Dear Diary,
I read a story in the news today about a lady who saw the Virgin Mary's face in her grilled cheese, so she kept it in a box next to her bed for 10 years until she sold it on Ebay for $28,000. This has raised some serious philisophical questions for me.
1. How does she know it was the Virgin Mary's face and not, say, Britney Spears' face? Are they really that different?
2. If this were, in fact, a holy grilled cheese, wouldn't God want her to eat it? Or maybe give it to a homeless person?
3. If Mother Mary were sending this woman a message through the grilled cheese, I doubt that message was, "Hey, why don't you pimp me out for $28,000."
4. When I think, "Which sandwich would be a holy sandwich?" grilled cheese is not the one that comes to mind. Granted, I love grilled cheese and I hope that they are abundantly available in heaven. But I think the turkey club inspires more reverence. What sandwich would God use to send a message? Definitely the turkey club.
5. I'm going to pay a LOT more attention to my sandwiches from now on.
Love, Fluffy
23.11.04
8.11.04
There are More Important Things
Things I am obsessed with right now:
- Thanksgiving menus
- The two people in my office having an extra-marital affair
- Crossword puzzles
- Joe Jackson
- Colors of paint for my dining room (boston fern and baked brie: I picked by name.)
- My 6-month old nephew with the giant bald head and permanent bewildered expression (so fucking cute!!!)
- Labyrinth (Specifically, has Jennifer Connely had work done? Because her nose doesn't look like that anymore.)
- Rotating sushi bars
- Volvo station wagons
- Tiny bottles of coke
- Fuck politics
Love, Fluffy
1.11.04
Nancy Drew?
Dear Diary,
Newsflash: Staying home and giving out candy on Halloween sucks. Why should you be a prisoner in your own house, catering to the selfish demands of snot-nosed kids with lame costumes who don't even bother to say "Trick-or-Treat?" Never again, Diary.
Anyway, here's a short rundown (with commentary, of course) of this year's costumes:
Nancy Drew: If you have to announce what you are without being asked, you've got a lame costume.
Spider Man: I counted 7. And there's something creepy about a 3 year-old with fake muscles.
Robin: No, not Batman; Robin. Way to solidify your child's inferiority complex.
Horse: Awesome.
Dorothy: Thumbs up. Next time, bring a fake dog.
Prince Valiant: Gaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Angel: Creepy on a boy.
Crayola crayon: Gets points for being homemade. But still, a lame costume.
Crocodile Hunter: Awesome.
4 teenage girls dressed up like a barbershop quartet: Kind of cool... kind of dumb? I'm on the fence with this one.
Hippie demonstrator: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Pirate: Sadly, there were no pirates.
I don't think parents realize that their kids' costumes reflect their sense, or lack thereof, of creativity, irony, sense of humor, what have you. For example, my nieghbor down the street has two little boys. One was the Robin and one was the Prince Valiant. You gotta wonder about that family. The kids are like 3 and 4-- way too young to have come up with those ideas themselves. I'll never look at those parents the same.
Lesson learned: Don't dress your kid in a lame costume. OH! And do buy a gigantic fake spider for your front porch to scare the shit out of all the toddlers.
Love, Fluffy
Newsflash: Staying home and giving out candy on Halloween sucks. Why should you be a prisoner in your own house, catering to the selfish demands of snot-nosed kids with lame costumes who don't even bother to say "Trick-or-Treat?" Never again, Diary.
Anyway, here's a short rundown (with commentary, of course) of this year's costumes:
Nancy Drew: If you have to announce what you are without being asked, you've got a lame costume.
Spider Man: I counted 7. And there's something creepy about a 3 year-old with fake muscles.
Robin: No, not Batman; Robin. Way to solidify your child's inferiority complex.
Horse: Awesome.
Dorothy: Thumbs up. Next time, bring a fake dog.
Prince Valiant: Gaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Angel: Creepy on a boy.
Crayola crayon: Gets points for being homemade. But still, a lame costume.
Crocodile Hunter: Awesome.
4 teenage girls dressed up like a barbershop quartet: Kind of cool... kind of dumb? I'm on the fence with this one.
Hippie demonstrator: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Pirate: Sadly, there were no pirates.
I don't think parents realize that their kids' costumes reflect their sense, or lack thereof, of creativity, irony, sense of humor, what have you. For example, my nieghbor down the street has two little boys. One was the Robin and one was the Prince Valiant. You gotta wonder about that family. The kids are like 3 and 4-- way too young to have come up with those ideas themselves. I'll never look at those parents the same.
Lesson learned: Don't dress your kid in a lame costume. OH! And do buy a gigantic fake spider for your front porch to scare the shit out of all the toddlers.
Love, Fluffy
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