Bad Parenting

I Love Burger King

and I always have the same exact thing: meal # 1: Whopper, french-fries, beverage. The only variant over the years has been the beverage. The whopper has seen me through numerous nights of studying, a lunch out with friends, or a comfort meal in front of the TV. Whatever the occasion, a whopper meal is just right. Any more food and I’d be stuffed to the gills. Any less, and I’d want another meal. In fact, the #1 leaves just enough room for a big scoop of ice-cream for desert.

Sunday was one of those days when I wanted a #1. I didn’t wake up until afternoon, and I felt icky after sleeping away a perfectly lovely morning. I didn’t feel like cooking. I didn’t feel like talking to people. I didn’t feel like showering or putting on makeup. So I decided to through on jeans and a tee and run on down (in my car, of course) to Burger King for some comfort whopper.

I went through the drive through, and ordered the usual, and finally decided on lemonade to drink. Years of practice have made me very efficient at the Burger King drive-through, and being my order never changes I don’t have to pay attention to anything else on the flashy board. When I got to the window, I handed the boy my money. I hadn’t been to a fast-food place in awhile, so $6-something seemed like an outrageous amount of money to pay for a burger and fries meal. “Last time I get my comfort food at BK,” I thought sadly to myself.

The kid handed me back my change and lemonade, yawning. It was the huge, tonsilious yawn of teenage kid who’s sick of working and board out of his mind. “Long day?” I asked, making conversation. “Yea,” his monosyllabic reply was barely auditable. But then he looked at me. I mean, he really looked at me, intently, like I had something growing out of my forehead and he was trying to figure out what in heavens name is wrong with that person! I was unnerved, to say the least. After a million years he turned to look at the computer screen by his side. Then he looked back at me and glanced back to the screen. Thank goodness my food was ready, so he handed me the bag and gave me another strange look.

I raced away from the window; anxious to get away from the awkward situation. As soon as the kid couldn’t see me anymore, I stopped the car and made sure I didn’t have a hand growing out of my nose. I looked fine, pretty good, in fact, for just waking up. I didn’t have anything spilt on my shirt, and my car didn’t have anything weird lying around. “I guess he must just have been mesmerized by good looks. Yeah, I’m pretty cool!” I thought to myself. The whole way home, I was grinning to myself about the whole situation. Here this random kid was so taken with my beauty that he couldn’t do anything but gaze at me in awe. He wasn’t looking at me like I was Frankenstein’s Monster, he was taken with my beauty. Just to make sure that I really did look normal, I checked the mirror back at my apartment, and I was A-OK.

Feeling beautiful, I sat down with my meal. With great anticipation, I squeezed the ketchup out, and arranged the fries into a golden pile. Then, duh duh duh DUH, the whopper. I pealed off the paper, and pulled out the burger. It was then I realized why the kid was staring at me like I was some freak:

I had ordered a #3: the TIPPLE WHOPPER MEAL!!!

It's Monday

and like every Monday, it’s kicking my b-u-t. After a weekend of doing whatever you want, sleeping when you want and waking up when you want, the Monday morning alarm clock is close to unbearable. This is especially true when you sleep extremely late on Sunday (try 1:30pm) because you were awake almost the whole night before, savoring the delightful sensation of not having a self-imposed bedtime.

Every weekend I make a resolution that, with the help of the memory of previous Monday mornings, to amend my life: I WILL avoid the occasion of a good book, late-night TV, counting flowers on the wall… and I WILL go to bed before the sun comes up, Amen. And no matter how firm my resolve, every weekend the same thing happens: I stay up all night and sleep all day. This wretched tendency towards “nocturnalism” is nothing new. I have always hated going to bed when anything (and I mean ANYTHING) was going on and I have NEVER liked getting up before 10:00am. Afraid I’ll miss something, I guess!

At least I never have trouble falling asleep Monday night!

The First Post

is slightly scary for me in it's own way. Even though only my friends will know who "Cola" is, and they love me even if I sound dumb (let's hope I will have a few flashes of brilliance now and then :), having your words up in a public place is similar to publishing your soul. The written word is a peace of you on paper (or on screen, as the case may be), and it’s a pretty darn scary thing to leave open for the perusal of anyone who happens to stumble upon it.

A blog is also a slightly narcissistic invention, as well. Where else can you talk and talk and talk about whatever you want to, and have as interested an audience as the internet? I mean, SOMEONE out there will be interested in what you have to say! And yes, even though I say my reason for publishing a blog is to keep my friends up-to-date with my life (and allow me to comment on their blogs) I really just want to put my ideas out there for the world and hopefully someone out there will think I’m as cool as I think I am!

So now, I’m jumping in. Look out, blogging world!