I've Lost My Nail File

I should probably apologize for the last post because which one of you really wants to read about bloody beating hearts? That silence I hear is everyone pinning their mouths together and making eye contact with their neighbor, silently pleading to be released from the wrath of the girl who previously just seemed A Bit On The Funny Side But Turned Out To Be A Prime Candidate For A 9x6 Cell.

Don’t cry for me, Argentina! ß said in contralto Madonnavoice.

This morning I had chocolate pudding for breakfast not because it looked tantalizing in it’s see-through container and not because it seemed like a grrrreat (Tony the Tiger!) way to start my day but because pouring a bowl of cereal just seemed like too godamned much trouble. Standing in front of the refrigerator I thought I’m a fucking adult and I can eat what I please. In fact, this realization was somewhat of an epiphany for me and one I’ve seen in others as well. Most notably was Spring Break during my freshman year at college. I woke up in the beachfront condo I was sharing with five other females and wandered into the living room, only to be greeted by my college roommate sitting cross-legged on the pull-out couchbed, eating Pringles and Corona. I expressed extreme disgust with her breakfast (of champion!) choices wherein she informed me that she was a grown ass woman and could do whatever the fuck she wanted. Though I’ll have to split hairs with her on being a grown ass woman at the ripe old age of 19, I do kind of have to agree with her, even if I still find her chosen combination of breakfast foods revolting. As a side note I might add that later in the afternoon, after falling asleep on the balcony post-consumption of roughly 12 Coronas and 2 cans of Pringles, she woke up to the vicious dive bombing attacks of two dozen sea gulls. I watched her spring from her plastic chair, legs tangled in her giant beach towel and run head first into the sliding glass door while screaming “THEY THINK I’M BREAD! THEY THINK I’M BREAD!”

She was rather pale.

My chocolate pudding wasn't really all it could be (get an edge on life, in the army!) but it was infinitely less time consuming than reaching inside the cabinet, pulling out a bowl, reaching inside another cabinet, dragging out the cereal, opening the box AND LET'S NOT FORGET A POSSIBLE EXPOSURE TO PAPER CUTS VIA THE DANGEROUS CARDBOARD, pouring out the cereal, getting the milk, opening the milk...GAH. Even now it makes me tired.

So I thought about how one could make cereal more efficient while I was eating my prepackaged chocolate pudding and realized, shit, somebody has already had this dream, to make the cereal easy for all. But they ended up at the wrong conclusion, which would be those cereal-n-milk bars they sell next to the granola bars in the grocery. I’d like to have a word with the advertising mammoth who decided that the correct marketing ploy would be to show commercials with the graphically enhanced ACTUAL milk transforming into the “milk” that is found between the layers of the cereal bar. This is not only unappetizing but it makes me want to not buy the regular cereal as well, in fear that some of that “milk” may have contaminated the cereal dispensers at the plant. Blech.