Death and Brownies

Hello all,

It is 7:38 on Sunday night. I have just settled down to finish off a bowl of Walking-Choco-Mallow-Crispies (a little concoction that I’ve been eating since 8th grade where I mix Rice Crispies, Hershey’s Kisses, and marshmallows in a bowl, melt it in the microwave for 35 seconds, and eat it right out of the bowl before anyone sees me, no judgment) while watching the Best of Tracy Morgan SNL Special. This act juxtaposed against the last few days has made me reflect on my life.

Today Mom asked me to make my special brownies. Now to some of you this may include some kind of mind-bending drug, but I assure you it’s nothing of the sort. Right when I moved home this summer (sigh) my grandparents came over for a cookout and I made brownies from a box and sprinkled butterscotch and chocolate chips over the top and I undercooked them-giving them a fudge quality. My family thought this was a delicacy beyond imagination and “Noah’s Special Brownies” were born. This specific request for brownies was for a funeral my parents are attending tomorrow.

Mom thought that with only 5 salads and 5 desserts for a high profile funeral she should bring something else because that was CLEARLY not enough. Noah’s Special Brownies to the rescue! I imagine everyone coming back from the funeral to morn and graze on a mediocre spread, but instead of bland cookies they are greeted by my special brownies. “Hey, wow this is the best day ever, look at those brownies, yummy!” I can hear them say. No.

No. My brownies are meant to make the masses happy, but I imagine that a funeral is a funeral and no one will be saying this. No one will give a rat’s patootie what food is at a funeral, it’s a funeral. In lieu of a funeral for myself, I will be having a musical themed BBQ. It will be gay gay gay and fun fun fun. It will be happy and sunny, and when normally I would be worried about getting a sunburn, who cares, I’ll be dead.

The other day I got one of the best hair cuts I have gotten in years but I was surprised by what fell into my lap. White hair. I have white hair. I HAVE WHITE HAIR. I mean I’m all for natural highlights, and better white hair than no hair, but really? When I saw white hair in the mix of amber locks on my lap I contained my freak out and asked the stylist for her professional opinion. She said that yes it was in fact white hair and flipped her gum. I guess it’s not a problem….or is it?

I’ll be 26 next month, I work 3 days a week as a cashier, I live at home with my parents, I codependently sleep with my dog, I accost my ex-boyfriend with voicemails in hope to get back my possessions and self respect and now I have white hair. This all came to me as I finished my Walking-Choco-Mallow-Crispies and I started to laugh. After a few seconds it became much less funny.

Bitch of a life- 1
Noah- 0