Ridiculously Glorious Part Deux

For those of you that actually read these with some regularity, please lean back in your chair and chuckle in remembrance of 'Ridiculously Glorious.' This was a blog written in incredulous astonishment at the work colleague who took it upon herself to stretch the boundaries of decency and wear booty-cutters to the workplace. Complete with ass-cheek leakage and uterus viewing.
In you haven't - go read it now. Funny stuff.*

Well, since I'm always on the lookout for silly conversational fodder, and to my advantage it sometimes falls into my lap, consider my experience during a trip to my local grocer. Albertson's on Lincoln in Santa Monica, yes, I'm talking about you . . .

I was shopping for the necessary ingredients to make ice cream sundaes - nothing says 'Get Well Soon' better than ice cream, whipped cream, flavored syrupy sauce in fudge or caramel (I mean, really. Who eats the pineapple sauce? I'll never understand.), topped with nuts, cherries, and sprinkles.

Since I was buying with someone else in mind and have yet to have cracked the code as to his favorite flavor of dairy delight

I browsed.

I searched.

I read flavors carefully with the scrutiny of a fatty satisfying the jones of her next sugar fix.
Vanilla? Chocolate? Strawberry? Too pedestrian.

Dulce de Leche? Rocky Road? Too complicated.

Cookies and cream? Mint chocolate chip? Sooooo junior high.*

As I peered through the frosted glass of flavor upon flavor upon deliciousness . . . My breath caught in my throat. The air rushed out of my lungs. My mouth hung open in suprise:
There is an ice cream flavor called Fudge Tracks.*

People, I'm not kidding. It's made by a perfectly reputable ice cream company called Dreyers.
But seriously, when I was growing up 'fudge tracks' were something to be avoided at all costs. Because if you didn't your mom would find the pair of offensive drawers and bring it immediately to your 5 year old attention by yelling at you while waving said drawers in front of your face. While your friends are over. Playing Chutes and Ladders or maybe a rousing game of CandyLand.

"But I wiped!" is simply not a good enough excuse.

A girl in junior high PE unknowingly displayed her 'fudge tracks' during the mandatory shower after class. We pointed. We made fun. She didn't have many friends.

THOSE are fudge tracks. NOT an overpriced dairy dessert.

What ice cream exec ever thought that this flavor would be okay and gave final approval? Thought it might be tasty? Tantalizing? Mouth-watering? Dreyer's fucking Fudge Tracks.
Ridiculous. Glorious.

Footnotes:
- Seriously go read it. I'm a big fan of utterly shameless self-promotion. It'll be worth your while. If not, I'll give you a dollar. I'm good for it.

- Also, I'd like to mention that I couldn't pick the chocolate flavors anyway because I'm deathly allergic. And please save the 'you can't eat chocolate? but YOU'RE chocolate?!' bullshit. It's unoriginal. I call myself Hershey for obvious reasons, not because I love the cocoa bean but because I have ample amounts of melanin and I wear it well.

- I would've have liked to take a picture of the half gallon of dairy dessert with the camera phone for verification purposes, but I left it in the car. I was expecting a call but not trying to wait by the phone for it so I could "accidentally" miss it and be mysteriously unavailable. You KNOW you do that shit too. So, sorry. But I'm not making this up; Fudge Tracks are real.

Please don't eat them. Please.

On Second Thought . . .

You know how your whole life people have told you what the next step should be?
Elementary school. Junior high. High school. College. Good job. Marriage. Kids. White picket fence perfection?

I'm being held hostage in my friend's apartment listening to her argue with her boyfriend. I know she screamed

i hate you.

you don't understand me, either.

fuck you.

how does it come to that? i don't understand.

i've never been good at relationships - getting one, keeping one, ending one in a mature and noble and mature fashion my mom would be proud of. i simply lack the knack. i lack the knack.
i'm just being honest.

and yet - the next step on my life's roadmap dictates that i enter into a verbal agreement with someone. promise to bend over backwards. hold my ankles while he fucks me when i'd rather be enjoying vh1's celebreality.

and now, when i think i might want to stop accepting applications. because maybe i can handle one now. maybe i'm a big girl. maybe he's just around the corner or right in front of me. pick a well-qualified candidate and take the next step

i'm being held hostage in my friend's apartment and she's still screaming.

i don't want that.

i want sex everyday. i want suprises. i want kisses in the middle of the night. i want our major compromises to be mexican or chinese. is that wrong?

i'm throwing my roadmap away. someone's given me the wrong directions.

The Search Continues

Noah and I are looking for a roommate. We took an ad out on Craigslist. And it went a little something like this right here:

See, it's like this. We have a cool house and we're cool people. There's two of us, a guy and a girl. One is black so if you're a racist or believe that Black people steal then this place is obviously not for you. Brentwood may be available. Oh yeah, the other is white. So, if you subscribe to reverse racism and think "The Man" is the root of all evil and wrong in this world, then this place isn't for you either. I don't know where those people go to breed and/or create a livelihood. Try Brentwood? Mar Vista? Actually you're on your own, you bigoted bastard.

I will be completely matter of fact and list the pros and cons of the place:

Pros - Santa Monica address - people will think you're cool and hip. Plus we're close to SMC to you can feel smart simply by geographical osmosis.

Washer/dryer - You won't need quarters anymore! You'll no longer really have an excuse to keep a sock full of quarters by your bed as a makeshift weapon or coin purse, but think of all the telescopes you can gaze into at the pier! (We're close that too.)

Street parking - There's tons. Sometimes a guy with a Vespa who lives across the street hogs curb space, but we simply laugh at him behind his back. Sometimes we kick it when he's not looking. Stupid Vespa.

Hardwood floors - Great for sock hops and makeshift slip-n-slides. Newly remodeled kitchen - So you can cook stuff and impress your friends. Or defrost like I do. Either way, your kitchen is definitely better than everyone else's you know. Unless they are millionaires and live in the hills and in that case, why don't you go live with them instead?

Utilities included - Go ahead. Leave that light on. Energy crisis, shmenergy crisis. Facilities - You live in a house instead of an apartment. How cool and grown up are you now? Very. And when delivery people ask you what the apt. number or floor is you can smugly reply, "It's a house." Be the asshole you've always wanted to be.

Full creative control of the decorating scheme - Right now our look is "new college graduate chic." We are ready for a new look. But no crazy girly candles and shit. Fuck that.

Cons - Extreme varying climate - My grandpa built the house and there is no central heat or air. It gets hot. It gets cold. We adapt. And by adapt we mean sweaters in the winter and fans in the summer. Pretend it's New York . . .by the beach!

The Door - For some reason there is a door through the master bedroom to the room in the back. Ah, grandpa was such a kidder. Since the master bedroom would be yours, you must be okay with this. The person in the back room (moi) usually uses her private entrance. Sometimes she will go through your room when you are not home to get to her own. As addressed in the intro paragraph, she does not steal.

Walls - The walls are kinda thin. Sometimes you hear things. Just pretend you didn't the next morning. Or cheer your housemate on silently and then laugh at them in the morning. Once again, we adapt. Right.

So now that you've read about the house you kinda know what you're getting into. We watch reality tv, we share food, no one steals, sometimes people have sex loud, we drink together, smoke weed often (more not than often, but worth mentioning), welcome porn and various vices, but no pets.
Room available for move in between Aug. 15 & September 1. Who's got dibs?