the perfect drink

January 10, 2008

Dear 7up,

How could you? You created a product that was delightful and you only offered it for a limited time. I bought your Pomegranate flavor because, let’s face it, I’ll buy anything with the word “Pomegranate” on the label (soda, shampoo, fish bait…). Your delicious beverage even inspired me to create the world’s greatest cocktail!! Pomegranate 7up, Absolut Mandrin, and tangerine-orange juice. The perfect drink.

 Here’s my issue. You were supposed to have this shit available until the 31st of January.  I can no longer find it anywhere. By my calculations (and according to my calendar), today is the tenth.  What the hiz, 7up? What am I supposed to drink now?

 Bring it back, kid. Trust me, it’d be better for us both if you just do as I say.

Seriously.

Pants 

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

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

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

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