Noodles, Sauce, Spinach and Cheese: Merry Christmas!!!!!

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...

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 ...

Noodles: A lovelie story.

I learned how to lie when I was seven years old. There was a boy in my class who I hated. I’m not a name dropper, so I’ll just call him...“Jeremy”. “Seven years old!” You say, aghast, “and you already hated someone? Whatever for?” I’d love to give you a great answer, but it was probably for a very inconsequential reason. Possibly because he’d apparently made it his goal to throw a huge ball straight at my curly side-lined head every time all the kids except me played dodgeball (I remember sitting to the side and trying to convince teachers that no, I really did not feel left out, and no, joining the game would not make me feel better). Or maybe it was because he liked to dip goldfish crackers in Koolaid. Or maybe I took a random dislike to his haircut. Whatever reason, just trust me. I really hated this kid. He made my upper epidermal layer do unnatural things, like crawl. ...

The Password’s Lasagna.

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