peanut butter

November 30, 2007

Dear Jif© reduced fat peanut butter,

Ok, sucker. usually a jar of your super-sweetened ass lasts me about six months. lately, though, its been more like three weeks. I had to buy another jar this monday, as a matter of fact, and i keep you by my desk to get me through the rough/boring times. mostly, i read somewhere that jessica biel, my arch nemesis (along with the other evil jessica, alba) and beauty goddess, eats slices of apple coated with your creamy self, and thought, well, if she gets to eat you, then so do i.  the sadness started at about 4:45 this afternoon,  when, while lowering my spoon into your jar for another dollop (shut the fuck up), i noticed that you were nearing half-empty.

that’s half, my friend. 50% consumed in the matter of three days.

ho-ly shit.

i don’t blame my emotional eating–i don’t blame my oral fixation–i blame you, you deceptive bastard. “Oh, i’m reduced fat, scrappy! consume me with abandon!” even though i know that you’re just barely reduced fat–only a mere four grams shaved off the fat in a normal dollop of peanut butter. i’m just so conditioned to respond to seeing the phrase “reduced fat” on a product by shoveling said product into my mouth, that reason plays no role in my behavior from there on out.

it’s because of you that my hot jeans don’t fit! not well, at least. i’m still jamming my peanut-buttery ass into ’em every saturday, though, in defiance of your hold on me!

know what? i’m throwing out my peanut butter spoon, the one that sits next to my keyboard,  waiting to be filled with more peanut butter.  you don’t own me any more!

love,

scrappy

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blue hornet

November 27, 2007

Blue Hornet.

 you complete piece of shit.

Good Heavens, how i hate you. You son. of. a. bitch. You piece of shit, you go OUT OF YOUR WAY to remind me to reset my session when its about to expire, and i am supposed to get FIVE WHOLE MINUTES to renew said session before you log me out. You’re supposed to let me know, so that i don’t lose TWO FUCKING HOURS’ WORK on that damn mass e-mail i was working on! WHY IN GOD’S HOLY NAME DO YOU BOTHER TELLING ME TO RESET MY SESSION IF YOU”RE JUST GOING TO LOG ME OUT WITHOUT TELLING ME LATER?!?!?!?!?!????!??!!!? holy shit, IHATEYOUSOMUCHYOUPIECEOFGARBAGEFUUUUUUUCK!!!

sigh. damn you. this isn’t over, blue hornet. not by a looong fucking shot. they don’t call me scrappy for nothing. i am going to break your shit OFFFFFFF, mufucka!

watch your back,

scrappy

sapporo & sake

November 23, 2007

Oh man, Sapporo & sake,

We often go a long time without seeing each other. Then, when we do, I go a little crazy. I guess I just don’t realize how much I miss you when we’re apart. I have a hard time saying no to you. I love you, sake, when you’re on your own. And I love you, too, Sapporo, when it’s just us. But then we all get together & you just complement each other so damn well; I just can’t control myself.

The next day, I have regrets aplenty. So, what do we do? Do we just not hang out at all anymore? Do I only see one of you at a time? I really hope we can work this out.

 I wait patiently for your answer.

 Pants

junk

November 21, 2007

Dear my boss’ junk,

Hey.

it’s been a little weird trying to figure out what to do with you over the past few months. It used to be that your possessor and i would talk down in my office, which did not involve him sitting, and which left me mostly ignorant of any details of your shape and size. i had no clue how you would distract me in the future. when my office switched from being far away from my boss to right next door, so that i could just walk over instead of calling, i learned about you. You are ridiculously oversized. you are obscene. you are, frequently, impossible not to look at, like it’s impossible not to look at a car accident in the middle of the road. i certainly do not enjoy the fact that i cannot avoid looking at the ferret in the trousers of someone whom i admire and love, someone whom i work for and who is forty years my senior. but i can’t seem to negotiate around you.  it doesn’t help matters that my boss sits so that his legs are wide open and he has jutted you out just as far as you will go. if he were a woman with huge boobs, he would be the type that wore deep plunging necklines showing tons and tons of cleavage, every day of the week. you’re just such a freak of nature that i can’t look away. not that i don’t respect what you’ve accomplished, growing to quite that mass. but, still. is this the time and place for such things?

so, come on, my boss’ junk. do you have to go on embarrassing me by forcing me to look at you every time i go in to my boss’ office to talk about seniors lunches? can’t you just tone it down a little? don’t you ever get cold?

imploringly,

scrappy

thanksgiving

November 19, 2007

Dear Thanksgiving,

You know what I’m thankful for? It’s you!  You with your football, family, and delicious food.

I love your mashed potatoes with gravy, stuffing, turkey, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole. I don’t love your pumpkin pie, but my love for all of your other foods overpowers this distaste.

I don’t know what happened between the pilgrims and the indians (are we allowed to say that anymore?) when you were born. I bet they weren’t friendly and it’s just a story we created for ourselves. I’m okay with that, though, Thanksgiving.  If we needed to make up a story so that I could bask in your annual glory, so be it.

So, I thank you, Thanksgiving, for coming around every year and sharing your goodness with me. Only two more days!!

Waiting (somewhat) patiently,

Pants

hot nerd

November 14, 2007

Dear Hot Nerd-

 I don’t know how to talk to you.

When you scooted closer to me at the party, I think you were trying to show me that you were interested. You asked me something about how I liked living here.  I think. I’m not even sure I was listening. Then I got scared and left. Not just the chair I was in, but the party. That’s how nervous I was.

 The only contact (ha! contact!) we’ve had since then has been me staring at you dreamily during staff meetings.

 Until today. It was perfect. You were waiting by the copy machine. You were next in line and I was right behind you! I smiled. You smiled. You said, “How’s it going?” I said, “Good. How are you?” Boring, I know, but we talked! Yay us! Then you turned back around. All I could think of to say was, “Have any plans for Thanksgiving?” Which I only said in my head, thank God.

Not that I don’t love staring at the back of your neck, but could we sometime soon actually have a conversation? Maybe over dinner? Let me know. Give me a wink during the next staff meeting.

 Yours-

Pants

Candy Corn

November 6, 2007

Dear Candy Corn,

How do I begin describing my love for you? That orange, yellow, and white color scheme brings a jolt of glee when i first see you in early October each year. “Candy corn season has arrived! Huzzah!” I cheer quietly to myself. I think i actually gasped allowed when i saw a bowl full of your delightful sweetness at the reception desk. I may have even shoved a handful of you in my pocket in addition to the fistful I devoured immediately. What makes you so tasty? Is it the natural honey flavoring? Is it the satisfaction of three different (albeit only slightly) flavors of your three different layers, being bitten off one by one? I realized that you do remind me of a solidified version of frosting, which may explain my pleasure in consuming you en masse, since i’ve been known to eat frosting from the jar with nothing but a spoon and a smile. sometimes not even the spoon, if we really want to get specific.

Seeing a bag of you marked down to 75% off in CVS yesterday was a bright and shining moment for me, combining my love of thrift with my love of candy corn in a holy union. I tore you open immediately and proceeded to destroy what’s left of my teeth by eating a lunch solely composed of you, candy corn. So what if you were one of the last bags, and possess a higher-than-average rate of misshapen corns? so what if december finds me with four new cavities?  so what if many of the white tips have broken off and looking down into the bag is reminiscent of into a bag of children’s teeth? (ok, that one is actually a little disturbing) I took a peek at your nutritional label, though, candy corn, and unlike the horror that befell me when i caught sight of the fat content for the hershey’s nuggets i’d been pounding for my other two meals of the day, you have no fat, my harvest-time friends. What more could a girl ask?

love,

scrappy