Let Your Freak Flag Fly

I'm a real dainty and eloquent eater. Obviously.

This week has been weird. People are weird. Weird people annoy the shit out of me.

Maybe weird people drill holes through my brain because of the fact that this week has made it painfully obvious just how weird and strange I am. Please observe Exhibit A-E:

A. When I am perplexed by life, I tend to go shopping for shit that I don't need. It's usually something that belongs in a kitchen drawer or on the counter. Like yesterday, I was so frustrated that I went to Ikea and bought a steaming basket and a big glass bowl. It should be noted I don't like steamed food. And I already have two of the same glass bowls at home.

B. I went to a local pub for pints of Guinness, per usual. After my third pint and the subsequent lovely buzz that I was starting to get, I told the bartender that I wanted a half-pint. He looked at me like I was breaking the cardinal rule of being a Guinness drinker: if you can't handle a pint, you don't deserve to drink it in the first place.  For as much as I preach about Guinness being the 8th wonder of the world, I should be ashamed of myself. I am.

C. Last night while I was slinging drinks and contributing to the epidemic of alcoholism, a straight man came up to the bar and ordered a cosmopolitan. Yes. A cosmofreakingpolitan. And instead of looking at him with as much disgust as I could muster, I instead admired his eye make-up and perfectly manicured nails (they were metallic gold and with no chips) and wondered if I could pull off that look. Per the other bartenders, it was collectively decided that I can not and should not. But his sequin jacket? That my friends... that I can do.

D. I have a painful crush on Penn Badgley, which is probably why I've watched Easy A eight times in as many days. Through great discussion with myself, I've discovered that my crush is based solely on the fact that he has a gap in his two front teeth. I realize now that I have a disturbed affection for peoples' imperfections. Now, I'm not just talking freckles on the nose, girl hands, or an annoying voice. I'm talking about moments when someone has spinach in their teeth, or when a person snorts mid-laugh, or even when a person lets out a fart in their sleep and it wakes you up. Those are the things that wooo me. Those are the things that I can't get enough of. Normal men, need not apply.

E. It takes a lot for something to make me cry. The quickest, surefire way to enlist crocodile tears? When a recipe fails. I've attempted on three occasions to make Straciatella- Italian egg drop soup- and each time has been an epic and disgusting looking failure. Hell, this week I made lemon-basil chicken salad, quinoa pilaf, and French onion soup; all from scratch and each without a recipe and the results were delicious. So delicious in fact that I gave myself a nice pat on the back each time. But give me a recipe to follow that is rated one out of five stars on the difficulty meter and I just can't get my shit together.


What's worse (or better, depending on how you look at it)? That fact that I'm nuts? Or the fact that I acknowledge that I'm nuts and I'm completely okay with it?