Glamwich 2: State of the Bread Union

So yesterday’s samwich was such a hit that I had my people tell Daddums to make me another one!

Unfortunately, we were out of spinach. But that never stopped a kitchen magnate! When in doubt, add cheese.

My favorite part about Dabble’s sandwiches is he always employs the highest security measures in protecting their artistic underbellies, as if after all that hard work, to have them damaged or disturbed in some way by a lazy, uninspired criminal would be unconscionable.

Please witness the levels:

Level 1: Note the note! It has my name on it so that anybody who pillages the office fridge will know that this edible rectangle belongs to not just anybody, but SOMEBODY!!!

Above and beyond that, the note is written in pink highlighter. When you want to highlight words of import, you utilize one of these bad boys. But when you want to flat out make a statement, you just straight up write it in highlighter.

Level 2: Shrink wrap. Even mind games dare not enter here! Full surface area: We got it covered!

Level 3: Rubber bandits! One runs lengthwise and one runs horizontally. A window into an impenetrable fortress of calories!

Level 4: We made it past the elastics, but what’s this?! Wax paper? How profound! “My motivation to filch this masterpiece is waning,” thinks the unmotivated robber.

Level 5: The diagonal cut! While many think of this maneuver as purely aesthetic, little do they know that even the noodliest head brain behind an operation can’t fathom his treasure being maimed in any way! A scar right down the middle? Crime game over!!! Blame game is just starting though.

Level 5.1: Not really a level, but I ate half so we don’t have to worry about the double safety measures anymore!

Level 5.2: Man, I am doing a great job looking out for this lil’ guy!

Level 5.3: Well, case closed, gumshoes! It was an open-and-shut incident of deliciousness with intent to gastronomically dazzle.

Level 5.4: And that’s a saran wrap, folks!

P.S. I love Jezebel’s Pie v. Cake March Madness bracket so much!!!

Normally, Internet trashtalking is one of my least favorite things, but how can you resist this poetry?

“This weekend, my husband was yapping excitedly about key lime pie’s chances in pie vs cake. I was uncharacteristically silent. He slowly turned to me and said softly with dawning awareness, “You’re on Team Cake, aren’t you.”

I swear he was watching a montage in his head of all of the moments in the last five years he’s seen me eating cake, set to something like A Whiter Shade of Pale or Dust in the Wind. It was a real Hitchcock moment for him.” (via funzette)

OR

“Who put pumpkin and lemon meringue in the same bracket? This is like Sophie’s Choice for me. I hate you guys.” (via jenrobe)

P.P.S. On the very subject of delectables, both my parents seem to enjoy pleasantly personalizing their food packaging styles. For instance, here was a box of cupcakes my Mother presented to me the other week. She herself added all the smiley visages. Due to the lighting, they take on a ghastly air, scrumptiousness factor notwithstanding.

Goodbye, Old Frenemy

So I threw out…er, bid adieu to chair spawn today. [History of this guy documented here, and then later here.]

SO LONG, FARE THEE WELL


He was barfing on my desk too much and I just couldn’t pay his medical bills (mostly mental health) any longer.

PUDDLE OF SPLAT


Plus he was upsetting the other desk denizens, namely the three kids below.

STICKY DUCK

GOOGLY-EYED MONKEY BIRFDEE CARD

NONFUNCTIONAL NONDESCRIPT PINK PUFF MOUSEMAT


Unfortunately, as per the oozual, he gets the last laugh as my wrists are already aching without his soft cushiony touch.

How can you have such a stellar top half but be spewing garbage out your bottom half 25/8?!

Oh wait, I guess that describes most living organisms.

Maybe I will reconsider!!! The Hump Day is young, and hasn’t jaded itself into a corner yet.

[Well, it used to be. Now it’s not and chair spawn’s fate is secured. Alas(t call).]

Who smells a B-horror movie?! (ayyy-eeee, the distinct aroma of cheapie popcorn and toilet bowl-sized beverages!)

I Would Like to Expense All Future Therapy That Results From This Incident

So work just got really weird.

I was hitting that afternoon wall (you drones know what I’m talkin’ ’bout!) in terms of motivation and productivity, and my alterego Slothface was about to make an appearance, when suddenly I felt something soft and spongy underneath my too-casual-for-midweek flip flop. I look down at the floor, and it appears my office chair has expelled something from itself.


Now I know that sounds insane. But I’m serious. My office chair has spawned some kind of baby office chair/third armrest/twin that it may have partially eaten in the factory but it finally managed to spew out of its conscience.


Also nearby this chair creature was a fresh ketchup stain that appeared out of nowhere. Yes, ketchup, as in a poor, sticky substitute for blood in an elementary school play!


Is someone trying to frame me? At my desk? With fake blood and office furniture spawn? I, for one, am intrigued.

This is like an R.L. Stine Goosebumps plot*, and I can’t wait to find out what happens next!

Keep it up, Wednesday! We’re almost there (i.e., the weekend! AMIRITE?!)!

*To back my point up further, Wikipedia describes Goosebumps plots as such [my comments in square brackets and sexy italics]:

“The primary protagonist(s) of a Goosebumps story is often situated in a remote location or somehow isolated from typical societal conventions [Totes me!]. This can be as simplistic as comfortable suburban areas, or as exaggerated as boarding schools, foreign villages, campsites, unfamiliar relatives’ homes or oversea areas [Or office cubes! Hello!]. The books in the Goosebumps series usually feature semi-homogenous plot structures with normal kids being, frequently indirectly, involved in scary situations; chapters end in cliffhangers, and after the central conflict has either been or appears to have been resolved, there is often a twist ending [What’s more of a twist than no ending?!]. Also, in his autobiography, R. L. Stine has stated that he often ends chapters in a state of suspense, like a cliffhanger [Bingo bango!].”

Three Unrelated Incidents Except I’m Relating Them to You Now

1. this happened today. i hate to state the obvious (to me) but there was a crime scene outside my office. when i went to get my (too soon?) morning jolt, i ran into some yellow tape quite literally. i’m not sure what happened but it was in front of a bank, so putting two 2 dollar bills together, i surmised a robbery, or a slobbery (poorly executed criminal operation). there wasn’t any indication of imminent dangers or strangers, so i poked my head around for a nano bit. a small crowd of two (including the archetype of an old lady) had amassed around the incident upon a second viewing, as these things are wont to do.

there is no crowd surfing allowed around crime scenes though it would lighten things up, in my unwarranted opinion.
photo courtesy of Flickr and clagnut

2. also! this happened yesterday. i went to the hotel parking garage (where i park for work) to get my car, and at the exact same time that i am getting out of the elevator in the garage, a kid is zooming toward me on his skateboard. ok. let me back that up. not really a kid. one of those manchildren you see walking around from time to time (caught between adolescence and his thirties). dressed like a punk-hipster sort. playmobile/no country for good haircuts/prince valiant blonde hairdo, wire-frame glasses, a bit chubby though wearing skinny jeans, smoking a ciggie, and also happened to be making a direct tangent toward me on his skateboard.

oh snap! this was the haircut on the right!
photo courtesy of Flickr and d&e

oh snap! this is a skateboard punkin!
photo courtesy of Flickr and soylentgreen23

except i hadn’t even gained but four feet of distance when he toppled over unceremoniously onto his non-ciggie hand, skateboard flipping out and flopping over to his side. the whole thing took place in slow motion. i practically saw it occurring even before it began to happen, and then, alas, it did happen.

“are you alright?!” i ventured one-quarter cautiously/three-quarters in disbelief. “oh yes,” he says, picking himself up business-casually and nonchalantly, “this happens all the time.” and i suppose by ‘this’ he meant falling. but what he actually meant was scaring parking garage denizens by practicing pratfalls in front of elevators on the regs. the punk lifestyle has very broad definitions (including taking mini-vacations from your mom’s basement), and this guy’s interpretation is more than welcome, comments the latest countercultural anthropologist.

3. also! this happened yesterday, with results today. i sent a happy birthday email to someone at work yesterday (on time, mind you), and she replied today morning with a “Thanks Aparana” but, as you can see, she spelled my name wrong. i believe the only proper response to this is a frowny face, so here goes:

photo courtesy of Flickr and tofslie

photo courtesy of Flickr and Joi

photo courtesy of Flickr and Just Taken Pics

it’s one thing to have someone mispronounce your name but misspell it in an email regularly! when your name is spelt properly not one inch away! CAMMAN. and may i add another CAMMAN for good, nay great, measure.