Ronald McDonald Riding a Dragon

I want apologize for any punctuation or spelling errors in this post before I start. Yesterday, at work (yes, acting) I took an elbow to the eye which sent me down to the ground so fast that my head…bounced.

In case you were wondering, I am the most accident prone person on the planet. I will not out who accidentally assaulted me (though I may later, if he cheeses me off) but I will say after I fell, he pulled me up off of the ground so fast that the stars that were still swimming in my vision began to shoot across the ether in my mind’s eye, and supernova themselves. If it weren’t so absurdly painful, it could have been a neat special effect.

Of course, the first thing I did was start to teasing the person who accidentally elbowed me. It seemed only right. Obviously, the night was over after I met the ground.

Immediately, my friends started sending and receiving inappropriate text messages about the whole thing that would make you think less of them, so I’ll not be sharing the contents, but needless to say, laughing hurts a whole lot more when your head feels as though it may fall off.

There was only one possible answer to my problem…cognac and ice cream. Not together, though that could be good too.

I am going to confess to you my deepest, darkest secret to you right now….

I love McDonald’s ice cream cones. This is the part where the WebMistress facepalms and shakes her head in shame.

I can’t help it…I love their coffee too. It’s a weird, chemical addiction that I just can’t ever seem to shake. They give you the perfect, tiniest amount of ice cream!!! It tastes like childhood obesity, laughter, and guilt. I will out the GraveRobber and BroadwayBaby who share my love for McD’s ice cream cones. Every so often, late, late at night, we head to the golden arches (of doom) and get ice cream and coffee. Last night? I got the ice cream. It was a coping mechanism!! Better that than pills or obsessively organizing my shoes!!! Ok, at LEAST better than pills. You can’t take pills if you’re already knocking back sidecars. That, and painkillers make me feel like I can’t breathe and that I’m possibly being chased by a dragon.

I have weird food guilt. I have tried much to quell its hold on me, but have thus far been unsuccessful. Growing up, I had no concept of food guilt. I ate what I wanted, when I wanted it, and damned be the consequences. Now, even the idea of being seen at McDonald’s is a bit horrific to me. It doesn’t matter if I remind myself that ninety percent of the time, I eat quite healthy, and the other ten percent of the time is my time to eat whatever. It doesn’t matter, I get this chilling, nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me “don’t eat that! don’t eat that!!”

I am doing my damnedest to eliminate that voice, but it is loud, and strong, and relentless. What I want to know is why I didn’t have a similar voice warning me off assholes when I was dating?? Or one that told me to put down my novel, and pick up the damn art history book I needed to study.

Why is it only for ice cream and pomme frites? What makes that voice so pervasive?

For once, I’d just like it to shut the hell up and let me eat my damn vanilla chemical cone in peace.

Do you have guilty pleasure foods? Please, I need to hear if its a casserole, because, in my brain, everyone in Montana, Colorado, Utah, etc has a casserole for their “happy dish”. Preferably one made with tater tots.

What I made today will NOT make you feel guilty at.all. It will make your breath smell to high heaven, and it will make you deliriously happy, but guilty it will not.

Healthy “fried” pickles.

I took the classic Southern appetizer and made it better and kept it just as delicious. The Captain deemed them “weeally weeaallly good, Mama!!” which is saying something.