....And then I blogged about food.

I've noticed that women seem to really enjoy blogging about the food they eat. Well, it's either entries about food or dating. Since I clearly don't date (See, every prior blog entry for evidentiary support of this proposition), I guess I should start blogging about all the wonderful and glorious food I've been eating, with the requisite and necessary accompanying photographs. 

I start every day off with an extra large PJs French Vanilla Iced Coffee, with skim milk, and a touch of splenda (read: 3 packets).  The woman who makes me my iced coffee every morning is a delightfully blunt and surly mid-30s single mother, who spends most of her time nursing her head in hangover-prayer pose.  One time when I reminded her to make sure she used the skim milk, as I had recently weighed myself, she told me, "That's weird.  I never weigh myself.  I have this problem where I just don't gain weight even if I eat 3 entire pizzas.  Isn't that so weird? Anyway, what were you saying? You need non-fat milk, right?"  Right, b*tch.

I like to drink my coffee as quickly as possible, so the shakes set it pretty early on - I find that when I simultaneously shake while studying, people think I'm REALLY intense.  I find that being intense is how one makes friends in bar class.  No one wants to be friends with the fun loving girl. No, they want to be friends with the girl who looks like she's teetering on the edge.

Another gourmet snack that is a must-taste this season?

Cheetos.  I don't know what it is about this delicious snack.  The crunch? The cheese? The tell-tale neon marks it leaves all over my hands, books, papers, laptop, and cell phone? I. love. cheetos.  Honestly, if someone were to look at me and say, "you know? I don't really care for Cheetos? Don't really like the taste..." I would turn to them without flinching and yell, "YOU'RE A F-ING LIAR, NOW GET YOUR UGLY FACE OUT OF MY LIFE AND BE GONE."

Here's the point in the blog where foodies talk about the famous people who were at the restaurant where they were dining.  In lieu of that, I will just post pictures of famous and important people eating cheetos. 

Okay, so it turns out that the only famous and important person who allows themselves to be photographed eating Cheetos is Britney Spears.  Moving on...

Like any good food diarist, I have to end with the dessert. This is where I really tend to splurge.  You see, the Ice Coffee runs me about $3.44, the Cheetos cost me $1.25, which allows me around $8 for dessert. So, I go to Sucre. 

Don't the desserts look delightful and expensive? Yes? Okay, good. Now I can go on and discuss the photo itself.

W.T.F.  I tried to find a picture the desserts at Sucre so I could post it, like any good faux food blogger does, when I was confronted with this...image.  For those of you out there who do not know what I look like, I am neither of these people.  Nor do I actually know these people.  I just so happened to stumble upon these people when looking for pictures of cupcakes.  Cruel when you think about it...somehow naming a file in a set of engagement photos such that it pops up when people google image "dessert" or "cupcakes" or "help me fill the void with sugar."

I am just really curious as to what the directive for this photo was. Can we discuss the facial expressions? I don't think this, the well lit and brightly colored dessert shop, is the place for these types of photos.  These two are a Boyz 2 Men song away from being horizontal.  This is also RUINING Sucre for me.  Sucre is supposed to be like Willy Wonka's Factory - a place where it is okay to be that weird adult, who is oddly asexual, with a face covered in chocolate.  NOT THIS. 

Oh look.  Try as hard as I did to be like a normal  and blog about things normal girls do (ie, the food they eat), I run off the rails again.  I think it was because I ended up looking at all the photos of Meredith and Matt frolicking in New Orleans (the actual name of the photo album of the two individuals from the above photo).  Something about engagement photos brings out the worst in me.  I think maybe in August, after this hell is over, I will hire a photographer to take pictures of me frolicking around the city in 5 different outfits, and I will name the album, "Celebrating Our Love: Me, Myself and I."