Say, remember that time Mer managed to over-program herself, lose a friend to cancer, plan a whirlwind trip to Florida, get a monstrous and highly contagious viral infection, cancel her trip to Florida, throw a personal pity party and blush with mortification for 24 hours straight after her mother posted the only childhood story she was forbidden to post?
(And then start a post talking about it in the third person?)
Yeah, you know, that time. Incidentally, that time also coincided with a week in which my favorite people swooped in to cover my blog posts with their own funny (or plaintive) stories, which means I HAVEN’T HAD TO BLOG IN A WEEK AND OH SHIT DO I EVEN REMEMBER HOW.
The answer, of course, is no, because I don’t remember anything, regardless of ridiculo-crazy hiatus status.
And so, get excited, people, because tonight you’re being treated to the claptrap that currently rattles through my brain, without organization or thematic diction.
I simply don’t have the energy for malice aforethought.
Did you know that you can buy a White Castle-scented candle – conveniently raising money for Autism Speaks – and fill your house with the aroma of greasy, fake-oniony goodness?
I get buying shit for charity – yes, I am as sweet and generous as I look – but what I can’t quite figure out is why you’d do so. Maybe if you’re doing fast-food related penance?
Someone explain Catholicism to me here, quick.
‘Cause if your home smells like your favorite mustard-slathered cheat food, that should mean you get to eat some, right? And if you have filled your abode with the scent of that white-and-blue-boxed deliciosity AND you cannot imbibe said treats –
Wait. Wait right there.
This is not a case for justifiable homicide, dudes.
this is a krystal. a white castle looks far skeevier, i promise.
Now, if we were talking Krystal-scented merchandise, there might be some legal precedent to back you up. Or I might make some up. Either way, it’d be mighty compelling.
Speaking of Krystals, which I will now have on the brain until I can savor the little greasy squares with their perfectly square cheese! And little majestic patty! And the pickles! Ohhhh, the pickles!
This morning, while still too contagious and conscientious to grace my coworkers with my phlegmy, virally presence, I decided I was not too nasty infectious to cough my way through the grocery store and my local Krystal drive-thru to re-up on necessary supplies.
You see, my mother has taken ill. Sad, pathetic illness in the form of mild to moderate vertigo, will renders her dizzy and unable to stand, COMPLETE WITH SAD, PATHETIC BACK-OF-THE-HAND-TO-THE-FOREHEAD PITIFULNESS.
One might think that perhaps said illness – whose onset was sudden and (vaguely) acute – just might be FUCKING KARMA FOR POSTING THAT DAMN STORY.
Wait, seriously, you can’t see how this ties into the Krystals thing? You mean, proprietary greasy square beef patties on itty bitty greasy buns with diced onion, pickles, cheese and mustard AREN’T on your get-well supplies list?
That’s just blasphemy.
In addition to mmmmmmmmm I can’t say the name again I must have them I must I must I must I – cough.
Along with those heavenly sammiches, the Mer care package – in order to be the official Mer care package, let’s just be straight here – must also include relevant meds, sugar, salty starch, a Coca-Cola (yes, that’s a completely different requirement from “sugar”) and booze.
THIS IS THE TRANSITION HEX YOU THINK I MADE IT CLEAR ENOUGH I’M KINDA WORRIED EEEP.
Also, my ass must take this moment to thank Publix for their buy-one-get-one Snickers deal today.
So after coughing my smiles to Vera, my favorite Publix cashier, I toted her well wishes home with me, in the bag right next to said candy bars, Mama’s meds, the Coke and fries from Krystal and these two beautiful babies.
wait a minute. i'm a middle sister. i'm a drama queen. I'M A SMARTY PANTS.
Interestingly, I researched and wrote an article on this line of wines last week, and wearing my professional panties, I could not throw myself on my knees before them and beg and plead that they love me forever.
I mean, look at that. Middle Sister. Drama Queen. CAN WE JUST DISCUSS THE PARALLELS PLEASE FOR A MINUTE HERE.
Or, you know, look at the wine. Now back at me. Now back at the wine. Now back? At me.
The girl has a bun. <3 Favorite lazy hairstyle!
Brunette. <3 We are so twinsies.
Wearing green. <3 I FUCKING LOVE GREEN.
So, now that I’ve finally hitched up my bloggin’ panties again, Middle Sister, please take this ridiculous post as a sign of my love and DESPERATE DESIRE TO BE BESTIES FOREVER AND ALWAYS AND PLAY AT FUN PARTIES AT BLOGHER AND BLOGALICIOUS AND NEW YORK BRIDAL FASHION WEEK AND EVERYTHING EVER AND ALWAYS.
For my next trick, I will magically transition from disgustingly tedious fangirl blogger into the brilliant, suave, underspoken and oversexed PROFESSIONAL WRITER you all know and love.
Interestingly, I have, in fact, not imbibed one drop of that magical elixir we call boxed wine tonight – I’m saving the Middle Sisters bottles for a special occasion this week, ladies, I promise! – nor the Indian beer I was craving with my lamb samosas earlier.
Seriously, nothing pairs better with those crazy-ass dumplings than a little Taj Mahal, amirite.
No, this overly long rambly post comes straight to you from the unadulterated, sober mind of, well, someone who’s on lots of cold medicine and can’t get enough sleep.
And indeed, I can’t find a way to bitch about my wine-less state without sounding like I’ve got a problem.
But a bitch ain’t one?
GOOD LORD MEREDITH BACK ON TRACK
What I mean to say is I love wine. I reeeeeeally love wine. But you know what I love more?
No, asshole, not attention. Wine is wayyyy better than attention.
But my hero, Guilty Squid? She’s even better than wine.
she said, as i downloaded the image, "It'll be like I'm IN YOUR COMPUTER" which, frankly, made my night.
See, this one time? She started turning blue. No, really, blue. Which is, like, SO OBV a sign of superheroness I cannot even believe I have to explain this to you. And then she just ABSOLUTELY GOT ME, like, really, really got me! In her post about Smokey the fucking Bear, that asshole.
So, what I’m saying here, badly, because apparently I’m losing some steam here, three pages in, is this bitch is the fucking best. (And y’all, she just used a hashtag in an IM conversation and OH MY GOD IT WAS SO CUTE I CAN’T STAND IT.)
And I mention her today of all days because she is a candidate in one of this decade’s most important political races. Our children’s futures depend on your vote, people, for your favorite self-proclaimed internet superstar and mine.
Guilty Squid is the leading candidate in the 2010 election of Honorary Internet Coroner.
I’m not sure I can adequately express how important this election is. So, fuck it, I’m not even gonna try. Just take my damn word for it, ok? YES I’LL SEND YOU BAKED GOODS. Fuck, y’all are so needy.
So. Go here. Read this. And vote.
Tweet your little hearts out.