Estimated Time Of Arrival: Now.


January 8, 2010 by sandwichcontrol

I am officially a professional food critic. My first article is up on the City Wire! Shazam! I made the front page.

Last night, after fine tuning the rating system a little and tweaking the article here and there, I got the email that it was live and I became a little giggling school girl. This giggly state caused a domino reaction that I could not have foreseen at the time. It is nothing major, but it has got me grumpy this morning.

You get all wired up at your accomplishment and can’t get to sleep, and your girlfriend falls asleep on the couch, thereby not turning the heater up when she comes to bed, ensuring that the bedroom is 10°C when you wake up, and then there is the subsequent feelings of guilt.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Why did she not come to bed?”

“Is she mad at me?”

No, she just fell asleep on the couch watching some documentary via NetFlix.

Needless to say waking up cold, guilt ridden, and alone to the sound of yowling dogs, squawking birds, and, for the 800th day in a row, Jim Dandy to the Rescue, I was not in the best form of my life.

I could live the rest of my life, never hearing that song again, and I would live a very happy life. Sure it was great the first time you heard it while watching Overboard!, but now it is not great. It sucks. Ass.

I do have to say that it is probably the most effective alarm clock system in the world, though. Two beats into the song and I am running across the room to snooze that mo’ fo’. There is no gradually waking up to that song. There used to be. But, no longer. My brain has been reprogrammed to defend itself against that song. There could ninja robots with chainsaws for arms in my bedroom, and if they played that song, I would kick their asses without ever waking up.

I’m sure by now you are wondering why I would have to run across the room to snooze my alarm clock. I can tell that it is bothering you, so I will explain. I used to keep the alarm by the bed, but there are two of me, well three actually, but let’s just talk about two of them for now. There is the awake logical me (Superego) and the asleep selfish me (Id). Unfortunately, when I am asleep the Id has total control and will turn the alarm off in order to sleep more. The rationale being that I am sleepy, and this bed is cozy, and being up is stupid. So, I should turn off the alarm and continue to enjoy this sleeping in the bed stuff. My Superego is gagged and tied to a chair at this point, but he is red faced and outraged at all of this cozy bed business. Luckily the third me, the peacemaker (Ego), comes in from taking a dump while smoking a cigarette (Hey man, the bathroom’s got a vent.) and quickly moves the alarm clock across the room before the Id can turn it off completely, and once the alarm starts to sound it only takes a few moments before the Superego has untied himself and is dragging us out of bed in order to get us dressed and to work in an orderly fashion. If I have to get up and out of bed to snooze the alarm, then I might as well stay up sort of thing.

It works pretty well. I used to have multiple clocks that would go off in five minute increments ensuring that I could not get completely back to sleep before the next one went off. Plus, hiding them all over the room worked wonders for getting me out of bed. Having to search for three clock radios all playing Jim Dandy to the Rescue will certainly wake you up. It will not however leave you in the best temperament. Now I just have one. Alarm clock that is.

Well, enough about how grumpy I am in the morning, well, for today anyway. There is work  to be done. Hopefully I can stay inside as much as possible. It is bloody cold outside. It was -13°C this morning. That’s Yankee weather. This is freakin’ Arkansas. It is not supposed to drop below 0°C. Ever. By law. I think they even had it in the Articles of the Confederation.

“All states, territories, colonies, and townships, being West of the River called Mississippi, and South of the 40th parallel, shall not be, under penalty of law, really freakin’ cold. Ever.”

I like rewriting history. Don’t you? If I could time travel, I would go back in time, and get Thomas Jefferson totally trashed and make a few adjustments to the Declaration of Independence probably employing the term “Bitchin” at least once. And maybe I would go back and change the line “Amber waves of grain.” to “Righteous waves of grain.” Ah, I do love 80’s surfer lingo. It comes from my love of the Ninja Turtles I think and perhaps Point Break. Yeah, I know it came out in 1991, but they were surfing in the 80’s. The Swayz did not pick up a deck in 1990 and just hit the waves like a pro. It took him the entire decade to perfect those Gnarly moves.

I have got to stop. I’m off to work. I feel so much better now. More soon. ~SC


  1. TeacherSis says:

    don’t forget going back in time to help Irma write her book….we could add a chapter named “That’s fuckin’ HOT”…

  2. Word to Me says:

    I thought the chapter was going to be “That shit is hot” (and if it drips don’t catch it in your hand and then lick i because it burned your hand) or something like that…

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