Me and my friend, Food.

The fact that I am not morbidly obese yet baffles me.

I eat. Like a lot. Like I’ve finished whole pizzas on my own. Consumed full course dinners while still having room for a 12-inch sweet onion teriyaki chicken sub (with extra mayo) from Subway that was literally consumed in under ten minutes (and if you don’t believe me, I have people to attest to that to that glorious fact).

Condiments (with one in particular) hold a special place in my heart. I love you Hellman…always and forever.

There will be two cakes at my wedding. One for me and one for my guests…the one for myself will be bigger.

I have put chocolate syrup on bacon. On more than one occasion.

If that doesn’t scream “type two diabetes” I have no clue what the fuck does.

And it’s not like I’m fat…I mean I could be skinnier (said the white girl)…but I wear size six jeans. All the jackets that are currently in my closest rotation are size small. I’m what some would call a “little petite white bitch.”

Artery clogging amounts of s’mores, Oreo balls, cookies, etc. have been shoved into my mouth on multiple occasions. And I looked good doing it too…well I looked like I was about to vomit…whatever…tomato tomato. Hmmm…that saying doesn’t seem to work as well on paper. Whatever, fuck it. You know what I’m trying to say.

Even my roommate is baffled by my eating habits:

Matt: “I feel like you’re the monster in the village that I have to feed constantly or you’ll kill everyone.”

Matt: “I feel like in every scene you should be eating.”

Matt: “When you get famous can I be your personal assistant?

Me: “Oh god, I don’t even know what I would do with a personal assistant.”

Matt: “Are you kidding? Buy you food. Make you food. Feed you food. Go buy you more food.”

Even random people are baffled by this shit:

Waitress: “He got the single burger…she got the double (laughs). You think it be the other way around.”

…I did not leave her a tip.

And I’m not really complaining about this situation. I love to eat. And I’m lucky enough to not gain (that much) weight with my daily binges. However, I know this moment is fleeting.

Cause when this shit catches up to me…it ain’t going to be pretty.

My face has a certain "look"...

I’ve been told that I have a look that says, “I like black guys.” So does my best friend…and don’t get me wrong... we do…we really do.

But it’s a weird thing to hear from random passersby, “You like black guys don’t you?”

Granted, it probably doesn’t help that I’m usually screaming, “Yeah…uh huh… you want it!” to these random passersby as I grab my love junk, which is either my boobs/ass/belly or a combination of the three, depending on my level of intoxication.

And for the record, I’m usually joking when I say that…usually.

Now the real question is: what is the “look?” What exactly is it about me that says “I am a lover of dark chocolate/fried chicken/majority of the Waynes brothers?”

Can strangers just tell that I’ve been watching “In Living Color” since I was seven? Or that my panties get all in a twist when someone buys me a 40? (Preferably a Hurricane.) Or the fact that I have a preference when it comes to 40’s, which means one could safely assume that I’ve consumed more than type of malt liquor on multiple occasions? Preferable when I’m watching “Intervention.”

… I’m sorry but there is no other way to watch “Intervention” than a 40 in one hand, and a crack pipe in the other… it’s better than porn…ha, who am I kidding there is nothing better than porn…nothing.

And why is it that I cannot see the “look” within myself, yet I can see the “look” in others? However, I can see the black guy in me… actually that’s a lie… it’s usually too dark for me to tell.

My best friend and I have deduced that it is more of an essence than a look. An essence of sass one could say. It cannot be seen, only felt… and it feels oh so good.

There are three types of men that like obnoxiously sassy girls: 1. The hobo on uppers down the street, 2. Gay guys, and 3. Black men. And um, I’m a little obnoxious (if you haven’t already noticed) so why wouldn’t I love all three? They are FABULOUS!

White guys like obnoxiously sassy girls too, it’s just the majority of white dudes don't know how to handle them. Probably because we are wild and free, like the unicorns running rampant in your minds.

Hence, the “I look like I like black guys” look.

This better become a real fucking show.

I've never laughed so hard in my life.

I'm digusting...but you should be too, asshole.

My parents think I’m disgusting. I don’t know why though.

However, I will say this: if it was socially acceptable to not brush my teeth on a regular basis…I so wouldn’t.

Gah. It’s just so fucking annoying, and you have to do it like what? Four days a week? Jesus Christ, it’s like a fucking full-time job.

Next thing you’ll tell me, I’m supposed to lather, rinse and REPEAT. Um, fuck that noise.

And don’t even get me started on deodorant. Am I right McConaughey? Am I right? It’s a biological fact that we all have a specific scent, and we are thus attracted to other people’s specific scents.

By covering our body with unnatural scents like cologne/ perfume/ febreeze we have unintentionally continued the vicious cycle of divorce/failure/Jenny Craig.

You can fake happiness all you want, but in god’s name, you better not fake your own goddamn scent.

Doesn’t the percentage of marriages that end in divorce make so much more sense now? Lying about our scents has forced us to lie to our significant others about monogamy/your late night trip to Quiznos /your penis size, until we wake up one morning to the musty smell of lies and flatulence.

“I think we need a divorce.”

“What? Why?”

“You smell like dick.”

All weather is lie-related. Don’t you get it? Denial causes lightning; masking a scent causes humidity. Just look at the world you’ve creating by just applying deodorant once a day. Can you live with yourself? I sure hell hope you can’t.

Don’t act like you’re so surprised, you knew what you were doing every time you sprayed your cologne/perfume you fascist bastard. Complaining about this heat wave? Oh wait; it’s your fucking fault.

I just blew your mind didn’t I?

Good.

I'm not that much of a heartless bitch...

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Obsessed with this dude...

Sexually that is.

It's going to happen, I swear...

I can’t wait until religious channels sell their souls and start producing reality TV…let’s be honest it’s only a matter a months before you’re flipping through your TV guide when this gem of a show pops up….

Check it.

“Pregnant Sister with No Mister.”

The show opens with a balding British man staring ominously into camera, “Is this nun bearing Jesus Christ? Or is she just a whore in a habit…tune in next week to find out if Sister Mary Lisa is in fact the next mother of God….or if she is just another statistic.”

Oh god…I just peed a little.

Or what about… “Joseph and His 12 Under-Aged Wives Idol”?

It would be the Mormon polygamist version of American Idol. The 12 girls have to compete with each other to be the number one wife (out of the 12)….and our votes decide the winner.

Ryan Seacrest or as I like to call him…El Diablo… saunters onto the stage only to giggle and announce the next contestant.

“He married 12 girls and you, America, decides these poor unwilling contestants fate.…Up next, Mary Sue, 16, whose going to sing a little diddie by a girl named Taylor Swift.”

Only for you to roll your eyes and turn to your best friend/mom/cellmate and exclaim…

“I can’t believe that bitch thinks she can sing….Jesus Christ… I’m voting for Eunice.”

WAIT! WAIT! WAIT!

What about….”What Would Jesus Do…on drugs?”

Except Jesus isn’t really Jesus but… some illegal immigrant named Jesus (pronounced Hey-Suce)…and someone just follows him with a camera while he does drugs/stupid things/eats pickles….kind of the male version of Snooki.

And for the Jews!

Temptation Synagogue.

Ten Jewish Bachelorettes fight to the death for the love and prestige of marrying their local…and exceptionally hot Rabbi.

“Oi…I like my men jewie, circumcised and slightly smaller than average…those bitches better watch out or I’ll go all Fran Drescher on their asses…fucking whores.”

Oh god…I need a life.