Somebody Loves Me, And It Isn't A Boy

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This evening, I sat at my desk, eating my perfectly cooked steak and shrimp and drinking my JuicyJuice, when some jealous female walked up to my desk, rolled their eyes and inquired as to where this food offering came from. Or rather, from WHOM it came. Which admirer.

I smugly looked at them and informed them my SISTER brought it to me. HOW DARE THEY INSINUATE I WOULD USE SOMEONE FOR FOOD!

Not only was she jealous. But now all the men I work with want to date her for her apparently amazing cooking skills. Only problem being, she kind of dates the guy who could get them all fired.

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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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