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June 5, 2000 I really need to cut back on the peanut butter. No, but really. It's just so damned tasty. And cheap. And really, really easy to lick off a spoon. This is how I plan my diet: What can I lick off a spoon? But I feel all sticky and oogy and Amaya-y now. On the inside, where it counts. Yogurt, too, is quite lickable, but for some reason, it just doesn't hold the same appeal as the butter of the nut. Peanut butter. Peanut brittle. Peanut bitter. I want to invent something called peanut bitter. I do not want it to taste bitter, though I can see how one might get that impression, I just…I want it to be something to calm me the hell down when I'm feeling bitter, yet also something that does not make me feel all sticky and oogy and Amaya-y. There will be no reduced-fat peanut bitter. That would be blasphemous. Fat is not oogy-inducing. Fat is a party in my mouth. A woman I work with asked me how I was the other day. My co-workers, they worry about me. I told her I was fine, and then launched into how much I hate my job, going into excruciating detail about the lack of voice mail, the lack of personal space, the lack of any happy fun positive reinforcement whatsoever. I know this is stupid and unprofessional behavior, but I have just never been able to censor my inner crank. Also, she kinda hates her job, too, so I'm not terribly worried that she'll tell anyone to fire me. She's a good egg. Plus, I make her laugh. At some point I told her I was bitter. Oddly, she did not seem terrifically surprised. The next day, she came over to me and once again asked me how I was doing. This woman does not learn. But, because I didn't want to go into everything that sucked on that particular day, I just told her that I was bitter still. She asked if I was more bitter than the previous day. After taking a few beats to think about it, I told her no, I was about the same. I had reached the plateau of bitter. The plateau of bitter? she said. Yes. The plateau of bitter. It was at this point that she walked away, not quite knowing what to do with this information. I use the word bitter far too often. I identify as bitter way too much. I wear it as a badge of pride, and I'm starting to think this may not be such a good thing. I like to pretend that being bitter, being dissatisfied, being all-the-time angry just means I'm smart. Means I'm aware of the horrors of which life is made up. I liken it to the somewhat depressing question that was posed to me in my wild, carefree days as a philosophy major: Would you rather be a miserable genius or a content, yet idiotic, pig? Pig, in this case, is being used literally. My answer always hinged on whether I would know that I was an idiotic pig. The answer to that was always "no, you'd be an idiotic pig." So, much as it pained my overtaxed little brain to come to terms with it, I chose to be a content pig, on the promised condition that I would never know anything other than content pigdom. But, sadly, I was not given this choice, and so I think sometimes, and can therefore kiss sweet contentment good-bye. Oh, if only there was peanut bitter! It would be a cure-all. An edible ointment. A protein-rich salve. One delicious spoonful would banish any thoughts of unrealized entitlement to the nether regions of the spleen. It would be a dual-action formula -- take a tablespoon of peanut bitter orally, and then apply topically to whatever region of the body best symbolizes the source of said bitterness. Sexual malfunction? Peanut bitter makes a perfect personal lubricant. Job stress? Peanut bitter soothes the nastiest carpal tunnel. Family angst? Peanut bitter camouflages the most disfiguring scars inflicted upon you by an evil sibling with access to lighter fluid. But the best part of all, of course, is that peanut bitter would be yummy. It would taste of your first kiss. And if you ate it with your fingers, it wouldn't get all gunked up under your nails. Also, it would come with its own special spoon that would never need washing. Not that any spoon needs washing. Unless by washing, of course, you mean licking.
Thanks to Diaryland. | ||||