Sunny Days in DC

Jack of All Trades, Master of 3-ish.

I’m Cheating…

If you’ve read my blog, you know I love ice cream. If you haven‘t read my blog, you totally should. This shit’s hilarious. Moving on…

I love ice cream. Also pizza, and sometimes chocolate almond milk, but now we’re getting a little personal, and I like to get to know you before we’re sharing cups of chocolate almond milk in our IKEA bedroom set. ANYway, last week was Passover, and so our poor kitchen is still recovering from the cleansing of wheat and delicious bread-y products. As such, Chocolate Brownie Ice Cream was purged from our home, because Jews and suffering and something else that means that I can’t enjoy my life. But now all of that is over and we’re out of Egypt or something, so I get my motherfucking ice cream again.


Except, when Passover ended and the final matzah was eaten, in my doorway stood a box from Brooklyn. It had arrived early, and so neither my husband nor I had opened it. We knew what was inside. It sung to us in the night like a siren, begging us to open it up and inspect the contents…. which, I don’t think Sirens actually did. I don’t think they were all about the exploratory surgery, but pretend that metaphor made sense, because I’m a little tired right now and totally half assing this post.

When Passover ended, we celebrated the return of gluten to our lives, not with ice cream, as we had initially thought, but with this tasty business right here:


*This is not a picture of my table… but it totally could be.*


I used to be a girl scout, so these cookies hold a very special place in my heart. Also, interesting story, that shit makes you fat as hell. I learned that one year, when my dad decided that the “competition” to see who could sell the most boxes was really a personal attack on his honor, and as such had to be met with strategic planning and a balls-to-the-wall attitude. My dad bought a folding table, and set me up right outside of our subway stop one hour before rush hour in the mornings and in the evenings. Do you know how many people will buy cookies from a little girl, especially when they’re hungry as hell because they haven’t eaten breakfast? People make a lot of bad choices early in the morning, y’all. Not the least of which was buying from ME.

I don’t know how many boxes I sold. It was a SERIOUS number though.

But just like that one time you took a piece of strange home from the bar, and didn’t realize what you had done until morning, I ended up with a lot of people who never actually picked up their boxes. I guess they forgot that in the wee hours of the morning, two months ago, they had purchased four boxes of Thin Mints from some small Jewish child in green…. like a magical leprechaun of deliciousness.

Guess where that leaves a young girl with almost zero will power and a legit sweet tooth…


*I will fucking CAGE-MATCH fight you for that Tagalong, bitch!*

When I tell you that we had boxes lining the wall in my living room…. it was a sight. How I managed to NOT develop diabetes is still beyond me.

And so, it is with no small amount of nostalgia that I recall those halcyon days of refined sugar and peanut butter-topped awesome, via consuming the ever loving SHIT outta two boxes of tagalongs and a sleeve of thin mints. The saddest thing about Girl Scout Cookie Season, is that it doesn’t last long enough.

……………………I need to start ordering enough to get me through the summer!!


I Do Our Budget While Eating Ice Cream and Heating Up Pizza

I realized tonight as I stood in the kitchen, eating ice cream and waiting for our “organic microwave” pizza to heat up, that I am a pretty disgusting person. Who does this? ON A NUMBER OF LEVELS, WHO DOES THIS? Let’s break it down together.

1) I am eating ice cream. While waiting for my pizza to heat up.

2) I don’t do drugs, so this is how I take the edge off of doing our family budget. WTF?!

3) I should just fucking do drugs and be skinny.

I had a tough day at work… but it’s ok. The further I get from being unemployed, the more I realize what a bad head space it put me in. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully grasp just how much it messed with me, but as I find my groove in the new role, and yes even when I flounder, I look back at my life over the past year and realize how hard it was. 2012 was not my year.

The only good thing about it, was that my son was born…

…he makes it all worth it.


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