|Oh, to be Irish in the mid 1800's|
Ever have one of those weekends where it just seems like nothing goes right? Everything from the serious (like health, career, love life) to the not-so-serious, like choosing the wrong exit lane in a pay parking garage, and getting stuck behind a guy who tries to pay his ticket with an argument? That was last weekend for me. Just one enema of a weekend. But even though I was prepared to just punt the sadness and lick my wounds, I decided to put all my energy and hopes into one thing (I am a gambler, after all). There was one simple idea that would make it all better and catapult me into a week of awesome:
|Actual footage of my taste buds upon the thought of the potatoes|
Which quickly became...
|Fuck it all.|
If the fruit had fallen out, I would have shrugged. Had the wrap fallen out, well, I would have been used to that because the restaurant slathers it in mayo 25 percent of the time, rendering it inedible to me. Why couldn't the fork and napkins have escaped? I walked back to my apartment completely defeated, and ate my wrap and fruit with contempt, as if their jealousy had pushed the potatoes out of the bag. Then I showered, curled up in bed with a pillow, and cried.
Truly, a modern day tragedy.
Universal, Paramount, Miramax, Fox, Fox Searchlight, Summit...the rights to this story are officially on sale.
Let the bidding begin.