Why Hershey's Should Be Outlawed in All Fifty States

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I want to bawl.

Flowing rivers of tears, blubbering like a baby, kicking my heels against the floor, beating my fists and generally feeling the overwhelming relief of not being able to cry a spot more.

I want to know that ever inch of mascara was washed away, that my tear ducts may remain dry for another six months and that I have demonstrated every juvenile action I know, save mooning the office and publicly ripping off my clothes.

I do believe the adult version of a pacifier is chocolate.

Damned Hershey's.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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