WALL:1/ME:ZERO

So last night I realized I hadn't had dinner. I went downstairs to see what I could find---Toaster Strudels! Bingo.
After it was all browned and frosted, I made my way to the stairs, in the dark.
SMACK.
"Oo!"
My head met the wall as if by magnetic force. I walk fast so the collision was strong.
The strudel went flying, I dropped the plate and crouched down in the dark in painnnn.
Somehow I hit the right side of my mouth more than anything. It felt like I knocked a tooth loose and my lip hurt.
Luckily my teeth are in tact, but my lip swelled up like whoa.. You can't tell from the pic but it's bleeding a little.

When I'm not walking into walls, I enjoy strolls in the park, the food network and spatial awareness.

Stay tuned for my next self-injury!

Don't Do It

Note to self:

Do NOT eat soft-serve icecream again. Not ever again.

This evening it caused you intestinal discomfort, gaseousness which could not be contained (ok it could have but I just had to let it go) and two prompt, back-to-back trips to the toilet.

My friend said: "It comes out the same way it went in."
Truly I have never seen such a bizarre, unhealthy looking consistency-- broken down, with a disintegrating look. It can't be good for the body!

My grandmother called it "lardy" ice cream for a reason. I think they put lard in it to make it smooth and creamy and taste so good...but the GI after-effects are simply not worth the fleeting moments of indulgence.

Hard icecream is what I've always preferred, unlike most people. And I can't recall any time where even gluttonous helpings of it gave me feelings of lactose-intolerance.

But just to be safe, no more any kind of icecream for a while. And definitely not milkshakes either. Why?---see above.

Thoughts on Toast

What is "toast"? It is bread--which has been browned (sometimes blackened) by the thin red coils within our toasters.

So why is it given a completely different name? It's still bread. The food has not changed.

Giving it a totally different name suggests that it's become something else entirely...
That it's metamorphisized from one food product into another. Just because it popped up from a boxy, electric machine!

We don't call eggs that have been fried, "Fried", or scrambled, "Scrambled" They're still eggs. [Scrambled eggs, sunny-side-up eggs]

So why isn't it called "Toasted bread"? Too long to say?

Well we make the extra effort with eggs!

Disturbing an egg; cutting my hand. Karma?

When I spotted this adroitly made little nest with a single white egg resting in the center, I just had to get a closer look. It was right outside the window sill at work, just asking to be broken- I mean admired.
I wondered where the parent birdies were and if they had rejected their shell-encased baby or not. Either way, I had to touch it. I had never held a real bird's egg before...and there's something about the look of eggs (esp. tiny, cute ones) that is just irresistible.















I know, I know, the mother won't touch that egg now! Shame on me. But they can always make more right? And in defense of my curiosity, why wasn't there a bird sitting on it to help it hatch? If there was no bird's butt there keeping it warm, I can only conclude that this bird-child was the result of a one-night-stand...an unwanted pregnancy!

After feeling the weight of the egg in my hand, putting my ear against it listening for--who knows what, and resisting the urge to crack the sucker open to satisfy my curiosity for it's gory contents--
I put the egg back in its nest.

Well, the mother must have sensed the egg was disturbed and wasn't too happy about it. She made a beeline for my hand and pecked it until I begged her for mercy.

Naw, this is the result of me breaking a glass shelf and hastily trying to move the broken piece aside.

But I can't help but make a connection between the two events. I upset an egg and injure myself (stupidly) hours later! Cosmic punishment? Or is the simple lesson here: don't carelessly pick up a large piece of broken glass sans gloves.