cereal killer

I'm an addict.  A junkie.  A tweaker.  A fiend.  A druggie.  Take your choice of word; it doesn't really matter, for they all converge together upon the same meaning: I am hopelessly obsessed with something to the point where I have zero self-control and it's ruining my life.  

The "something" in question?  Cereal. 

I shit you not.  No, cereal is not the latest euphemistic slang for whichever drug is hottest among the youths of today.  I literally mean straight up, in a bowl with almond milk, cereal. Preferably a mix of something grainy like Cheerios poured in with some sugary granola, because life is all about balance.  At least that's what my mom says. 

Every night, I fall asleep dreaming of the sweet-crunchy-soggy delight that awaits me in the morning.  I wake up, then mope around until I feel the usual pangs of morning hunger interrupt my thought process, and then I walk into the kitchen and engorge myself on the holiest of carbohydrates. 

My cereal of choice these days is a bowl of cheerios with a handful of granola mixed it, topped with frozen fruit and almond milk.  Sweet salty perfection. The coldness of the milk is so refreshing, the crunch of granola is so scintillating, the dance of flavors from the ripe berries is so dazzling.  

The problem is that my parents are starting to catch on to my cereal obsession, and they are beginning to worry. I mean, they would worry about me even if I were a perfect little child—parents always excel in finding some reason to be concerned in areas where concern does not need to be. 

But anyways, they left me home alone for a week recently, and when they came back they were saddened and disgruntled by the amount of cereal I ate.  This pissed me off because it's not like I burned down the house or had an epic rager or anything—I literally just sat around munching on enriched flour and was living my best life. 

A change is needed though.  I'm no longer a spry chicken; I'm well into my 20's, and I only have a few years left before my years of neglecting self-care and eating the nutritional equivalent of cardboard catch up to me.  If I want to achieve my main objective in life—to reach the peak of my hotness in my 40s—I must beat the cereal addiction. 

And so it begins.  I am dipping my toes back into the old pond of anorexia to summon SOME kind of willpower, or perhaps a spare fuck to give about my eating habits, so I can crush my crunchy cereal addiction once and for all.  

To show you how serious (cereal-ous?) I am about beating my addiction, here's what I've done this week:

• I reduced my cereal consumption to only once per day.  this is the hardest one by far to enact in my life. 
• I consumed a vegetable (some roasted broccoli, if you're curious). 
• I went out of my way to actually meal prep for once in my godforsaken life so I was not tempted by the sweet convenience of pourable-from-a-box food  

So far my efforts are going well.  I definitely miss scarfing down bowl after bowl of crunchy sugary goodness and stuffing myself like an engorged tick full of human blood, but I am resisting its siren-like call in favor of more holistic options.  

In the future, I perhaps will need to eliminate cereal once and for all, but for now that time has yet to arrive.  I will continue munching on a smaller, more wholesome quantity of cereal until my addiction crosses a line again, or I develop type 2 diabetes.  or both.  but hopefully not.  

guyliner

I’m not one to really talk about my objects of fancy or desire, but I was thinking the other day that guys wearing eyeliner are just objectively so much more attractive than guys who don’t do so, and I felt so compelled that I needed to make a PSA thrown into the void of the internet.  

When I say attractive I don’t mean in a romantic or sexual way necessarily; I just mean more aesthetically pleasing and intriguing.  Like, I fucking hate men and am socially awkward as hell, but if I saw a guy walking around with eyeliner, I’d immediately want to get to know him.  We’d have at least one thing in common—a love for self-imposed raccoon eyes—and such commonality would be the great basis for a conversation, or even a friendship.  

And to be clear, I’m not saying guys should wear eyeliner solely because of its visual appeal.  Wearing eyeliner makes you feel strong, tough, unfuckwithable—who doesn’t want that?  With black ink smudged around your eye sockets, you feel invincible, almost like you’re in a manic episode but minus all the side effects of psychosis.  You feel like a god with some kohl wrapped around your waterlines.  You should try it sometime.  

ultimate guyliner king

there's a new sheriff in town

well, that was, like, a gazillion times better than sixteen candles.  

can I borrow your underpants for 10 minutes?

When I was at the tender age of nine years old, my parents thought it would be a good idea to show me Sixteen Candles—you know, the classic John Hughes coming-of-age film starring Molly Ringwald.

ultimate mega-babe

Yeah.  I have no fucking clue why they thought that film was appropriate for a third grader, either.

I only remember two things from the first time I watched Sixteen Candles:

1. Sam gives her underpants to a weird boy 

2.  I lied.  That's the only thing I remembered. 

To innocent little me at the time, Sixteen Candles was a horror movie.  I may not have recalled much of the plot, but I remember the genuine terror that film instilled in me the first time I watched it.  Being a teenager was the most frightening thing I could conceive of. 

I'm no longer in my teens—I'm far past them, as a matter of fact—but damn.  I just re-watched the movie for the first time in over a decade, and I'm really pissed off I didn't take the time to do so when I was in high school. I would have found it really cool and funny.  I still find it cool and funny, but it doesn't hit as hard now since that teenage stage of life is behind me, and all I have are broken shards of memory and regret as to how I wasted away such a formative period in my life, yadda yadda yadda. 

There are quite a few dirty jokes (as well as a few slurs) thrown around in the movie, and as I watched it, I became increasingly perplexed as to why my reserved and mild-mannered parents would show it to their little daughter they sheltered with such fervency.  I mean, at least half of those jokes must've flown over my little nine-year-old head.  And, as I mentioned earlier, the other half that did buzz into my brain terrorized me.  So that's great. 

These are some stills I liked from the opening credits.  The '80s had major swagger.  It just feels so right to be a teenager during that time.  *le sigh of being born in le wrong generation*

The ~mis-en-scene~ in each bedroom was pretty impeccable.  My high school film teacher would be really proud that I remembered that term.  

I think I have a crush.  Is this what they call swooning?

I feel like this would be a good reaction image for something, but I'm not clever enough to come up with such a scenario. 

More ~aesthetic~ stills

This image is a metaphor for my life

This part was soooooo cute

The main part I DIDN'T like was the end.  I guess you could say it felt too rushed.  Like....she gets in the car with this guy she barely knows and has never spoken to (yet somehow has a crush on), and they just automatically go off and have a grand time together?

Why does she wish for him?  What does she like about him other than the fact that he's cute? Would anyone realistically go to a stranger's wedding and wait for someone they barely knew?

Call me cynical, but I'm calling bullshit. 

Man, no wonder I feel like my teen years were half-lived if this is the kind of expectation I was up against.  Life can not be a John Hughes movie.  I guess that's what makes it worth watching.