice from last night? And if so, just where would I find it? Because, I'm like on vacation here and certainly don't want to have to do anything labor intensive. Better yet, why don't you run home and fix me some lunch?
Too bad for me, he responded with a dial tone.
Now these little devils are good right here. These are some blueberry tarts that were whipped up last night.
Not by me.
I had one for breakfast at 11:00 since it was too early to make an important decision like A, B, C, or D and they were just so handy.
If you want to know a good way to ruin a great cup of coffee, try this. Sugar Free Coffee Mate, bought by mistake.
And yes, I CAN see that there is a small carton of buttermilk dated February 21st.
Stop judging me!
And that right there, peeking out from behind
That is a yoo-hoo.
Because doesn't everyone have a yoo-hoo in their icebox?
Do you call it an icebox or is it only me that reverts back to 1923 during desperate times like these?
Well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
I carefully weigh my options.
And then I sink even further in my cesspit of pathetic-ness.
Choice E: Grab a Fiber One bar and hold out till Suppertime.
All this has made me very tired. I must nap now.