(This post originally appeared in January of 2010, and I am posting it again today for two reasons.
One: It turns out that my method of worrying was that I allowed myself to worry about only one thing at a time, and until recently, that thing was Viable Garlic Bread. Now that our main worries of De-hutted Bread Survivability have been conquered, I am left to face the fact that we are now in a stage where we hope to achieve perfect balance between her and I, which means we watch my health decline and hope that it doesn’t do so in a dramatic way, and I am now basically sitting around and not seeing each passed day as another day of Bread Development, but instead, as another day where I didn’t have a sudden seizure or stroke.
As you can imagine, this new angle on the situation as brought about feelings, feelings that make me feel rather uncharitable and internally ugly (because of course there is something wrong when a pregnant woman is spending any fraction of her time worried about very real threats to her own health when EVERYONE KNOWS pregnant ladies are self-sacrificing vessels that care ONLY for the child within HAHAHA NO, that is not at all true, but still, associated guilt) and are also a bit complex, so I am taking today off from original content, as I am not the type to often use the Internet so much to work through feelings, but more the type to sort them on my own and come back to tell you about them once said sorting is done.
Two: I REALLY DON’T FEEL LIKE THIS POST WAS APPRECIATED THE FIRST TIME, SO HERE IS YOUR DO OVER, INTERNET. TRY AGAIN. THIS SHIT IS HILARIOUS.
Number two is basically the main reason.)
Internet, there are very few things in this world I truly dislike. I don’t like sausage. I don’t like Fiona Apple. I don’t like any movies with shooting, violence, explosions, fighting, running, jumping, car chases, bombs, harsh language, aliens, time travel, inter-breeding of species, special effects, animation blended with live action, sad parts, funny parts, dramatic parts, things that jump out at you, red herrings, false alarms, love triangles, or the part of the plot where the girl/guy loses their guy/girl forever except you know it’s not forever because there’s still 20 minutes of movie left, and I hate stubbing my toe.
So really, Internet, you know that I must be serious when I tell you HOW HARD I HATE SNICKERS BARS RIGHT NOW.
Phil is taking a course of steroids for a back injury right now, and I have a raging case of PMS combined with the fact that I’m going wedding dress shopping next week, so it only made sense that yesterday we hopped in our car to drive to the Shell station around the corner to find a whole bunch of fattening crap to stuff into our face holes.
Among other things (which were, of course, a salad and a delightful low-fat low-cal low-sodium low-taste protein bar to power me through my evening work outs-HAHAHAHAHAHA), I chose this:
Please pardon my chicken, it was conveniently sized for covering up a S’mores ice cream stain.
Are you judging me right now, Internet? Maybe for the fact that I bought a Snickers? Or because I have a cooler under my desk so that when Phil and I do actually play WoW together (I totally gave in this weekend, by the way – Fronks & Boones on Drenden, Alliance side), we don’t have to make the 45 second round trip downstairs for sodas? Or maybe you’re one of those assholes who thinks it’s ridiculous for me to drink diet soda with my candy bar, like people who drink diet soda are all universally so stupid that when we order a Big Mac and a Diet Coke, we actually believe the Diet Coke is somehow canceling out the Big Mac? For that last one, if you are one of those assholes, seriously – have you ever even realized what an asshole you are?
Anyway, my point is – if you are judging me right now, you go right on ahead with your bad self. Because you’re a PERSON and it is your right to run around judging people all willy nilly for whatever you want! I mean, it’s possible to go overboard, of course, but I can’t stop you. Sometimes, when you’re having a really crappy day, judging someone else and finding yourself slightly superior is the one shining moment in the whole shitfest of a day. So you go on and do what you feel you need to do.
But you know who isn’t allowed to judge me?
Candy. Candy is not allowed to judge me. Not even a little. I don’t even want a HINT OF AN IDEA that candy MIGHT be judging me. And while the candy bar pictured above isn’t saying anything outright, I am PRETTY DAMN SURE it doesn’t even approve of me buying it in the first place.
Upon getting in the car and ripping open my Snickers bar before we even left the parking lot (again, judge me if you must, but I just want to say that Phil? He ended up paying for a hot dog WRAPPER because he ATE THE HOT DOG before we even got to the counter) (I’d also like to remind you that Phil is on steroids, so, you know), I pulled out my prize only to discover? IT WAS ONLY HALF A PRIZE.
At first I thought my King Size Snickers bar had broken in half, and I wondered how that was even possible, because have you ever seen a King Size Snickers bar? It’s like as big around as a baby’s arm (don’t even act like you’ve never eaten a Snickers, Internet. I mean, judge me if you want, but don’t LIE about it). And you know what I found on closer inspection? It hadn’t broken in half, because the part where it would have been broken was CLEARLY AND DELIBERATELY CHOCOLATED OVER.
So I took a closer look at the wrapper.
Ok, for some reason, they have taken a perfectly good ridiculously-sized candy bar and broken it into two pieces. I WOULD HAVE BEEN FINE WITH THIS, except for the added INSTRUCTIONS.
That’s right. Instructions. On how to SAVE one of my UNASKED FOR PIECES for later.
And? The two “CONVENIENT” pieces? They were both smaller than an actual, normal-sized Snickers.
Don’t you think, SNICKERS, that if I wanted a normal-sized Snickers, I would have bought a normal-sized Snickers? I WOULD HAVE. But I didn’t. I bought a KING SIZE SNICKERS because I had a KING SIZE NEED for chocolate. I needed CHOCOLATE, not your ATTITUDE, Snickers.
Don’t you see, Internet? Who buys a King Size Snickers without intending to shove the whole thing down their throat right then and there? Don’t tell me, “Well, sometimes people want some Snickers now, and some Snickers later,” because you know what, up until Snickers made this UNREQUESTED two-piecing of their candy bar, that’s what buying two Snickers was for. ESPECIALLY gas station Snickers. You don’t wander into a gas station looking to stock your pantry with snacks for later. You walk into a gas station to buy stuff that is going to be half-digested by the time you arrive at your destination.
Yet, here we have the CANDY BAR ITSELF trying to pass judgment on me, and being pretty effing passive aggressive about it, if you ask me.
You know what, King Size Snickers? This is my you impression:
“Um, TJ, I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t eat, but you know what I am going to do? I’m going to go ahead and cut myself in half, and then? I’m going to suggest you go ahead and twist my wrapper right around. I’m not going to come right out and say it, but I think you understand that I’m not telling you to twist an empty wrapper here. You should leave half. For another time.”
THAT’S YOU, KING SIZE SNICKERS. THAT WAS ME, DOING YOU. And you know what? You sounded kind of like an ASSHOLE.
If I WANTED a smaller portion of Snickers, I would have bought a smaller portion of Snickers. I don’t need the “helpful” advice, King Size Snickers. I already KNOW I shouldn’t be eating a King Size Snickers. Do you know how I know? Because it’s called KING SIZE and I’m not a king. I’m not even like, 1/32 royalty. I shouldn’t be having ANYTHING meant for kings. Up until you decided to get all WRAPPER-UPPITY, King Size Snickers, your name alone was enough to warn people like, “Dude? Just so you know? I’m meant for kings, so I’m pretty huge. If you’re cool with that, go on ahead and eat me, but by my very name, you should know that I’m not really the best option for someone who isn’t a king.” And you know what? THAT WAS ENOUGH.
Seriously, Snickers people? If you read the Internet? You need to shut your candy the hell up because, rude!
JUST IN CASE IT WASN’T CLEAR: Snickers totally did not pay me to say this stuff about their passive-aggressive, judgmental, SHOULD-MIND-ITS-OWN-BUSINESS candy bar.