You know what’s not a good April Fool’s prank? Telling your mother you’re pregnant. Her face lights up like she’s won the lottery and she shakingly says, “really?” And get teary-eyed. And then you have to be an asshole and say, “Psyche, April Fool!” Only half-heartedly because a voice inside you tells you you’re a terrible, terrible person. And watch her face crumble, even though she tries to cover it up with a disapproving frown and a swat on the arm and an admonishment: “Ay, naku, hindi magandang biro yan!”*

It’s not a good joke if you’re a 29 year old spinster living in your mother’s house. I’m just sayin’. Nothing washes out the bitter taste in your mouth as soon as you realize, hey, you’ve disappointed your poor mother. Again. Like the time you didn’t major in Nursing, like she asked you to, Dionne!

*Tagalog = It’s not a good joke.

Oh man, I am so going to lose my hipster cred for this. There are certain things I like ironically: Mannequin 2: On the Move, the song “We don’t Have to Take Our Clothes Off” by Jermaine Stewart, American Idol, talking like I was raised in the projects even though I grew up in what can be classified as an upper middle class suburban neighborhood surrounded by white people, the Anita Blake books (Karen’s voice in my head: Bitch, who you kiddin’? You love that skank like a fat kid loves cake!)… you get the picture. At least that’s what I tell people when they come upon me seriously rocking out to “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves. Or “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross. Or… anything by the Pointer Sisters (up to and including “He’s so Shy”). I like to have my own movie montages in my head—oh, like you don’t. But here’s something I enjoy utterly and without irony (though I get embarrassed sometimes to admit it out loud): Songs That Tell a Story. Often they’re manipulative and designed to tug at your heartstrings. One of the biggest offenders, I think, is that fucker Kenny Chesney. His song, “Good Stuff” never fails to get me. Peep these lyrics:

Bouffant hair

Oh noez! The Cancer! Alcoholism! A man saved from his sorrows by sentimental memories of a “brand-new shirt that says ‘I’m a Grampa’”! That same old man imparts wisdom to a younger man who got in a fight with his girlfriend ’cause that bitch was probably being too “mouthy” or something. “Drink milk and think about the time she gave you a blow-job while you were speeding down the highway in your souped-up pretty little 4-wheel drive with Toby Keith playing in the background, you little scamp!”

(more…)

This day started out just like any other day: I woke up early in the morning, fulfilled my daily 1000-word quota, then headed for the lake by my house for a jog. I was sitting in my car, enjoying the rush of endorphins coursing through my body courtesy of the so-called runner’s high, when it struck me: this totally intense craving for the most disgusting food item on the planet— Taco Bell’s Meximelt. I grabbed my bag of baby carrots and shoved about four or five into my mouth, but they didn’t help satiate the gnawing hunger I felt deep in my stomach. I couldn’t fight it. So it is today, with a heavy heart, that I proclaimed it The One Day of the Year When I Eat a Taco Bell Meximelt.

As I bit into the cheesy, gooey, fake-meat goodness, I could only feel shame… and hear the resounding voice of my mother in my head, “It will only go straight to your thighs!” And yet… I also feel slightly wicked. Like I’m doing something very bad… and it is awesome…

I don’t normally eat fast food. Okay, that’s a TOTAL lie: I am a starving student AND writer— I can’t afford anything else but fast food. But I’ve always tried to avoid Taco Bell and have been successful in the past. The fake cheese, the just-add-water meat, the pathetically wilted lettuce-like things… oh so good. And disgusting. But one day of the year, I weaken—weaken, I tell you!— and indulge this dirty, dirty urge. Oh, the shame. Oh, the nutritional facts!

290 calories! 7 grams of fat! 16 grams of fat! If the 7 16 grams were cocaine, do you have any idea how much cocaine that is? Good thing it also comes with explosive diarrhea. That ought to fix things.

So, what food item is totally disgusting to you, but you can’t help but eat anyway?

[Source: Nutrion Data]

Yay, I’ve finally upgraded Wordpress…

I can’t get the sidebar to work. I’m thinking of killing something. Maybe kittens. Unless someone DOES something to help me.

Y’all, Tim is a god. Please send happy vibes his way since he is home sick with teh flu. Thanks, Tim!

My boyfriend is awesome. He’s gorgeous, considerate, understands my obsession with chocolate, and most of all, he’s funny. Here are a few examples of the conversations we have.

On my debilitating writer’s block

Hot French Canadian Boyfriend: Cherie, did you hear? The Writer’s Strike is over. You can go back to writing now.

[Palm to forehead]

On what to do at the beach

Me: We could totally have a picnic at the beach. We’ll have chicken, a nice bottle of wine, some cheese and bread, maybe strawberries…
Hot French Canadian Boyfriend: And some sex…
Me: Eww, I don’t want sand in my vagine. (pronounced “vah-geen”)
Hot French Canadian Boyfriend: You mean vagin. (pronounced “vah-gin”)
Me: That’s not as funny as vagine. You can just add an “e” at the end and it’d be funny.
Hot French Canadian Boyfriend: Totally. But that’s not how it is.
Me: The French suck.
Hot French Canadian Boyfriend: I’m Canadian.
Me: Whatever. I don’t want anyone seeing my vagine, anyway.
[beat]
Hot French Canadian Boyfriend: So are we still gonna go to the beach?

On cute nicknames

Me: You could totally call me a cute nickname in French, you know, like… I don’t know… mon petit ange.
HFCB: Wow, that’s totally gay. I call you “cherie” and “mon amour,” don’t I?
Me: Yeah, but… that’s so fromage.
HFCB: Well, you’re little. How about “ma petite”?
Me: Fuck off.
HFCB: (as I’m walking away) Wait, what did I say?

ETA: Did I mention that he doesn’t whine when I drag him to the cheap-o, smelly theaters where they play indy films and that he seems to actually like them?

“Hey, HFCB, tu veux observer ‘Le Scaphandre et le papillon’?”

“Mais oui, cherie.”

He’s so awesome.