wednesday thoughts

so here's what i think today: i do not feel like using capital letters. and i don't think white rice belongs in salads, because it looks like maggots. and i like white rice, in fact, i sort of love white rice, with it's popcorn-y goodness. yes, popcorn, like when you add the butter and salt to a pot of jasmine? it smells like popcorn, i swear. and as a survivor buff, how could i not like white rice? i like it especially on the side with half a whole chicken, if that makes sense. i like it in bean burritos, i like it with black pepper on top. but in salad, no. we had santa fe salad today for salad club, which is where you sign up for an ingredient based on the recipe, then they throw it all together on wednesday into this ginormous, mother-of-all salad bowls. i'm serious, you've never seen a salad bowl this big. it's bigger than a bistro table.

anyway, even when the salads sound gross, they end up tasty. like the asian chicken salad. the kitchen sink salad. and the santa fe salad, i frankly thought sounded a little gross, but i brought my 1 can sliced black olives and tried it anyway. and i really didn't even taste the rice, so i shouldn't complain, but on the other hand, if you can't taste the rice, then why bother with it. it's wormy, it's weird, it's an aesthetic displeasure. ix-nay on the ice-ray. and i feel like a lot of salads use brown rice, and somehow that's acceptable, but it's really not. it's a whole other subject, really, about how brown rice, while nutrionally containing more value and probably fewer carcinogens, tastes like burnt feet.

here's what else i think today: it's around the full moon, and i can feel it. normally i would call this pms, whether it was that time or not, but seeing as i don't have pms right now, i'm just going to blame the moon. i suppose i could just blame the pregnancy, but i don't feel like it. i blame too much on the little baby, it's not his or her fault. it's that big lovely moon in the sky. i'm just crabby about how, when i ASK for a little help with the dishes--just emptying the dishwasher, so i can begin attacking the mountain in the sink--i'd like to get it, without flack. and ESPECIALLY without swearing, that's just crossing a line.

i could have left the dishes for the next day, which i do quite frequently, because, why not. but there was literally not one little bit of room to spare in that shallow sink for the two extra plates and frying pan that needed soaking. and you know how much harder these things are to clean the next day if they've been sitting out on the counter for a day, rather than soaking in the sink? yes, that much harder. traumatically harder. and granted, the dishwasher-emptying task would have taken five minutes, so...why not do it myself? why even ask, or why even get mad when declined. because it would have taken FIVE MINUTES, that's why. the whole thing made me cry, and a day later, i would have cried all over again. stupid, pretty moon, all low in the sky. it really is your fault.