Wednesday, January 19, 2011

How About I Say Some Things

Listen, I think I just killed the new blender. I made lima bean hummus in it, and in my pursuit for the creamiest hummus ever, I think I burned out the motor. Whoops. Maybe it'll come back to life when it cools down? Yeah, I know, probably not. Damn, damn, damn.

I finished the ostrich story, which is really not an ostrich story, but a story in which ostriches make a minor appearance. It's totally a NSFW story. I guess. NSFW doesn't mean much when you don't have any work. That was unemployment humor. *cue the sound of deflating balloons*

It's snowing right now. Beautiful and annoying. I'm sick of winter. Blah, blah, blah. Let's complain about winter some more. I'll put on my fur-lined hoodie and you put on your mittens and we'll have us an old-fashioned bitch fest out on the snow-covered front porch. You bring the cigarettes and I'll bring the makings for hot chocolate. Minus the marshmallows. Plus the bourbon. I'm on this anti-marshmallow/pro-bourbon kick. It comes and it goes.

I'm going to make tiny crustless quiches in muffin cups now. How's that strike you?


  1. It probably just needs to be reset, same thing as a garbage disposal or vacuum. Unplug it for five minutes, then try again. Plug it back in, though. You know, because you wouldn't have guessed that step. Also, I like your stories.

  2. Hours later, the blender still doesn't work, my friend. I even plugged it in and everything. I so wanted to write a thank you message. I'd planned on calling you an angel. Maybe next paragraph.

    I will call you an angel for reading AND liking my stories. You, Lauren, are an angel of the highest order. Which technically means you shouldn't have to eat or drink. You can probably also break through walls by snapping your delicate, heavenly fingers. You know, typical angel stuff.

  3. I am sorry for your blender. Bury it in the backyard, and then you can come over and use the food processor I got for Christmas. It will make 14 whole cups of hummus, and blow your mind with its food slicing capabilities. Bring some of the quiches, k?


From the mouths of beasts.