Why hello there, fair readers!
Marissa and I thought it’d be a mighty fine idea indeed to introduce ourselves via somewhat revealing and ridiculous confessions about ourselves throughout the next week or so. Needless to say, the brainstorming process has left me with oodles of ridiculous revelations as well as leaving me with that insufferable Usher song “Confessions” that I remember dancing, or rather awkward-white-girl-shuffling to, at my 8th grade dance. You know what I’m talking about! The “I really am trying to hide my race by dropping and popping and locking and random intervals but it’s really not working” dance, ya know?
But meanwhile, back at the ranch! Here is my first confession. Sit back, enjoy, and chortle at your own leisure.
Okay, so I essentially eat peanut butter on everything. Even my roommate’s dresses. Really.
My roommates and I have noticed how far gone I am in terms of my peanut butter consumption. A 40 oz jar literally lasts me around…6-7 days if I’m being pretty generous! P.S. Kudos and thanks to you, metabolism, for allowing me to perform such a majestic feat of caloric consumption! Must be all the calorie burning from all of the white girl dancing I do on a daily basis. To indie music. Alone. In my dorm room (Okay, so maybe this is a few confessions). On top of bananas, Kashi crackers, oatmeal ( It’s like eating from a molten lava flow of peanut butter. So ridonculous.), spoons of various sizes, my own scrawny fingers, and most notably, my own roommate’s dress, whatever surface peanut butter is on it really has no chance.
Let me explain. Sure, I’m pretty much a mess when it comes to eating in general. When I eat spaghetti, my dinner guests don’t even have a chance; the marinara sauce is sprayed off that it’s nearly like being in the “splash zone” at Sea World whenever Shamu flings his mighty and beastly body up in to the air and sprays the innocent audience with a wave of salty sea water. I’m pretty sure my friends have oohed and aahed as they’ve witness such a feat of eating just like one would do for Shamu.
So one day last week I decided to wear one of my roommate’s adorable dresses. My aforementioned roommate and I decided to have what was my 3rd(4th? 5th?) peanut butter-based snack o’ the day. Being college students, we decided to microwave some stale bagels in the microwave so our precious chompers would not be harmed by what we were about to eat. When we finally got the bagels into a malleable form, you guessed it; we put some peanut butter on those suckers! And just so you know, hot bagels + peanut butter= MOLTEN HOT LAVA FLOW OF PEANUT BUTTER. Also, in the world of Food Porn, melted peanut butter would be the Jenna Jamieson of the land. So needless to say, that peanut butter slowly dripped off the bagel and on to my roommate’s dress in large, majestic clumps. “I’m so sorry! I’ll clean it off. I swear!”, I said as I fled to the bathroom, where my roommate was in the dark on what I was really planning to do…
“MACKENZIE! I CAN HEAR YOU LICKING THE PEANUT BUTTER OFF MY DRESS FROM HERE!”, she yelled. The jig was up.
From here I still cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel of the end of my peanut butter addiction. Look out for me on next month’s “Intervention” as I feebly fight off the incoming spoons of peanut butter coming my way. Sadly, the credits will read “3 weeks after treatment, Mackenzie succumbed to her addiction. She is now couch-surfing and dumpster diving for jars of peanut butter.”
Peace, love, and peanut butter lava,