I want to be peanut butter because then I would only know love. The only person that doesn’t like peanut butter is my mom and all she does is make that icky face. That I can handle.
She wouldn’t yell at peanut butter, take it away from my father or me, or pick up a jar at the grocery store and throw it into the tank to be eaten by lobsters.
I want to be peanut butter because you wouldn’t know conflict. The biggest decisions are smooth or chunky and either way it’s still me. It’s like the sensitive me or the sarcastic me. I’m happy if you enjoy either one.
I want to be peanut butter because everyone can have me, no economic class is out of my reach. Everyone can afford me, everyone can enjoy me, I am accessible to the masses. I can serve and give to all.
I want to be peanut butter because whenever someone has me, they have difficulty not smiling*. And they definitely don’t frown. I’ve made them happy.
*Except for my mom.
Last Wednesday I wrote a blog about The Loneliness of the Brita and my lack of good water-cooler chat. So I repeat that format to get over this hump day like everyone else and just make random statements.
The photo above was taken at a fast-food establishment which I probably shouldn’t name but it rhymes with Bubway. My question is what is a turkey bacon avocado? Is the turkey and bacon where the pit usually is and this is some kind of strange genetic engineering. It scares me.
I’ve never yelped. Not even once.
It’s kind of sad that Hump Day comes only two days after the start of the work week. Are we really that tired or bored that fast?
I forgot so much I learned in math in school. I heard the word perimeter the other day and had to look it up to remember what it meant. So the teachers were wrong; you won’t use it in everyday life.
Rogaine is for suckers.
Peanut butter should be the fifth food group.
If dolphins are so smart, how come they never figure out how to break out?
My inner jukebox is playing that “Voulez-vous coucher aver moi ce soi” song this morning. Unfortunately that’s all the words it knows so it just keeps repeating.
I have a profile on OkCupid. I wrote this woman and she wrote back, asked what kind of performer I am. I told her magician. She disappeared.
If it’s such a smart phone, why do I have to tell it what to do.