I’m conscientiously objecting to Thanksgiving dinner with my family this year, in favor of sleeping in, not driving, and avoiding small talk, and now having an irresponsible quantity of Indian food delivered and getting ready to scare myself shitless by watching Ma in the dark.
It is easily one of my top 5 best mental health choices of the year.
I hope you’re all having an equally wondrous and self-determined holiday, and if you’re not, I hope there’s alcohol and pie.
❤️
“My friend’s teenaged daughter is on a date tonight and I’m at home watching ‘Catching Fire’ again and waiting for pizza delivery. I suck.”
“Do you WANT to be on a date?”
“Fuck no, that sounds exhausting.”
Right, then. That was easy.
I called a Lyft to take me to Federal Donuts.
I think I just got fatter.
I don’t have any actual dessert in my house, but I do have graham crackers, Hershey’s syrup, and a positive attitude.
I mean, I GUESS these items could somehow be related…if I really thought hard about it…
So, hey, ever get depressed about your weight and just think “Fuck it” and order a pizza AND cheese fries?
Ahem… Yeah, me, neither. I was just asking. Fucking ridiculous, right? What kind of dipshit-ass fake adult would do something THAT stupid…? *cough*
If my pizza place had any sense, they would sell my dinner tonight as some kind of PMS Special. Like a McDonalds combo — you could just ask for the PMS #5 and it’d be nachos and a chocolate milkshake. Or there could be a column system: one salty and one sweet, with an optional drizzle of our house-blended mansplainer tear reduction.
Yeah, this should definitely be a thing.
“Brain. Come on. Work with me.”
“I will sit on the couch, watch The Good Place again, and eat chocolate chips out of the bag. These are my terms.”
*sigh* DICK.
I’m listening to Michelle Obama’s audiobook, and she’s describing how Barack proposed to her in a restaurant. The server brought the dessert plate and lifted the fancy lid, and there was “a dark velvet box where the chocolate cake was supposed to be.”
And, OK, fine — yay, congrats, mazel, etc.
But also, um… You’re still gonna bring my cake, right? It’s just backstage somewhere?
I feel like she really glossed over the important part.
Smug Singleton 