I have a weakness for ice cream.
It’s the kryptonite to my Superman.
I’ve never met an ice cream I didn’t like, or one that didn’t like me.
One might say I’m an ice cream whisperer.
Today, working off last nights ice cream binge, I met Samuel L. Jacksons older sister.
The were made from the same cloth, only this woman was taken from the dirty side.
When I said good morning she responded with “Yeah, it’s a good m*&%$@#f*&%$n’ mornin’! The sun is up and I’m at the m*&^%$f*&^%n’ gym again. Breathin’ in & out though, so it’s pretty good!” with a smile on her face.
I guessed that in the early years in the KCMO school district m*&^%$#f*&^%n’ was taught as an adjective.
When I asked what her plans for the day were, she replied “I got a long m*&^%$#f*&^%$n’ day ahead of me. Dr.s appointment at nine where I gotta get some more prescriptions and I don’t like that sh*t. M*&^%$f*&^%rs tell me I have to take this and I have to take that. I’m like, 197 years old and I’ve made it this long without all that m*&^%$f*&^%$n’ sh*t. I’m leaving that office and headed right to the store for some ice cream!”
If I were like, 70 years older, she would be mine.
5 am comes far too quickly after laying my head on that delicate pile of bunched up puffy clouds I call my pillow where I dream of unicorns farting rainbows and the Partridge Family bus (having serious bus/tree problems).
Food is an ever present part of my dreams too as well as part of my every waking moment.
It’s what I do.
This is why I get up (again, try to crawl over the wife unflatulently) and flog myself for a mile in lane three while trying not to swallow mumu swimsuit flavors.
I’m trying to stop following my belly around. I’d like it to be a part of the walk with the rest of my being instead of trying to always lead the way.
When I get out, I generally make it to the shower without weaving or falling over, clean up, shave and write this post.
This morning, after sitting in the same chair every weekday morning for the last two months, I finally noticed…
“The Crack Machine”