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Monday, March 28, 2011

Just Another Fat Girl Addict Headcase Asshole

I have addictions. Want me to spill my fucking guts for you? Okay. You convinced me that it'll be therapeutic. I'll do it. Some of my addictions concern food. I love eating. I'm a pretty voraciously ravenous sonofabitch. There are certain foods, however, that I love eating more than most others.


What the fuck is Ranch Dressing? You'd think, as a self-styled connoisseur, that I would know. I don't. I mean, it's not like Italian dressing, which, presumably originated in Italy. Or French dressing, which maybe has some sort of origin in France. Was Ranch dressing created on a ranch somewhere? Like maybe in Montana? Was it a Dude Ranch? Why don't they call it Dude Dressing. Oh, wait, because that's probably what they call cum in Montana.

I use Ranch dressing as a condiment probably more than is socially acceptable for a soon-to-be-minted 31-year-old male. I put it on my sandwiches that I make for lunch-- you know, those sandwiches that take FAR TOO LONG to make. I dip carrots in Ranch. And broccoli. I put ranch on burgers. And Boca Burgers. And turkey burgers. And chicken burgers. And lamb burgers. I also dip buffalo chicken pizza into a small bowl of Ranch dressing. I mean, sure, the bowl is small, but I fill it way the fuck up. Why? Because I'm basically a fat girl in a skinny boy's body. Mrs. Apron and I watched the season premiere of "Heavy" (and that's all we watched of it, because, truthfully, it was kind of annoying) and they referred to Ranch dressing as "Fat Girl Food." "We fat girls just cannot live without our Ranch dressing," the fat girl in the show said, standing in front of her open refrigerator looking like she was about to fuck it. Someone told me recently that they prefer Low-Fat Ranch dressing. I don't know why. To me, that looks like Dude Dressing.


We've discussed this on an earlier blog, two weeks ago, I think. If you care, go back and read it. It's all about mimicking the symptoms of M.S. and dying early of cancer. It's also about assholes who don't know when to keep their mouths shut. So, that pretty much encompasses my food addictions. Those are the comestible objects that I need, literally, to survive. The rest I like, but it's all secondary when compared to Ranch and CFDC. Sad, huh?


A week or so ago, I seriously considered packing this all in. And it's not just because nobody reads anymore (I'm sorry, bubbie-- you're not nobody; you're somebody) it's because I feel like I'm repeating myself and that I'm getting spent and overtaxed worrying about what I'm going to write about next and making sure that I have enough blog posts pre-loaded to get me through the week and staying ahead of my self-imposed deadline, and it's all rather silly and, after 748 posts I think I really could justify stopping were it not for the very unfortunate and very real fact of the matter that... I'm addicted. To what part of it exactly, I don't know. Is it the identity (that, ironically, I don't claim publicly) or the routine or the imagined importance that this blog has on other people or the idea that I usually quit everything else I try and I'd be pretty bummed if I quit this, too? I don't know what keeps me coming back here sometimes, but I'm pretty sure that addiction plays a pretty strong role in so doing. I would hate to see myself in blog detox. I'd probably shart myself.

* PORN I have a wonderful marriage and a satisfactory sex life, but, if left alone at home for more than an hour, you can bet there's going to be porn involved. What can I say? Boobs, butt, and bush: I like.

* COLLECTING Cars, pocket and wristwatches, eyeglasses, typewriters, cellphones, desk phones, dress shirts, neckties, bowties, G&S-related shit. I guess you can call me a discerning hoarder. Or an asshole.

* ASKING INTRUSIVE QUESTIONS So, what are YOUR addictions?

(And what are you wearing right now? Grrrrrrrowwwwl......)


  1. Here's my intrusive question:

    Where your formatting went?

  2. Well, if nobody's reading, then I'm nobody. I read very mellifluent word you write. For realzies, check the stats - I'm Bennington, Vermont. And if you stopped blogging, I would be... well, a bit put out. However, if you're feeling overtaxed, maybe you could switch to a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, or some other silliness.

  3. Mrs. Apron,

    Formatting = Fixed. I don't know what happened. I think I might have been hacked by the Paragraph Monster.


    You're one of my favorite nobodies.


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