Tag Archives: food

Dear Twenty-Somethings

16 Nov

Dear Twenty-Somethings,

Hey.  Hi.  Yeah.  We’re adults.  I like to think of us as adults.  I know, I know, bad economic times and all that jazz, who knows for how many years we’ll still be partially (or fully) dependent on our parents–

(helloooo I’m what polite society calls a “poet”.  What impolite society calls “unemployed with hardly any professional experience and definitely without a suit”)

(possibly a “good-for-nothing” or a “nothing-good-for” as I once said in grade school about the boy who was torturing me…

Hi Mike!  What’s up?  You’re probably a perfectly nice human being now, properly socialized into not pushing people down on the woodchips or throwing water balloons in their faces when it’s supposed to be a soft-toss.  Your blog looks fantastic, much fancier than thishere business.  Then again, I hear you make (made? you’re done? retired? go to hell)  a living designing and selling digital icons, so chances are good you know a lot of things I don’t.  Hope you’re well.  Say hi to your family for me. )

Adults: adults wear real clothes to work, not pajama pants or workout clothes, even if they are graduate students and therefore still on university campuses.  (Exception: adults who work at home! Yay!)  Adults do not solely sleep on friends’ couches when they travel– look, if it’s convenient and people you know and love and a nice couch and you can be reasonably sure you won’t find a retainer stuck down between the cushions from 1983, go for it.  If it’s a bunch of guys you just met and they “seem cool” and their house smells kind of bad, pay for a hotel/hostel/shared dumpster space already.

Adults also clean their houses, have tables where they eat (rather than a permanent pyramid of beer cans), and sometimes clean out the refrigerator.  I know I know none of it sounds fun.  On the other hand, all of it smells decent and has the appearance of being able to handle life 60% of the time.

Sometimes I think the grocery store is going to kill me too, and then I remember other people my age have babies.

Entire squealing life forms hanging off of their bodies who are dependent on them for everything.  Just thinking about it makes me want to lie down on the floor for a while like I do when I’m vacuuming and I get tired.

MM

Dear Leftovers (Revisited)

14 Nov

Dear Leftovers (Revisited),

You may remember when I said you sucked and I hated you and I wanted you to die a horrible death.

Yeah.

So it turns out that when I have to feed myself all the time, I hate you a little less.  All the time!  Seven days a week!  SEVEN DAYS A WEEK.  I don’t even get ONE OFF.  WHYYYYYYYYYY.

Ok, yeah, I could eat out, and sometimes (often) (a lot) (regularly) (can we just move on?) I do, but that still requires making choices.

Making choices sucks.

When I was a kid, I was the queen of making choices.  If you’d been like, “Red shoes or blue shoes?” I would have been like, “Red shoes.” BAM. Decision MADE.

Now it is harder.  Possibly because shoes come in a lot more colors than they did when I was a kid. I am not that old.  Maybe it has to do with computers.  Computers have changed a lot since I was a kid.  People don’t even bother to turn them off nowadays.  Are you kidding me?  In grade school, you totally had to leave five minutes at the end of computer class to turn your computer off.  Probably so they didn’t explode or eat our brains during recess.

Where was I? Oh yes: leftovers.  So it turns out, actually, that I eat leftovers quite often, and am really pleased-as-punch to be doing it.  I didn’t cook today and yet I’m still eating.

It’s kind of a little miracle, come to think of it.

So, leftovers, I apologize for my earlier harsh words, and it’s cool if you stick around, and actually, if you could learn to replenish yourselves at night while I sleep, but with some variety thrown in and maybe find a way to be fresh and not require heating up because my microwave went to see the big guy in the sky (dumpster) (actually, I hope there isn’t a big guy in the dumpster)….

…I think I just want a personal chef.

MM

Dear Soup

8 Nov

Dear Soup,

You’re really just a way to get bread to my mouth.  Without feeling quite as guilty about it.

Not because I count carbs.  But because if I could, I would only eat bread.  Or bread-based products.  Carbs aka all my favorite foods:

  • waffles
  • pancakes
  • bread
  • sourdough bread
  • toaster waffles
  • biscuits
  • buns
  • croissants
  • chocolate croissants
  • bagels
  • rolls
  • butter rolls
  • cinnamon rolls

Also, I’m pretty sure that sometimes I eat soup because I want something warm (aka hot chocolate) but feel like I need something more substantial / adult than hot chocolate.

And I am always, always disappointed.  Always.  Soup = not hot chocolate.

Sigh.  It’s disappointing, but a fact nonetheless, and one I try to make myself face daily.

But thanks for trying anyway, soup.  I’m sorry I can’t accept you on your own terms.  We’re cool, right?

MM

Dear B.J. Novak

25 Oct

Dear B.J. Novak,

Here’s the deal.  I’m hoping you’ll actually see this letter.  Because after watching this, I’ve come to believe a couple of things: 1. You regularly search the internet for your own name, variations of your name, and for the name of the fictional character you portray.  2.  We would really like each other.

Hear me out, ok?  We both really hate the way iTunes continually upgrades.  I wrote that letter before I watched you hosting the Webby awards.  I have no way to prove that to you.

Also!  Your parents established a Jewish matchmaking service (oh yeah, I Wikipediaed the hell out of you).  I spend a lot of time recommending my Jewish friends go on JDate.  I have an inordinate fondness for JDate.  I could start to recommend your parents’ service instead if you want.  I mean, part of my attachment to JDate is the name, which I think is awesome, but I’m not on it myself, and I’m not even Jewish, so I’m really not all that attached.  And now every time I see the name jeggings I think, Jewish leggings.  Obviously it’s time for a switch.

And I get that you’re into Natalie Portman.  She’s brunette, she’s smart, she’s Natalie Portman.  Hell, I’m into Natalie Portman.  On the other hand…I am not Natalie Portman, which might have its advantages.  Like: I’m not vegan.  Vegan people: the hardest friends in the world to please.  They don’t even pretend to be accommodating.  And they certainly don’t pretend not to judge you.  That sucks.  Nothing like a judge-y face to ruin a good hamburger and fries with a milkshake.  And they don’t even appreciate it if you offer them the tomato.  No gratitude whatsoever.

Now I have to hope you’re not vegan, too, B.J. Novak, but if you are, it never would have worked anyway.  C’est la vie.

Anyway, B.J. Novak, you’re clearly narcissistic.  You’re probably also deeply insecure.  Clearly this is not a new psychoanalysis of the profile of a writer, but I feel it bears repeating here.  Since you twitter-search for misspellings of your own name.  B.J.  The letter B.  Followed by the letter J.  How many ways are there to misspell that, exactly?  It’s a word that spells itself!  It’s made for Sesame Street.

Although I’m still not sure that justifies the beatings you probably took as a kid– what exactly was wrong with Benjamin?  Or Ben?  Or Joseph?  Was this an industry thing, where you were an adult and looking to make a name, and you thought everyone would be mature enough to move on?  Because I’m pretty sure Hollywood loves a good penis joke as much as the next playground.

Or is this a thing you use to separate out bros from potential friends?  If a dude giggles when you introduce yourself, he’s gone.  Out of the Novak entourage.  I have a friend who does that.  She tells people in bars she’s a “feminist studies major” then judges them by their reaction.  She swears it’s fullproof.  Personally, I just avoid talking to people in bars.  That’s foolproof too.  It also leaves me more time for writing things on the internet and baking and writing poems.

Man.  From that description, you would not think I have the level of social skills or personal hygiene that I do, in fact, possess.  Just took a shower and talked to some people today, in fact.

At any rate, B.J., you can find me here: dearmrpostman [at] gmail [dot] com.  I sincerely hope you do. I’m a big fan of your work.

Cheers,

MM

Dear Doughnuts

24 Oct

Dear Doughnuts,

There’s something sexy about a girl shoving fried dough and frosting into her face on a Sunday, right? RIGHT?

Especially if she laughs in joy while she’s doing it and licks her fingers afterward and talks with her mouth full of doughnut about how awesome doughnuts are?  And insists on turning around and going right back to the store to buy another one?

Yeah I thought so.

Love,

MM

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