Chocolate Chip Pancakes and Why I Should Never Be Invited Anywhere…

Want to know something shocking?

I’m really busy this week. Like, I actually have plans. With other live human beings…

I don’t really understand how it happened but somehow I’ve tricked other people into thinking my company will be a fun for them to have and we’ve planned on hanging out together.

Of course what these unsuspecting people who have agreed to spend time with me don’t know is that only this weekend I took a couple shots of whiskey and then proceeded to wreak havoc on everyone and everything around me. I told someone that I had a “thing” for one of his friends (which could be true but at the same time, my ability to comprehend my own feelings is not what I would call trustworthy and I’m not sure I even recall what this person that I apparently have a “thing” for looks like), I lost my favorite beanie, I had an extensive conversation with my lyft driver about how certain I was that I was going to throw up, and I found my phone charger at the bottom of my stairs the next morning half-crushed but still somehow functioning.

Now, you may be saying, “your phone charger is still working? Sounds like a successful night!”

And, yes, that is a good point and I’ll take it. But, even though I’m patting myself on the back for only crushing a trivial part of that electronic device, I have to say that I may not be the best person to take out for a night on the town.

Still, I somehow have gained invites to not only a couple happy hours and ice skating adventures but also a bonfire at a coworker’s house.

But instead of being excited about being recognized as a worthy member of society, I’m focused on one thing and one thing only.

Chocolate chip pancakes—and getting them into my mouth. Like stuffing so many into my mouth that I can’t even speak. Or breathe. I just want to get pancake’d out.

And I’ve been like dreaming about this. In a way crazier than normal way. Like in a I can’t think about anything else at all and just want to lie in a bed of giant pancake glory and eat my way through to the middle and then add whipped cream and just soak in syrup sort of way. And that sounds kind of sexual which is totally gross but it’s what I want!

And I know this can’t be healthy (especially since I’m lactose intolerant and whipped cream isn’t exactly on my let-fly list) but it’s totally included in these insane fantasies!

So, I brought up the idea of making them at this bonfire and you know what? The idea wasn’t immediately thrown out. I’m not sure why these people continue to humor me, but I’m not going to fight it and now pancakes are on the menu for Friday!

But, instead of this making things better for me, I’ve completely lost all ability to focus. I’m at work just typing away and trying to get things done but in the back of my mind there are these stacks of pancakes just floating around and I want to just jump up and scream PANCAKES but I can’t, because that just isn’t professional.

AND may I add that I am not sure I even really like these flat carbohydrates all that much. Like, I can’t even remember the last time I had an actual pancake. So what happens if I finally get to consume these flapjacks and they’re not nearly as fluffy or sickenly sweet as I’m imaging? What happens then?

Then I’m stuck at this bonfire with coworkers and I’m going to have to act like everything is all okay when inside, I’m totally broken!

Obviously I am not ready for the responsibilities that come along with being invited to things…

My Loneliness As Told By a Soap Dispenser (Also Known As Method Man)

I think I might be lonely.

And not in that oh, she’s just missing her college friends sort of way but in a truly disturbing and possibly debilitating sort of way.

Like, for example, because I don’t really have anyone that I want to hang out with, I’ve just been reading a lot. I just finished three books in four days and am now seriously wondering if my best friend is a girl from the future who is no longer made out of human parts but some blue bio gel instead.

And as cool as that is, it doesn’t do much for my social calendar seeing as she’s in some dystopian teen universe and I’m here in San Francisco in the real world. But even when I was considering whether or not to invite this fictional character to my birthday in a few months, I still didn’t really grasp onto the fact that this new-formed friendship was stemming from a serious issue: my loneliness.

I think I just thought maybe I wanted to read a bit more than usual because I had run out of shows on Netflix.

But then, today, as I was washing my hands at my office’s sink, I was confronted with the harsh reality of my situation.

You see, as I washing my hands, I happened to take notice of one of our two soap dispensers (one is for hand-washing and the other is for dishwashing).

The brand of soap that we use happens to be called “Method” and as I’m staring at it, my mind I starts referring to the soap dispenser as a person. And not just as any person but as “Method Man”. You know the rapper…

Wu Tang Clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with and neither is the depth of my depravity apparently.

So, all of a sudden I’ve given this soap bottle a personality and I’m like yup, we’ve got one thug guy over here.

And I’m like bobbin’ my head around as I wash my hands and grinning at this soap dispenser like we’re pals saying “It’s the method man, ain’t no if’s and’s about it.”

Then I look to the other soap dispenser because I am waiting for it to pick up Ghostface’s line and I’m just staring at it for a while before I realize that there will be no such follow up because I have been hallucinating an entire show centered around our office’s sink.

But, instead of just drying my hands with a paper towel and heading back to my desk, I have to let out a “Method Man Out” hiss and throw down a B-boy stance because I’m a terribly white female living out my dreams of someday being cool.

So, you see, I am terribly alone and need someone to save me from my own imaginations. Next time this might not happen in the kitchen of my office. Next time this could happen in a public space and then I won’t be able to stop anyone from kicking my ass.

Help?

How Gilmore Girls is Responsible for My Existential Crisis

Ah, yes. Once again I am far too invested in a fictional character’s life.

To make matters even more pathetic, I’ve already gone through the emotional turmoil of falling for and living through this character’s life.

But what you have to understand is that it’s not my fault. Netflix just had to get the entire Gilmore Girls series and it’s not like I can just NOT watch it. That would be ludicrous! *no, not the singer, songwriter but the adjective explaining that ignoring that six streaming seasons is impossible

Anyway, for the past two weeks I have been glued to my mini i-pad screen, once again living through the quick-paced, book and movie referencing, lives of Lorelai and Rory Gilmore. I can’t stop. It’s a sickness.

And it’s not like I don’t already know what’s going to happen. We must remember that I’ve already watched all of these episodes (up until the point Rory starts going out with Logan because, let’s be honest, the screenwriters must have had a stroke or something when they introduced him into the plot. He sucks so bad).

I could go on a twenty-page rant about Logan, but since he is fictional and I don’t want you to stop reading my posts, I’ll move on to the topic at hand—the serious problem that re-watching this show created for me.

I started having a truly existential crisis.

After watching the first three seasons in a matter of days, I had a terrifying epiphane: I have been totally manipulated by this seemingly “wholesome” sitcom.

Yep, that good girl Rory has wormed her headband wearing, innocent looking mind into mine.

It’s like, whoa. If I hadn’t watched this show, I could be a totally different person. I could be someone who’d played a sport and said things like “hella”.

Let’s just look at the evidence here.

  1. I drink coffee like it’s water
  2. Movie quotes are a significant part of my vocabulary
  3. I read constantly and feel a compulsion to finish all the classics
  4. My one wish in life is to be able to eat donuts for breakfast, burgers for lunch and dinner, and have the pizza delivery number on speed dial (without gaining any weight)
  5. If there is ever anyone I will ever be in love with, it will be Jess *we’ll get back to this point later

Now, you may be saying, “Kellen, you never went to an Ivy League school and you never had any interest in attending an Ivy League school so you’re not totally Rory.”

At that, I’d have to say you’re right. But does that make the influence any less apparent?! One small personality factor differentiates me from the young Lorelai Gilmore (apart from the fact that my metabolism is not fictional and is very real and very slow).

So, anyway, I’ve been having this major freak out over whether or not my personality came from the indefinable “me” or if it was created from a television show that I watched during the some of the most influential years of my life. Am I nothing but a screenwriter’s backwash?

Of course, this has been keeping me up at nights.

But instead of turning away from the Netflix and escaping the show that is causing all this turmoil, I keep watching it because, well, Jess is there.

Oh, Jess. The one true love of my life.

And this is where I really, really start to freak myself out.

I mean, is the great love of my life a person that doesn’t really exist? Like, my heart actually hurts whenever he’s on the screen and I’m, like, oh god! I am sick. Really sick. Because I know (somewhere in the back of my mind) that Jess isn’t real but while I’m watching the show, I truly believe he is. And I believe that he will write me my own book and build me my own bookstore and that he will want to sit with me over a pond and maybe we’d smoke a cigarette or maybe not because although he looks soooo good doing it, I know that it’s bad for our health so maybe I’d erase that part from my mind or maybe I wouldn’t care because he’s the love of my life and we could just live in our little book and coffee world and…

Do you see what i’m saying???? It’s like, should I calm down? Or do I actually have some sort of justification in my freak out since my entire personality may have been created from a fictional show and I am also half convinced that my husband is a fictional character?

So those are the thoughts that have been constantly running through my mind for the past 336 hours.

How I come across as totally balanced and sane is beyond me. Like, I actually mentored high school kids last night…

Scary thought, right?