Sauce: No, after you.

I’ve been having a problem with people lately. To be blunt - they’re too nice. I’m not saying loving, necessarily, or unselfish, or kind. Just...nice. Especially at intersections. See, you nice old man to the right...you were definitely at the stop sign ahead of me. That means you get to go first. It really isn’t a kindness to wave me forward, I promise. It will just confuse me and stress me out enough to take several seconds off my life span. And you, you nice, nice lady in the grocery store parking lot...when you’re walking in a crosswalk, drivers are supposed to wait for you. Just because you weren’t directly in front of my car does not mean you are doing a good deed by irrationally insisting I drive in front of you. You’re just training me to ignore crosswalks. And you, you very, very nice police officer who showed me how to replace my left brake light...okay. I can’t complain about you. I’m just glad you didn’t look in my trunk. (The nice old man may or may not have been bound and gagged inside. But it’s okay. He seemed ready to die.)

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Noodles: Just another downside of being a genius.

Since I’ve got a pretty long post in store for you a little later this week (and yeah, it’s Saturday, I know...so that means in about five minutes), I’m gonna make this quick and just share with you one of my finer moments. Possibly the most brilliant highlight of my entire career as a human, if I may say so. Recently I was trying to center a picture on what was supposed to be today’s post. Suddenly, my cursor...is that what the little vertical blinky line is called? If it is, wow, what an intense name for such an innocent little thingy. Anyway, you all know what I mean. We’ll just call it the cursor and hope for the best. Kay. So, my cursor started moving. It was traveling across the page all alone! It had a mind of its own! Because I’m super suspicious, my first thought was that someone had hacked my computer, since I was in a pretty crowded public place. There were some nerdy guys in the corner who looked cap...

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...

Spinach: Zombie Sheep (part 1).

There are people in this world who don’t quite fit into society. If people were puzzle pieces, they would be the unidentified extras, the empty gaps, the soggy chewed up pieces that fall off the table and get noshed on by the dog. T hey live their lives feeling unnecessary, lost, destroyed. In a world that celebrates conformity, if not uniformity, allowances are made for puzzle pieces to be different shapes, colors, and sizes. But if they don’t fit together, they’re either pounded on until they do, or thrown away. Rejected. Not because they’re of less worth than any other piece. All puzzle pieces are simply shaped bits of cardboard, after all. But because their purpose is not immediately visible. Okay, that said, I’m not a fan of misfits, myself included. They’re ...

The Password’s Lasagna.

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