I think one of my all-time favorite things to do with my boo, more than eating burgers or marathoning movies, is daydreaming.
I think daily life has a good grasp on keeping us grounded in reality (read: crushing dreams) and judging by the number of memes about 20-somethings experiencing some kind of quarter-life crisis, I think we’re not the only ones who sometimes feel that way.
So whenever Jayne and I get together, it’s like therapy. We don’t just eat, listen to rock, and laugh–we encourage each other to imagine and dream. Much like a good book might do.
Yes, I just compared hanging out with my best friend to reading a book. And everyone who reads knows that’s a huge compliment.
Here’s what we’re dreaming about…
Where We’ll Go
There’s probably not enough vacation time in the world for all the trips we’ve got planned. And the fun thing about trip planning with Jayne (besides the fact that we see eye-to-eye on all the scrumptious things we want to try) is that there’s always writing involved.
On our great culinary adventures, Jayne and I always look for only the finest, purest, most extraordinary ingredients and recipes. No expense shall be spared and no stone unturned in search of culinary perfection.
This, inevitably, has led us to Applebee’s.
Great sages once spoke of a dessert so rich in chocolate and sprinkled with cinammon and sugar, that the people prayed to their God so that he may deliver upon them to this miracle.
And, ye so it was that He bestowed upon them… the Churro S’more.
Jayne and I risked much–muggers, parking money, our dignity–to venture forth to that heinous land they call Fisherman’s Wharf so that we, too, might have a taste of that godly dessert.
There’s this thing I like to call, “The Birthday Cycle of Shame.”
It happens every year and it all starts around November, three months before my glorious day of birth (I’ve been petitioning for years to have it named a national holiday, but those government schmos just don’t seem to get the importance). The impending gluttonous glory of Thanksgiving inevitably gets me thinking something along the lines of, “FOOOOOOOOD! HOLIDAY ALL ABOUT FOOOOOOOOD!” and because I am the kind of person who takes the phrase “consumption overkill” (which I’m pretty sure is something I just made up – spread the word, guys!) to a whole new level, the genius of such a holiday will get me thinking about the next day-long – and sometimes weekend-long – excuse I have to eat my entire weight in fried stuff, cheesy stuff, and chocolate (Jayne’s Three Basic Food Groups for Optimal Survival in the Modern World): My birthday.
“I WILL HAVE A TEN LAYER CHOCOLATE CAKE!” I’ll think wildly, grinning like a fool with gluttonous glee. “AND THERE WILL BE A MAC N CHEESE FOUNTAIN!” And then, after months of texting T all kinds of increasingly fanatical ideas like this, I’ll finally hit my birthday month. And that’s when this feeling of impending doom starts.
Currently eating: A Mocha Swiss Roll courtesy of my mom, who understands that it is ALWAYS time for dessert in Jayne Land.
Currently listening to: The Black Veil Brides and trying to decide once and for all how I feel about this band. Been hearing good things but haven’t formed a firm opinion yet. Will let all interested parties know by this week’s Mixtape Friday, I’m sure.
Currently wondering: If I should, in fact, pursue a career in human resource management, because my closest compadres have been telling me that it’ll make great use of my excellent managerial skills and my obsession with power – I mean, my love of humanity. Yeah.
Recently watched: The Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal, consecutively in one sitting. Which is something I’ve never done before despite having seen both films, the latter of which I believe was extremely subpar compared to the former. Anyway, it got me thinking about Prion Disease and how it would’ve added an interesting layer to Hannibal’s character, because then you’d have this cause-and-effect conundrum about whether or not he was insane to begin with and that’s why he gets all cannibalistic, OR if it was all just circumstance (like, say, if he were a surgeon and he just got curious or licked his fingers after surgery and got a taste for it or something fucked up like that) and ingesting human flesh is WHY he’s unhinged. Because this is what I think about on lovely Sunday evenings, guys.
Recently discovered: That it is not a good idea to discuss one’s fascination with the psychological workings of serial killers with just anyone. People spook easily.
Recently agonized over: Finding just the right volume to put my Pandora stations on that won’t give the random advertisements the opportunity to scare the fuck out of me and further my descent into complete deafness.