…but I’ll never get out of the kitchen. That’s where the food is!

I’m going to see Madonna’s “Confessions Tour” tonight, on the hottest day of the summer. Wait for the awesome part: Madonna won’t allow air conditioning at Madison Square Garden because it affects her singing voice. She’s just not havin’ it with the ventilation. Apparently people at her last concert here were removed on stretchers. That sounds like so much fun.

I’m personally going to the show more for the spectacle than Madonna’s singing voice, but props to her for being a bad enough bitch to have the power to do this. “This” meaning possibly killing thousands of her adoring fans. I don’t function in heat, so even if there are only a few fatalities at the show, you better believe I’ll be one of them.

Other possible tombstone taglines:

“Come on, Get Together for your last photo with Annie”
“Sorry”
“In the evidence of her brilliance” (HA!)
“She Loved New York”
“Forbidden Love: Were Annie and Cheetos supposed to be together?”
“There’s only so much you can learn in one place”
“How High? High as hell.”
“Heart Failed (in the Back of a Concert)”

—

That was totally fun.

If you’re not rolling on the floor laughing your ass off at my tombstone taglines, rest assured: it’s because all but one of them are references to “Confessions on a Dance Floor.” It’s cool if you didn’t know that. We can’t all die at a Madonna concert, you know. People need to choose their own battles and just go for the gold. Just DIE already!

Anyway, a final farewell to all. I love you.

(Anyone else digging this centered text?)

I’m melting… just watch me burn.

Speaking of 7-11, I should probably post Summer 2006’s “Still Obsessed with 7-Eleven” pic. There I am in early June, attractively posing in an elevator with a taquito and a Big Gulp. I don’t know why more people don’t leave comments on my blog that say “You are too classy, Annie Barrett!” That’s all I want, in addition to the chips, Slurpees, and processed pastry products that made up my diet for most of June. I made it “my thing.” I’d only eat at 7-Eleven. I thought I was being thrifty and humorous. I bragged about it to everyone who would listen. Pay attention to me! I’m so wacky, eating only foods from a convenience store. I’m killing myself! It’s hilarious!

This was Summer 2005’s “Still Obsessed…” shot. I’m glad I’ve been using these “transition” years in New York City to blossom into a fabulous five-year-old who can’t manage to take a picture involving snacks (or iconography suggestive of snacks) that doesn’t call to mind the sound, “Wheeeeee!”

Next year I won’t deign to pose for the pic. I’ll get someone else to do it, then Photoshop my goofy mug onto him or her. It’ll look the same anyway.

This summer alone, I’ve eaten my way through what I estimate to be around 30% of 7-Eleven’s merchandise. I don’t mean total sales, I mean total selection. I’ve picked up at least one of 30% of the items for sale, every single one of which has been heavily processed and encased in a wrapper.

My two loves, together at last: behold the Entenmann’s display at 7-Eleven. Who is sleeping with whom here? Corporate Bear, have you been matchmaking again? These shelves take up easily 20% of the tiny store. Obviously, I can’t complain. It’s just funny.

Also: what’s with Entenmann’s getting all snacky on us lately? It used to be huge displays of the “committment pastries” like entire cakes and danishes. Now, after Entenmann’s’ apparent merger with the 7-Eleven corporation, it’s all about the quick fix. I love me a snack, but I prefer Entenmann’s boxed items to their wrapped ones. I don’t want a crappy single serving of a “Honeybun.” Give me a banana crunch chocolate chip cake, served in an expansive box that contains enough wiggle room for the fork I’ll be leaving in there all week. (No sense in washing it if I’m working on a bite-to-bite basis.)

Hip Tip for the day: Entenmann’s chocolate frosted donuts taste even more amazing…. refrigerated.

Ted Allen would probably murder me if he knew I just used his trademark “Hip Tips” segment to promote processed foods.

Now this site’ll come up when people Google search Ted Allen! Ted Allen Ted Allen Ted Allen. Ha! Does anyone Google Ted Allen? I would. I would google Ted Allen.

These “Mega” M&Ms, artfully photographed in New Buffalo, Michigan, remind me of Crayola’s “Bolder” markers. Remember? There were the plain Bolds, which I adored (especially jungle green), and then all of a sudden you couldn’t buy Bold anymore and instead had to choose between either Classic or Bolder. Bolder sucked! They were all so… extreme. That’s how I feel about these candy colors. All the colors except the light blue are a tad too bold for their own good, especially that nasty maroon. What was wrong with just being bold? Why must we overdo it?

P.S. Mega? Give me a break. I’d rather buy a bigger sack of regular-size M&Ms, one I’d have to swing around behind my shoulder because it was that cumbersome, than a normal-size bag of these new overgrown, mutant M&M’s spawn. Eating these jumbo ones makes me feel like a hoss because I’m so used to the noncommittal nature of eating regular M&Ms. Those are so tiny and harmless. It’s like eating air!

The candy itself should not make one feel fat. Waking up the morning after eating a sack of candy should make one feel fat. Aftermath is a bitch, but at least you got to enjoy the intake worry-free.

Happy 7-11. Get a Slurpee. They’re good for you.

I made friends with a fellow Apple user in LaGuardia airport last week. Our flight was delayed a total of four and a half hours, but instead of telling us that (which I’m certain they could have) right off the bat, the United Airlines representatives strung us along at half-hour increments, changing the estimated departure time ever so slightly just to keep us on our toes and waste our daytime minutes. Seriously, I think that’s what they were after. They probably derived sick pleasure from watching everyone at the gate lunge for their cell phones to update their friends and family with “the latest.”

Even I found it amusing, since I wasn’t using my phone at all, knowing that my dad would be obsessively checking my flight’s status himself. Ha! I calmly oversaw everything from my perch on the floor near an electrical outlet. Check out the plebes, I thought to myself. See them run. Watch them snack. Feel the desperation!

I seem to be one of the few people in the world who doesn’t particularly mind a delayed flight. As long as I have something to read or a gadget to play with, what do I care? If I arrived at my destination city on time, I certainly wouldn’t spend the next four hours reading a book. What am I, crazy? So the delay is almost a bonus for me. A much-needed shot of literacy, like something from the ‘’boosters'’ menu at Jamba Juice.

Not to mention, I love watching people, especially New Yorkers, freak the hell out. Their lives are so important. They can’t just be put on hold for four hours. And yet they must! Airline delays are so democratic. The gates turn into mini Communist blocs. Everyone gets inconvenienced, even though some fliers’ inconveniences affect a lot more people and/or cost a lot more money. As soon as a delay is announced, we are all the same. It’s absolutely delicious to watch some people try to deal with that.

I’m convinced that part of the reason I enjoy delays is because I always manage to feel superior with my calm, resigned, shrug-it-off behavior just after the announcement. I try extra hard to look perfectly composed in the midst of everyone else’s angst. It helps that I usually haven’t slept the night before — it adds a super-special sedated glaze you just can’t duplicate with makeup. My fellow fliers probably notice me in envy. What’s her secret? They want to be me. They want what I have.

What I have is a Pretzel Dog.

When I first walked by the Pretzel Time stand on my way to D10, I played it cool. I knew my flight was delayed, and that in a mere matter of moments, I’d be back. I gave a quick glance over the merch and suddenly the clearest thought of my morning popped into my head. I’m going to get one of those pretzel hot dogs, and it’s going to be the best thing I’ve eaten in a week. I was absolutely correct. As usual, at least in terms of things I tell myself about food.

Anyway, back to the Apple user. This really cute red-headed woman sat down next to me against the wall, all excited that she’d found an outlet to plug her Mac into. “I know!” I gushed. “It’s such a privilege, seriously.” I was serious. Of course I was.

Problem: her fidgety power adapter wouldn’t remain plugged in at that certain angle. I hate that, I told her. That’s why I got this new adapter with a three-pronged plug! Blah blah blah. She walked away, dejected, stood in line for awhile. I assumed it was the last I’d see of her.

But no. This incredible genius concocted a solution. “I came up with a plan,” she informed me as she plopped back down. “Watch this.”

I watched, as she proceeded to situate the fabulous display to your right. Then I gaped at her for at least 30 seconds. This girl was my all-time hero.

“I’m so amazed that you just did that. You’re like, my favorite person here.”

Awkward pause, which obviously meant I had to keep speaking.

“Which isn’t really a title of distinction, if you look around. But you know what I mean.”

She did. She gave me one of those wise little smirks that let me know this wasn’t the first time she’d pulled off something this wily.

I asked if she minded if I took a picture of the adapter on the water bottle. “Maybe I’ll put it on my BLOG,” I said, in a really sarcastic tone. I’m not sure why, because I had every intention of putting this picture on my blog, and if a day pass to the LGA wifi network wasn’t so inappropriately expensive, I’d have done it right that second. I guess it was a self-conscious thing. Like if I scoffed at the idea of having a blog, it might mean I didn’t really care about mine. That I wasn’t that obnoxious… yet. She could see right through it.

For the rest of the delay, we happily lorded our iSnobbery over the other passengers, who were all totally jealous that we had outlets and they didn’t. At one point, I saw another guy daintily typing on his Powerbook across the concourse and realized that I thought this person, who looked exactly like myself at that moment, seemed like a huge tool. I was okay with that.

This is how much I love my computer.

There’s something I’ve wanted to do on this site for years now. It’s been very important to me ever since I got my license at 16 and began driving to and from Chicago on Interstate 55. I became obsessed with a tiny sign barely visible from the road. But I’d never been able to snap a decent picture of it because I was either driving alone or too slow on the uptake to get a good shot. Actually, it was always both of those things. You know how it is — one hand on the wheel, the other on a Slurpee. Which one gives?

Not to mention, it’s dangerous to practice digital photography on a highway and I’m not even a good driver. The choice was always between my life or this photo, and like Nicole Kidman suddenly impassioned at the empty train station, I chose life. Until last weekend.

The following is a phenomenon I’ve kept completely private until now. Well, I finally snapped a photo and now get to share:

The sign on the left is for some sort of industrial company called “International.” I have no idea what they make. Possibly valves. It doesn’t matter. The point is, that company’s sign has forever reminded me of the logo for California Pizza Kitchen.

WOULD YOU JUST LOOK at these two beautiful specimen, finally side by side! I’m having a mini meltdown here. I’m like, approaching the consistency of a piping hot Thai Chicken Pizza right here in front of my screen. Somebody grab the digicam!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am on top of my tiny little world right now. For years, I’d thought “Hey, looks like CPK” while driving by the sign. Every single time, I’d give a little wave or a wink — even if I wasn’t alone. Nothing excessive. Sometimes it’s just nice to acknowledge things you care about.

This is a dream. Everything suddenly makes sense. Do you understand? A small portion of my life’s work has just been checked off the list. That’s never even happened yet!