Why haven't I bought peanut butter? I don't know, Blog. I don't know. I think it's just that I kept forgetting for some reason. And then I forgot enough to where I don't even think about it anymore. I might have at first regretted my forgetfulness once I returned home with no peanut butter in hand after a trip to the grocery store, but now it's gotten to the point where it's not even part of my life anymore. It's really sad to think about since peanut butter and I used to have such a strong and involved relationship. What's more is that I had a taste of peanut butter over the weekend and now my palate has been reminded of the glory it holds within its sticky substance. Blog, I must break this strange and accidental habit I've acquired over the course of 2011 and buy some goddamned peanut butter. It's time.
In other news, here are some things that I hate and love...
I hate parallel parked cars that don't understand how much space they are taking up. Either you get your ass flush with that yellow line, or you go elsewhere. I understand you want some wiggle room between yourself and your parallel parked car neighbors, but five feet is too much. If you can fit two of you in the space you've so selfishly taken for yourself, then I think I should be allowed to attempt to violently park my boat of a car in the half a space you've so graciously left me in order to give you an updated lesson in parallel parking etiquette.
I hate that band The Decemberists. I don't like how their music sounds and I don't like the lead singer's voice. What don't I like about their music? I don't know. Those melodies rub me the wrong way. I find them boring, predictable, and sickening. That guy's voice is whiny and annoying. Enough said.
I hate the band The Hold Steady for many of the reasons I stated above for hating The Decemberists. Boring melodies, don't like that lead singer's voice. Most of all? Stop rhyming so much. Just. Stop. I can't handle rhyming for the sake of rhyming, unless it's a clever sonnet or something. But The Hold Steady isn't made up of clever sonnets. It's made up of a dude yelling rhymes into a microphone with a boring guitar riff playing in the background.
I hate being super hungover, like I was yesterday. I also hate shots of jag and gin and tonics combined with copious amounts of wine. This may or may not be related to why I hate being hungover. It's hard to tell since memories of Saturday night are fuzzy. All I know is that feeling like someone is drilling into the left side of your head is not the best way to spend a Sunday. Also, falling down on your way home from the bar might be a sign that it's time to stop with the alcohol intake. Just a thought.
I hate that the person who's clothes are taking up both dryers downstairs doesn't have a proper concept of time. Your shit's been dry for 45 minutes sir/madam. Make the trek down to the basement to gather your garments so I can dry mine. Lord knows the moment I go down there and remove those clothes myself, you're going to enter into that chilly dungeon of a laundry room and things are going to get real awkward real fast.
But you know what?
I love how it smells down there right now. Though you are pokey with your laundry pick up, I'm curious as to what detergent you're using. It smells magnificent and if I could make my wardrobe carry that scent all my troubles would come to an end, I am certain of it.
I love being really hungry and knowing exactly what I want to eat. Tonight it was macaroni and cheese. The craving actually started last night when I for some reason found myself mesmerized by this ridiculousness:
Three quarters of a box of mac and cheese later, I'm pleasantly stuffed. But what I love even more than eating mac and cheese when it's all I want in the whole wide world, is washing each bite down with a sip of cold milk. Oh the dairy! The dairy of it all!! Thank you cows. You are my favorite kind of livestock right now.
I love calling lunch dinner and dinner supper. It brings me back to the days of eating gravy bread at the kitchen table and fruit cocktail for dessert all while silently judging my brother who wouldn't wash his dinner (or supper for that matter) down with a glass of milk but instead drank boring tap water that ended up giving us all giardia. Reason number 1,583 why milk is way better than any other beverage (besides wine) ever in the world.
I loved Saturday night up until I got so drunk I couldn't form thoughts in my mind. That was most of the night for the record. To be a part of such a great group of people and have my spot there with everyone was a really great and entirely new experience for me. Everyone had their person, and everyone had each other. The guys had the guys, the girls had the girls and we all loved each other at the end. Of course, then Jon bought me that shot of jag and things were downhill from there. But up until that moment: magic.
I love this song on the radio right now. Of course I have no idea what the song is or who sings it, but I like it because it is interesting for me to listen to. The word "naked" is part of the lyrics. There is sycopation going on. An overarching melody is happening in the chorus. Sing it mystery band. All in all, the tune reminds me of some of the metal bands my college boyfriend and I would listen to as we drove the strip in Bemidji for hours and hours on end during our freshman year just so we could get some alone time with one another, though this song isn't quite metal. Also now that I'm an adult, I don't need to take refuge in a 1992 Ford Explorer for some solitude. I like, Blog. I like. No, love.
Oh, and we mustn't forget. I love this guy. I love this guy on his buffalo: