The Buzz Kill on My Holiday Spirit

I know, I know I've been absolutely miserable at this whole blog thing. I was officially taken off bed rest three weeks ago and I haven't stopped since. However, the good news is is that while I've been running around with my head cut off I've been able to experience some interesting things.

For example...

I always enjoy the holiday season and the spirit of charity and goodwill that it breeds. The other night, while merrily riding my bike through the streets of Santa Monica, I began to feel an overwhelming sense of Christmas. I don't know if it was the haphazard display of lights along apartment buildings or the Christmas music always blaring outside my door, but I was feeling quite jolly. I took this feeling into my local grocery store and proceeded to smile even when some moron thought fifty items constituted a place in the "Express Lane" or when another woman wanted me to hold her place so she could run back to the butcher and get another pork chop. No, nothing could kill my Christmas spirit.

And then, I walked outside. You all have seen these people before. They ring a simple bell and as you past, they ask, "Could you spare some change for the holiday season?" As I began to explain that I didn't have any cash, BUT that I would have given all that I had if I could, the boy holding the bell said, "Yeah whatever, who cares about the people who have nothing. Go enjoy your warm house." Immediately, I was taken aback and started to say, "No, really I never carry cash." To which he replied, "No seriously, I get it - it's all about you this season." I didn't know what to say. So, I said all I could in a very passive-aggressive, sort of running away mumble, "Oh, that's awesome. Now I really want to give." To which, the boy with the bell said, "I heard that. Merry Freaking Christmas."

Wow, apparently the holiday season is not only about celebrating the spirit of giving, but harassing and demoralizing those individuals who refuse to give.

Mark Twain Was A Racist

Tonight the following conversation took place with a good friend of mine, who will remain nameless...

(Conversation Topic: Recommendations of Classics)

Friend: Have you read Tom Sawyer as an adult?

Kate: No. I was never a fan when I was kid.

Friend: Really? I think you should read it again. You know Mark Twain was a total racist - so you would probably like the book.

Yeah, I'm not sure what that means either. I don't know if this is one of those "Ah Ha" moments, that Oprah always talks about, where I need to re-evaluate my behavior or just a really funny comment. I'm choosing to go with the latter.

Mind you, this was also the same conversation that produced this comment - from a Lit major no less...

Friend: You should also re-read Catcher in the Rye...it's got a swear word in it.

Day 3 of Bed Rest

What to write about? Hmmm...Do you want to hear about all the shows I've been watching? How about how many times I have checked Facebook and am forced to see another Halloween picture of some high school friends' child? Or the results I've found from googling "over stimulated ovaries?" No? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

Well, it goes without said, that today has been incredibly productive. I managed to make a "To Do List" at about 9:30 in the morning and I am proud to announce I finished three of the ten things I wrote down. Sure, I didn't learn how to knit, but let's be honest, the fact that I had "Download and watch V" as number 2 on my list doesn't really constitute a serious "endeavor to get something done."

Outside of watching V, I did do some downloading of music, and while doing this fantastically cheap exercise (got to love the Russians) I had a very sad realization: I've become old. As I listened through the Top Ten downloads all I could think was, "This isn't music." And "Do kids these days find this music lasting?" Oh man, put me in the right lane with my mini van, my blinker on and point me to soccer practice.

Then to make matters worst, without even realizing it, I with unabashed excitement stumbled upon INXS and proceeded to download a lot of songs. I mean a lot of songs. Then with as much care as I could muster, and in no way disturbing my ovaries, began to sing and bob my head to songs like "Mystify" and "Kick." Don't know what those are? Well they were written in 1987!! I guess this is it. The moment when I decide I'm going to wear the same jeans for the next ten years, say things like, "Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt," drink more water and go to bed at 10:30.

Please someone come to my house and make me wear skinny jeans and sing Lady Gaga.

Day 2 of Bed Rest

You know you are leading a rather strange life when you go the hospital again within the month and the nurses and doctors all recognize you. Yes, folks, on Monday I got to enjoy another fun filled day at the hospital. Unfortunately, this time it wasn't about making a spectacle at work, or passing out and unconsciously yelling at paramedics. No, this time it was just about good ol' knee crumbling pain. Okay, as you can probably tell I have a hard time dealing with real issues in a non-sarcastic way - so let me cut to the chase. I did some drugs, in order to get pregnant (not to relive some college days), saw some success, my body ran with it, overreacted and led to some serious pain. Now I'm on bed rest for the next two weeks and well...after sitting in bed for two days I've come to some conclusions. 1. I need to dust more in my bedroom. 2. I really should take more naps during the day. 3. Getting pregnant is not as easy as my fifth grade health teacher taught. Actually, I would like to find that lady and kick her in the ovaries. (It's my eye for an eye philosophy) and 4. Dr. McDreamy (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) should really quit this whole lawyer gig and think about becoming a murse. He's fantastic.

So, don't worry you five readers I have - I'll be up and running in no time. And then it's off to Hillendale Elementary to find that hateful woman...

If I'm a U2 Fan Am I Old?

A couple of weeks ago Wayne Newton (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I had the privilege of seeing U2 in concert. Simply put - it was amazing. First, Black Eyed Peas opened up the show, and I have to admit, that Fergie can seriously sing and their music does cause a very involuntary head bob. Second of all, the stage for this concert was unreal. I just did a little Wikipedia search and learned that the stage consists of a million screens, each 164 feet tall leg carries it's own sound system and it requires 120 trucks to transport each of the 3 sets constructed to support the tour AND the cost of each structure is between £15 million and £20 million. (I heart Wikipedia and I believe everything I read on it.) Thirdly, I couldn't believe the range of songs they played. I heard songs from my past that I never thought I would hear live.

And lastly, and probably the greatest part of the show, were the fans that showed up to see U2. I guess I fall under this category since I was there, but I couldn't believe who I was surrounded by. It was like the 1980s rounded up a stadium of people, aged them 20 years and gave them U2 tickets. Everywhere I looked were bald guys and "mama jean" wearing women dressed in ragged old Joshua Tree t-shirts, smoking pot and dancing like complete lunatics. Have these people been doing anything since Bono went from an Irish punk kid to a political activist?

Anyway, if you get the chance see this tour. You will not be disappointed by the acts all around.

I'm You

Today at work I was asked about a thousand times what I was for Halloween...and then scolded about a thousand times for not dressing up AND for not going out. I'm sorry, I thought at 30 my Halloween responsibilities were temporarily on hold until my own children throw a sheet over their heads and head out for their own personal sugar overdose. Apparently, not.

Okay, I will admit I do love Halloween. I mean who doesn't love all the good times. For example, while I was growing up I got to experience some amazing Mom-made costumes:

1. "Tourist" (This consisted of me putting a Hawaiian shirt on and camera around my neck)
2. "Plumber" (Yep, I got to carry around a plunger)
3. "A Camper" (This one was actually sort of practical. All night I carried around a canteen and a metal pack. I was hydrated and I had room for my candy)

When I got to college Halloween became my favorite day of the year. (Mostly because I could act drunk all night and wear my retainers - it was sort of a dream come true.) No seriously, things were going really well with costumes until my senior year. As a class, we decided to be rappers or gangsters. (Honestly, after growing up in Chadds Ford I'm not sure what's the difference, but I have seen Yo MTV Raps so I was down with the hood.) Anyway, that night I dressed in baggy pants, a basketball jersey and put a cap on backwards. I then got some fake tattoos on my arms and carried a toy gun in my waist (just in case someone wanted to mess with me) and headed out. As I was dancing with my friends an African American walked up to me, not in a costume but suspiciously looking like me, and asked, "What are you supposed to be?" After, looking around for the exits, I sheepishly said, "Well fine sir, I suppose I'm supposed to be...you." Yes, to answer your next question, it was incredibly awkward.

The Aftermath

As you might all remember I had a little "episode" at work that involved me passing out and being carried out in a stretcher by some paramedics. Since then, I'm happy to report I've been feeling great and fully using that fainting spell to my advantage. For example, if I don't feel like working I'll say something like, "Man, I'm feeling a little light headed. I think I need some pancakes." (and then pancakes will magically appear). Or if I find myself on break too long I'll say, "Sorry I was just contemplating how much I enjoy being conscious." I figure I've got a couple more weeks to milk it and then, well...I might be doing a little falling down in the bathroom...if you know what I mean.

I have to say as awesome as it has been faking sickness to get free food and extra time on my break, I've also had to endure some awkward moments. For example, co-workers and customers, who happened to be there the day of the event, constantly ask me if I'm drinking enough water. (I suppose I'll have to start wearing a Camelback to get everyone to shut up.) Secondly, co-workers and customers love telling me their story of the day. Like it wasn't bad enough passing out in a public restaurant, but I also have to endure a bad rendition of the movie Vantage Point (look this movie up and then this joke will be funny) every time someone wants to tell me how pale I looked that day.

And lastly, I have to deal with the stupid paramedics, who came to my rescue, tell me once a week how low my heart rate was, how angry I was with their constant questions AND how they are still convinced I was suffering from an almost heroin overdose. Yes, I did say heroin. After all their accusing looks, I finally had to tell them I've got my heroin down to a "manageable level" so they could high five each other and scream to the heavens, "WE KNEW IT!"

So, what am I doing now? 1. Drinking lots of water. 2. Leaving used syringes around the restaurant whenever the paramedics come. 3. And telling customers it wasn't about hydration, but about heroin...

...Things are going well.

I'm Not a Racist

I work with an interesting co-worker. We'll call her Tonya. Tonya happens to be an African American, and for some reason, always finds a way to remind me of this fact. Now before you go calling the NCAAP on me, I should mention that her daily reminders are not the result of me making repeated racist statements towards her or her race. Instead, it's just that she makes bizarre statements that make me awkwardly go, "Oh yeah. You're black and I'm white. Cool. That's awesome." For example, I asked her why she always drinks chocolate milk when she gets to work. She answered, "Of course, I drink chocolate milk. Look at my skin." To which, makes me stiffly nod my head and say, "Oh yeah, I love regular milk...because I'm white." Another example: I asked her which cookie out of our pastry case she likes the most. She answered: "I like the chocolate brownie." And before I could ask why, she said, "You know, because I'm black." Again, I had to fight not scrunching my eyes together and saying, "Yeah, that makes sense. I like the cheese coffee cake...because I'm white."

I don't know what I'm supposed to do in these situations. Is she waiting for me to actually say something racist so she can say, "Ah ha. I told you I was black. I can't believe you said that!!!?" Should I say thanks for her believing in me and knowing that I don't see color or race? Do I start answering her questions the same nonsensical way? Like, when she asks me, "What did you do yesterday?" I answer, "I played ice hockey, ate crackers and danced really bad...because I'm white." I just don't know.

I guess the only thing I do know is that I will continue to ask her questions like, "Black or pinto beans with your tacos? Young Michael Jackson or old Michael Jackson? Coffee with cream or without? Jet magazine or Newsweek? Obama or Bush? Bengal tigers or panthers? Day or night? Black Sea or Mediterranean Sea? Salt or Pepper? I can only dream what her answers will be...

The Episode

I wouldn't call myself a typical attention getter, but sometimes I just need the spotlight to be on me for once...So, on Thursday that's what I decided to do. Oh, and I should mention I didn't go the "standard" route of doing a little dance or singing a song. No, I decided in the middle of a busy work day, and at a public restaurant, I would pass out. I know, great idea! It was perfect. One minute I was loading boxes of drinks into the fridge and the next second I was seeing double and mumbling incoherent things.

Okay, since only my twisted sense of humor is finding this funny, I had a little episode on Thursday that involved me being sort of passed out for a few hours. The diagnosis was dehydration, but I'm shooting for over work because that's apparently what I told the paramedic when he asked me what was wrong with me. (I don't remember doing this, but apparently I pointed to my manager and said, "She works me too hard." Got to love that I still have a sense of humor even when I'm two sheets to the wind.) Don't worry you faithful readers (who must be faithful because I write about once a month) I'm doing great now. I'm hydrated, conscious and ready to be overworked this week.

Enjoy the video of me waking up after being passed out for a few hours. (Don't I have a loving husband who is always there to catch my highs and lows...)

Whatever Columbus

As I've discussed before I attend church with rather interesting people. For example, there's the woman who loves to make comments during Sunday school while wearing a napkin bib and eating mouthfuls of lunch. There's the blind lady who can play any hymn by memory. And there's the deaf old lady, who laughs out loud - of course not knowing she's doing it - in the middle of the sacrament. (She's sort of my favorite)

Now you would think I've become accustomed to the craziness in my church, but actually, I'm still surprised each Sunday by the new level of "colorfulness" my church can produce. For example, yesterday was what we call Fast Sunday. Once a month we as a church fast for the day, and participate in an open meeting where anyone can get up and say whatever they like. Typically, people get up to discuss faith promoting experiences and bear their testimonies of the church. However, in my church, we never know what is going to happen.

Yesterday, a woman got up and started to discuss the importance of the holiday season. At first, Dr. Feelgood (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I thought she was talking about Columbus Day - because that was the closest holiday we could come up with. (Well, that and "Athletic Day" which apparently is being celebrated in Tokyo right now, but probably not on her radar.) Anyway, she sat down and we all nodded our heads in agreement that tomorrow (today) we would go out kill a Native American, throw them off their land and declare it for Spain. (Isn't that what you do to celebrate Columbus Day?)

After the meeting, we all shuffled into Sunday School and at the end of the lesson the Columbus Day Proponent raised her hand and announced she wanted to say something. The teacher, knowing this could be anything, tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted it would only take a minute. After hesitating for a couple of awkward seconds, the teacher gave her the podium, and with a bang of her hand, she announced, "Listen it's Christmas today and you aren't fooling me. You need to feed the homeless." Christmas? Homeless? I literally laughed out loud. I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't keep it in. I mean first, how cool would it be to always think it's Christmas Day? I mean, that's the coolest day of the year. And secondly, who cares about Columbus Day? She's right. Forget the Explorer/Genocide Poster Child* and bring on the gifts...and feed the homeless.

*Sorry I'm still a little disillusioned from my college Genocide Class

Something That Will Never Happen Again

Last weekend Usain Bolt (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) decided he would run 26.2 miles. After a tough week of training, which consisted of working and sitting diligently at a desk, Usain hopped in the car and said, like a true Olympian, "Let's just get this thing over."















On Saturday morning, he woke up, ate an English Muffin, that would later come back to haunt him, pulled on his jeans (we forgot it was going to be cold) and climbed onto a cold school bus that took his fellow runners up the canyon. At 6:45, the gun went off, indicating the race had started, and everyone started to cross the start line. Ten minutes later, after Usain decided to pull his jeans off, give his last pieces of clothing away, and without stretching, because let's be honest whoever said that was a good idea, took off and started weaving through the "slower people." According to Usain, the first five miles were absolutely torturous. His delightful pairing of an english muffin and a gatorade started to swirl his stomach, his Ipod didn't work and a small cramp started in his calf. But, like the great Cake song, "He's Going the Distance" states,

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
And long ago somebody left with the cup.
But he's striving and driving and hugging the turns,
And thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

Cause he's going the distance.
He's going for speed.*

And Usain truly was going the distance.

Eventually, I was able to catch up with Usain at mile 18. He looked good, outside of the fact that he threw his Ipod and running belt at me, and shuffled on with a grunt. (Seriously, he looked like he was on mile 4. Later, he described that point as the "wall," but I couldn't tell.) From mile 18, I followed Usain into town. Lining the streets were marching bands, signs and cheering fans. Unfortunately, because of Usain's overwhelming speed, and me running through a crowd with a camera, video camera and bike, I missed him crossing the actual finish line, but I'm sure we all can imagine how cool that must have been.

When I finally found Usain he looked me in the eye, and with an exhausted face, simply said, "I'm never doing that again." I don't know if those were words of confusion, dehydration or of misguided agony, but I hope, like many of you, that I'll see the great Usain run one more time...

Laundry Day

So, maybe this blog has become too revealing, but I sort of love putting Jeremiah's (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) clothes on and making him laugh.

Here was my one of my favorites while folding laundry.



Happy Thursday!

Take Me Out To the Ballgame, or Buy Me Online for 19.99

You know what happens when Babe Ruth (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I attend a baseball game? Well, first we settle into our seats. Then we intently cheer through the first five innings. Then we start looking around. And then, finally, we decide that the guy behind us has a mail order bride and we must take a picture of it...discreetly.

Seriously, this guy was about thirty years older than this sweet girl.

Actually, the best part of this picture is that while we were taking it the people next to us asked if we wanted them to take our picture because we were holding Babe Ruth's camera at such a weird angle. I then, after Babe told me to, told them that we were actually ten years old, and we were taking the picture of the mail order bride behind us. To which, they turned around and started laughing. Good times at Angels' Stadium!

I'm So LA

Here's a creepy picture of me "before." Notice the unhappy countenance. Darn those capillaries and their confidence sucking presence.

I'm now officially "LA." On Saturday, I was talked into heading down to the original General Hospital, or the hospital at USC, to be lasered by my brother-in-law. Why would I allow my brother-in-law to laser me? Well, we have a strange relationship...

Okay seriously, outside of being a sadist, my brother-in-law also moonlights as a dermatology resident. And for free, or for me, he was able to laser some broken capillaries on my face. It was pretty cool, outside of the fact, that the head resident looked at my face and said, "Now will we be getting your chin too?" And I had to respond with, "Um, no that is a zit." Oh, and the fact that I had to just clench my eyes shut while they lasered a capillary about 2cm from my face. But, hey it was free.*



Now when people talk about "getting some work done," I can join in and say that I too have dabbled with a few procedures, and then shake my dry martini around and talk about the merits of building a wall around the 10 to keep the rift raft out. (Sorry that's LA talk)


Here's a shot of my bruising...oh and my awesome seats at the Angel's Game. Look at the confidence beginning to rise. Thanks Lasers!!

* Jeff you know I appreciate the laser and I apologize for my ungrateful rant.

A Real Mentor

For the past couple of months I have been serving as the second counselor in the Young Womens Organization. (For those of you not of my faith, this is an organization geared towards helping and teaching teenage girls from the ages 12 to 18.) At first, I thought this was the perfect calling for me and I would be a great mentor to these girls. Unfortunately, I'm beginning to realize 1. I wasn't a very good young woman and 2. I still think like that 15 year old young woman. For example, last Sunday the first counselor gave a lesson on self-discipline and making good choices. The lesson was going well until she read out of the manual a scenario and then asked us how we would have reacted in that situation.

Scenario:
Julie and her friends decided to attend a party at their friend's house. When they got to the party Julie realized the party was being unchaperoned and boys and girls were pairing off to go make out and heavy pet.* Julie wanted to leave but was stopped by a boy she had liked for a long time....What should Julie do?

Kate's Answer:
Go outside. Making out in some dark basement is weird and uncomfortable. Have him walk you home. That way you leave the "bad" party and you might score a kiss.

First Counselor's Answer:
Julie should call her parents to come pick her up.

Kate's Thoughts:
I hope Julie likes spending Prom Night at home with those same parents who picked her up.

As you can see, I'm not the right person for this job.

*As long as I live I will always snicker at this phrase. Sometimes I'll roughly slam my hand down along LT's arm (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and say, "Hey are you in the mood for some heavy petting?"

TGIF

The other day Jaleel White came into the restaurant. I know, Jaleel White. I couldn't believe it myself - of all the celebrities. Oh, you don't know who Jaleel White is? Um, are you also going to tell me that you didn't count off the days until TGIF started and you got to watch not only Perfect Strangers, Full House, Step by Step annndd Family Matters?? Are you going to tell me you didn't laugh every time Uncle Jesse complained about his bunny rabbit bedroom or how Balki Bartokomous would say the craziest things?

Okay, for those of who didn't grow up in the blessed 1990s Jaleel White played one of the most annoying characters, named Steve Urkel, on a "hilarious"* show called Family Matters. Honestly, even at 12 years old, I couldn't figure out why people thought he was funny.

Anyway, when he walked into the restaurant you could tell he was trying to act all important and "celebrity like." For example, he kept pulling out this wad of money and telling his friend about his new Range Rover, (Which I think is an even trade for being known as Steve Urkel for the rest of your life.) Finally, when he turned the corner to get his table I pulled out a hundred dollar bill from my register and said to my friend, "100 bucks if you drop a plate of food by his table and say, Did I do thatt??" I truly would have paid good restaurant money, and come up with an air tight explanation for the lack of 100 dollars in my register, to have see that.

*And when I say hilarious I mean not funny at all.

Television For Women

Last Sunday afternoon I got caught in what can only be described as a terrible misstep. No, I didn't light a cigarette during Sunday school. Nor did I speak out about my favorable views on heavy petting while teaching the Young Women. Instead, my gross error happened while flipping channels after church. (Again, don't get ahead of me - I didn't start watching porn.) No instead, I found myself becoming strangely intrigued by a movie called "Decent Proposal" on the Lifetime channel. I don't know what sucked me in: the absolutely horrible acting or the mind numbing dialogue, but before I knew it was screaming things like, "Jimbo (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband), can you believe her rich husband tried to kill her painter boyfriend?!!"

Honestly, what is up with this channel? First, who are writing these movies? Do they enjoy watching women suffer? Are they all closet rapists and past abused women that are incapable of telling normal stories? Secondly, how come this channel, that poses itself as "a channel for women" only tell stories of infidelity, rape, kidnap, divorce and misfortune? Am I missing something as a woman? Should I be out kidnapping my neighbor's kid and running from the law? Would that make me more of a woman? Thirdly, who, and seriously, I want to know the answer to this question, are trying out for these parts? Does Lifetime only look for struggling actors who have actually never acted before, but learned in order to look sad you have to actually face the camera and make a frown? I swear I saw better acting in my Drama Camp. (Shout out to my fifth grade cast of Pandora's Box). And lastly, why do women support this channel? I had a roommate who every day after work would watch one of these ridiculous movies. Women, we have to join together and stop this madness. We'll take Project Runway, but we want the rest of your movies gone, such as "Hush: A woman moves with her husband to his old hometown, only to discover the his old girlfriend has a deadly obsession with him" and "Cradle of Lies: A woman and her husband get pregnant with a girl. The husband isn't happy because he needs a son in order to inherit his fortune." What the hell?

Lifetime: Television to degrade the sanctity and sanity of women.

Nacho Head

The other day a woman walked in and asked, "Are your eggs organic?" Because in my mind, whenever I hear "organic" I instantly picture a space age lab, with lots of men in shiny suits, growing animals and vegetables out of recycled paper and aluminum cans (which is sort of the opposite of organic) I hesitated for two seconds before answering a less than confident, "Yeah." She, being incredibly irritable from not eating good ol' American processed food, asked, "Are you sure?" To which I replied, "Yeah absolutely," while again picturing a group of scientists watching in glee as their artificial chicken lays an egg. Again, my annoying customer, sensing my distracted answer asked if I would go and ask a chef. Always wanting to serve a customer, I walked over to Miguel, a rather lovable Mexican, who was grating some cheese and told him to nod his head. The customer could see us both, but could not hear what I was saying. Therefore, I just wanted Miguel, who by the way, doesn't really speak English, to just nod his head. (That way the crazy loon would think I asked and she could go choke on some magical eggs.) His response I think cleared everything up for everyone involved...When I said, with my hand on his shoulder, "Nod your head," he said, "Who you callin' Nacho Head?"

I'll take that as a yes...

Too Much Of a Good Thing

I've always believed in the adage, "You can never have too much of a good thing." For example, I could honestly have a full body massage every night before I went to bed. I could watch 8 seasons of 24 consecutively over 8 days. And, I could watch Top 10 plays from ESPN while eating Cheerios every morning until the day I die.

However, the other night I realized some good things are better in moderation. Take for example a celestial place called Yogurtland. I don't know if this heaven on earth is found anywhere but California, but let me explain the beauty of this place. First, you are given a small tub and directed to choose any amount of yogurt from 10 flavors. After, you try 8 out of 10 flavors, and finally, fill your tub with "Nonfat" magic, you move on to the bar of toppings. Now, we are not talking about some syrups, marshmallows and a few nuts. No, we are talking every kind of candy, fruit, cake, cookies, paint thinner, spices from Fiji and anything else you can imagine would go on Yogurt. And, here's the kicker...you can put on as much as you want. You can mix and match. You can go fruit for one second and then dazzle the crowd with snickers and chunks of cheesecake because in the end you just weigh the sucker and pay by the ounce.

Now, last Friday I experienced this place for the first time. And by my third visit, on Sunday, I was going virtually crazy with the toppings. I remember as I slurped up in one spoon full some Vanilla Wafer Yogurt, Captain Crunch, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries and Japenese Mochee I thought, "I could literally eat and bath in this everyday."

...Then Thursday night came and as I looked down at my tub of toppings my whole world came crashing down. I had hit my wall and I was about to throw up.

So, I guess the bad news is I won't be becoming a regular at Yogurtland. However, the good news is I won't be making any more kids cry while I yell at them to hurry up with the Fruiti Pebbles so I can finish my masterpiece of yogurt.

Cause and Effect

Question: Why do you go to a Dodgers' game wearing the opposing team's jersey and clutching a foam tomahawk?

Answer: Because you are an idiot...now kill yourself.


Question: How do you properly celebrate a walk off homerun to beat, not only the Braves, but the loser who is clutching a foam tomahawk?

Answer: The following video.