but then I was like threefreakingclassesandnobodyisaroundtoplaywithandIhavetomakemyselfdinnereverynightstillandihatethisstupidsummerschoolthingy
Dinner. It's my least favorite thing ever. Because no matter what, I have to make myself either get up and go find food, or I have to actually make myself food and heavens why was the love for cooking not put in my genetic code whilst being created in my mother's womb? I hate it. I hate trying to figure out if I can put feta cheese in my garlic rice-a-roni (I can't, it's so bad please don't try it you'll totally throw up because I almost did and I have a stomach of steel just kidding) It's really terrible.
And then I get my nightly or mostly nightly call, from my sister-in-law and we discuss life and the awesomeness of Amy Poehler... and she's like "Oh yah just making homemade hamburgers and french fries for dinner" and I want to be with her even more than I already do. Because she's got that I Love Cooking gene. So I could help out with dinner, I'm a great helper. I should just be one of Santa's elfs because I love helping. BUT I HATE MAKING MY OWN FOOD.
So on a daily basis we end up with a plain spinach salad dosed in dressing for breakfast, popcorn for lunch and probably chips and salsa for dinner. Even then I stare at the fridge with complete repulsion. I don't like what you have inside of you fridge. I wish you had a fully prepared thai meal sitting in there. But you don't, you have spinach and apples and salad dressing. And for that reason I hate you.
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| Me, in a chef's outfit |
