Of Pasta (which sounds really odd juxtaposed with that first paragraph, but it'll all make sense in the end, I promise! Or not.)

Today is one of those days I just want to curl up under the shower and cry for a while. Except that that would involve getting up off the sofa and my anti-abs hurt way too much for that, thanks to my overenthusiastic kickboxing teacher.


It doesn't help that there's been an empty can of spaghettios sitting next to me for the past three hours, invading my breathing space. Spaghettios and I have a love/hate relationship. I could seriously subsist only on cold spaghettios out of the can most days, but today is apparently not one of those, because they're at the "even the thought of our round little pasta bits soaking in tomato brine or whatever it is makes you nearly physically ill, which would be inconvenient, seeing as throwing up would hurt your anti-abs. and why is this all in quotation marks?" stage.

So I finally muster up the strength to move the can, but the only thing near me is a trash can, and the spaghettios can is recyclable I think, so I would feel bad throwing it away because then it would be in a landfill for the rest of eternity and it would be my fault. So I set it next to the trash can instead. As if someone will see it there and understand my purpose, and take it to the sink and rinse it out and then recycle it for me, rather than going through with the much more obvious route of just throwing it in the can and cursing my lazy existence, because who else in this house eats cold spaghettios right out of the can?

I feel I need to clarify. They aren't spaghettios. They're Walmart brand spaghetti rings, or something. Why is it I can spell spaghettios ten times, but can't spell spaghetti once? Anyway, I like them better than spaghettios, enough so that I clarify on the shopping list that I want spaghettios, but not "Spaghettios: we made up this crazy word when we were all drunk one day, use it on your label and DIE!"

So anyway, now I'm thinking crying in the shower from my tiredness/various aches and pains/depression/toe hair is going to be too much work, so I might take a shower like a nice normal person and then actually read the things I'm supposed to read for writer's group tonight.

No, I don't actually suffer severe depression from my toe hair. I just felt that something needed to be tossed in there at the end, and I can't really spell chimpanzee.

I realize that I spelled chimpanzee correctly the first try, and could have just gotten suggestions on how to not be a spelling fail from blogger by right clicking. And yet, toe hair remains. Maybe because it's two words, and since this is a public blog it counts for my word goal. After typing "toe hair" that many times, you have no idea how hard it was to put the "l" where it belonged in "public".

Maybe it's the fact that I woke up at 2am this morning in an attempt to get my sleep schedule back to normal. Maybe it's because all I've eaten today is two day old birthday cake and playdoh ice cream. Why did I feel the need to type "2am in the morning"? 2am at night not clear enough?

Why am I writing this? No one will read this, and I'm perfectly fine with that. I even have a blog on here, probably two clicks away, that's my "private journal" thing I started to catalogue whether my ups and downs actually count as mood swings.

Hmm.

I think this is a good time to insert pasta into my post. Except that I did that already, with the spaghettios, or at least the spaghetti, if they don't qualify as "pasta" in the strictest sense of the word, which I think requires they not come floating in red stuff in a can.

I just used my new addon to look up "pasta". Dictionary.com claims:

–noun

any of various flour-and-egg food preparations of Italian origin, made of thin, unleavened dough and produced in a variety of forms, usually served with a sauce and sometimes stuffed.

Hmm. That would seem to include spaghettios. But wait, what's this?

Origin:
1870–75; <>See paste

Ah ha! There's no way spaghettios existed back then! Therefore, in the "strictest sense", which is what I was requiring, they aren't pasta! I win!

I just googled spaghettios to make sure they didn't exist back then. Apparently I've been spelling (damn you ice cream man!!! Sorry, he's driving past right now, and without parentheses my wrath would become stale and seem even odder inserted at the end of this post. Well, actually, I bet this wins as far as odd goes. Or, at least, it has a sufficiently high level of awkward to qualify. (qualify? for what?) back to those spaghettios.) it wrong all along. It's supposed to be

SpaghettiOs
which kind of makes me feel better, because if you look at it just right, it's a tiny meaningless parentheses right in the middle of their word. Just like my ice cream man rant. (Damn you across the street children!! Why!!! WHY!!! Why are you buying ice cream from the overpriced vendor of shame and hatred!!!!) See! It was topical after all! Like a zit cream! Anyway, without that parentheses (here, I'll illustrate it just in case I'm too random for you to understand: "Spaghetti()s" <-- see! see! I'm not crazy! Well, at least not in that way), they're actually just spaghettis. So, a badly pluralized spaghetti! Ha! Wait. I'm not sure whether that makes them more qualified as pasta, or not. Dang.

Anyway, they were apparently created in 1965, so sadly, no Victorian women ever had the pleasure of lying around in stained sweatpants eating them directly out of the can while watching vacuum infomercials, which is how I spend my Saturdays (who am I kidding, that's my weekdays. saturdays are for the magic bullet informercials). Not that they would have done any of that even if spaghettios had existed, but you never know!

So, I think that's about it. Plus the other two blog posts I've stuck up here today, that's three. Wow. I can do math. And I attempted to type three as "thereee". Mom, you should be proud.

P.P.S. Apparently, spaghetti in some form has been around since the 12th century, so I think pasta is the one that should be ashamed! Wait, I don't remember where this whole dating things tangent was going. Ashamed of parenthesis? Ashamed of existing? I've only been around since 1989, but I'm actually pretty sure I've existed in some form of gravel since long before that, so in the end I should win both of those! Plus, that means I qualify as pasta in the strictest sense! Triple win!

P.S. Actually, the wiki is pretty interesting. Who would have thought that much thought would go into making a round pasta floating in a can? (that sentence should be beaten) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SpaghettiOs

Why the heck are my PSs out of order? Oh well.

P.P.P.S. I think I figured out why I do this. I no longer feel like curling up in the shower, having made myself laugh at my sheer stupidity a few times. And I do best when playing to an audience bigger than myself. And Emily. And Margeret. (let's not get into what I've named the various parts of my brain. At least, not in a post so dominated by pasta.) So that's why this isn't stuck in the "no one can read it but me, and anyone who might hack my account, and anyone who might use the computer after me because I'm often too stupid to log out/close my tabs". Because the publicly available no one will read it but me etc. is so much more fulfilling!!

Update: Blogger can read my mind! I didn't tag this with "life", but there it is, and you know what, it totally fits! I was way too busy typing that really long one that makes no sense and I intend to use as much as possible. So, apparently, blogger understands that the craziness above is my life. I'm not sure whether I'm afraid, disturbed, or hugely excited. I think I'll just try to form my face into a semblance of all three, and take a picture of it.