At Least I Find Myself Amusing

Hi Darling Ones,

Moments before I started typing this I found myself vociferously singing along to a cover of U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” This surprised me because I fucking hate U2. Like a lot. A lot. A lot. A lot. U2, Arcade Fire, Dawes, and Radiohead can all take a flying leap as far as I’m concerned. If none of their songs (except for “Creep” never desecrated my ears again I would be the better for it.

But Jodi Chromey Supergenius, you might ask, how can you sing along to a song you hate? Why do you even know all the words? Because I was alive in 1987. U2 lyrics were injected right into the memories of eighties teenagers. It was the precursor to when they injected that one U2 album into all our iPhones or was it our iPods?

Anyway, I’m happy to report I’m slowly recovering from the Thanksgiving fallout trauma. I’m still super sad and a little bit angry about the whole thing, but I’m doing my best to stop thinking about it because I’m starting to bore myself. Along with not thinking about it, I’ve decided to take the high road.

Taking the high road sucks, because nobody ever sees you up there. However, the Tea Ladies have promised to cheer me on as I trek through Christmas with a rictus grin up on the high road. My motto for the rest of the year is, “it’ll be fine.”

Oh, and the other thing I was going to tell you was about how I’m currently addicted to microwave kettle corn smothered in Everything but the Elote seasoning. I eat it at least once a week. I’m going through a real popcorn thing for the last, oh, five years. Why is that shit so delicious? I just bought, for myself, one of those Target barrels with the regular, cheese, and caramel popcorn.

The one thing I do whenever I make microwave popcorn, which i know is awful for me and is probably gonna giver me cancer right along with the bluetooth cans I keep strapped to my head eight hours a day, is shake the unpopped kernels & old maids out of the bag. Then I make a joke, out loud, to myself, while eating the old maids. I say in my darkened kitchen, “Solidarity for old maids! we all deserve to be eaten.”

I crack myself up,

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