Spinach - Warning, this is like, the most inspiring post ever.

You know how you thought you’d never grow up? Maybe not everyone nursed morbid thoughts of dying young from extinct diseases like I did, but come on. Did you really think you’d be here, now, reading this stupid blog and drinking coffee or whatever, and feeling stiff because you like, stood up from your chair more quickly than normal one time last week? Didn’t you honestly, secretly think that when you were an adult, you’d still be a kid at the same time? Like, you would have all the same hopes and dreams, but you’d actually be able to carry them out? That would be cool, wouldn’t it? And terrifying. We should all be thankful that the world doesn’t work that way, actually. But maybe we should stop pretending we never were that kid, at the same time. You may have changed in a lot of ways, but you weren’t once a child. You are you, and you have been a child and you will be old and you just is. You is you, human bean. My advice to you today is to dig out some of your old favorite thoughts and dreams and ask yourself if they’re still relevant. I bet they are.

P.S. If that seems too much like homework, then please go read Roald Dahl’s book, “The BFG”. That’ll give your inner child a kick in the pants. Also then you will know why I call people “beans.” And you can do it too. Become part of the club. Pick up a copy of “The BFG” today. “The BFG” does not sponsor this blog post and I have received no compensation of any kind whatsoever from anyone for anything ever.

Comments

Noodles: It’s autumn, all of you.

Hi world. It’s me, your favorite super sheltered, extremely Scandinavian, strangely endearing pile of soggy, tomato-drenched crinkly noodles! Otherwise known as Baby Swedish Lasagna under an Inadequate Tent. The reason I bring up my origins is this: I grew up without hearing anyone say “y’all”. I believe the contraction never crossed my path outside of a book until middle school, when it became trendy among my equally sheltered, pale-skinned friends. I started saying it often, with little understanding of its pronunciation, spelling, or proper usage. At some point, perhaps in a fit of cultural sensitivity, maybe after the madness of middle school had seeped out of my neurons, I stopped using it. Except in emails. Yes, my friends, I am an email y’aller. It just works for the already-awkward group conversations. There’s honestly no equivalent in northern dialect. Check it out. “You guys.” Offensive to feminists. “You girls.” Offensive...

Sauce: Peeved - A Ditty.

Hello world, welcome to the dumbest thing I’ve ever written. It helps if you sing it with gusto. (Hint: UIKEYINPUTDOWNARROWgive “favorite” and “chocolate” three syllables.) Dun dun dun... ...If you’d rather eat spaghetti With butter, And if petting armadillos makes your bitty heart flutter, If you wear twenty-three inch plugs And you snack on creepy bugs, And you turn off the radio before Your very favorite song ends, If you dance to rapping only And you never just be lonely, Then I think we cannot ever quite be friends. If you like to play the tuba And get thrills at going scuba Diving with a pack of grumbly-tumbly sharks, If you stick Q-tips up your nose And knit socks for all your toes And deface all the bathrooms in the parks, If you get joy from picking peanuts Out from every tin of mixed nuts And don’t laugh at jokes that center on Depends, If you run away from cats And feed cho...

Noodles: There are just some things you can’t ask your doctor.

So you turn instead to Google and let your questions be seen by all the world, including snoops like me. I happened to look up a strange sensation I’ve been experiencing lately (yes, I do it too, and yes, I’m probably on the brink of death) that involves a crawling sensation on the back of my scalp. Since it’s not tick season, I assume it’s a tiny person attempting to scale my head in order to have a look around. Unfortunately, I wear a lot of hats this time of year so even if they make it to the top, they aren’t likely to see much. But that’s not the point. If you ask Google to give you any information involving tingling sensations and your own head, it will immediately throw at you a list of questions asked by similar unfortunate individuals, along with the all-knowing answers provided by an unspecified internet friend. Some of them make you shake your head in pity, such as this sad, lonely soul, who asks, “Can I test myself for a brain tumor?” The answer is undecided...

The Password’s Lasagna.

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