Official DR endorsement! (With his, comes mine.)

I also thought that this new and very much improved campaign poster would look great with DR’s illustrious color scheme. Was I right or was I right? Pound!

The guy with his arm on fire is my lifelong neighbor and new hero, Sean Gallagher! Apparently he was plucked from an audition line for some other job, by a Taco Bell rep who admired his significant ‘fro. Who wouldn’t?

I have to pause and just take it in. Sean is in a TACO BELL COMMERCIAL.

Remember last week when I was thrilled as all hell that the media covered my friend Ben’s walk-thru at McDonald’s? Well, I love Taco Bell even more than McDonald’s. I know, it’s crazy. This is an amazing day for me. My circle of aquaintances is a blooming cornucopia of professional-ish associations with fast food!

Speaking of which, I love how it says “Professional. Do not attempt,” as if Sean belongs to the pyromanics’ union and truly knows his way around fire.

From Time.com’s Swampland blog:

The official reviews had not yet come in when the Barack Obama staffers started celebrating last night. And what better way to celebrate than a walk into the drive thru at McDonald’s? A function of audacity? Hope? Or maybe just change we can believe in.

(Obama spokesman Ben LaBolt, in the act of loving it.)

OH YES HE DIII-IIIIID.

I have never Ben prouder of my good friend and high school prom date (heeeey!), Ben fucking LaBolt. He shows up on the Internet all the time, but I never link to his mentions because frankly, they’re not consistent with my rather narrowly focused authorial agenda. Only after the ‘razzi catch him on a fast food joint WALK-THRU while sporting a shitgrin, cool jeans and coat, and attractive “I live on the bus” facial hair does LaBolt finally show up here. Look at him, hungry for that grease. 50,000 Big Macs could wallop that parking lot in a torrential hailstorm and not only would this guy make it safely onto the bus, he’d already be on his seventh fry.

Ben LaBolt, Diminishing Returns (finally) salutes you. And keep it up… a well-publicized Taco Bell visit will get you your own category.

GO TEAM.

Usually PP annoys the crap out of me, but Weeds is being quite funny about theirs. They’re all super-blatant and conducive to the principle theme of the show. This week, Kevin Nealon as Doug slurped down sodas from Arby’s and perennial DR fave California Pizza Kitchen, and the entire Agrestic City Council chowed on Panda Express. More on Panda Express later.

Nancy’s “I can’t believe we’re about to eat Baskin Robbins!” gush fest was the most photo-worthy. Fine, to be honest, I took pics of all four logos but this was the only one that came out non-slanted and colorful. My aptitude for taking photos of my TV decreases drastically after 2 a.m. (and 2 Tylenol PM! Haha!)

It might!

That “omelet” looks like pretend food, like it should be plasticized and play an integral role in an important sculpture or board game. DD obviously can’t make omelets on the spot so those things are pre-mixed, pre-shaped, etc. Ew. I’d eat the yellow stuff if it constituted some form of cake. Even if it looked like that — as long as it tasted like cake I’d be fine. Or even if it tasted like an English muffin with colorful herbs. I just can’t believe that mass is supposed to be eggs.

Whoa… Do I not like eggs? I just ate eggs!

Nice football in the background. Who’s up for some sports!

Big Decision Alert!

Liz Lemon is the greatest TV character ever.

I’m probably only saying that because she’s a lot like me and I’m all I ever think about. Whatever. Liz Lemon of 30 Rock (Tina Fey) is my hero for plenty of reasons, the most obvious of which is her unabashed obsession with junk food. Observe:

Liz gets a cookie after donating blood. Would you look at that SMIRK? This might be the best photo I’ve ever taken of my own television, and if you don’t know me that well, that is saying so much more than you think. Observe:

Liz is in the middle of an important, entire-episode-consuming office crisis, yet she hesitates when a catering cart wheels by. She actually CHANGES DIRECTION. I believe a pivot was involved, just like in high school girls basketball. (Me!) Again, note the fierce longing in her face. I just don’t understand how this could get any better. Observe:

Liz falls asleep after the same long day at work, but manages to keep a firm grip on a cheeseburger so weak and floppy it is obviously from McDonald’s, despite a lack of visible wrapper logos. Don’t you just want to eat her up? The burger.

Those pics were from last Thursday’s episode. Last night, Liz Lemon admitted the only times she remotely enjoyed her vile boyfriend’s company was when his actions involved food — first doughnuts, then chili, then cheesesteaks. I am seriously confounded at the brilliance of these snack selections. A few weeks ago, the reason I got going on this in the first place was Liz’s insistence that there’s nothing wrong with eating a turkey sub for lunch, and that she likes going to the “crappy” midtown deli because it’s dependable and you know what you’re getting. I couldn’t have said it better myself — god knows I’ve tried, but I’m not good at scripting myself in catchy, succinct TV sentences. When I get to talking about area delis, I can last for whole minutes. I try really hard to convince whomever I’m arguing with (who was never arguing with me, and who doesn’t care) that turkey subs go best when mouth-swished with regular cola, and don’t forget the mayo. The point is: I love Tina Fey.

And on top of all of that… She’s a lefty!

By the way, I’d like to start a Justin Timberlake-esque campaign to bring the spelling “doughnuts” back. Krispy Kreme spells the word that way, but the more pervasive Dunkin’ Donuts, and most people, do not. Are we that busy and low-class that we need to snub those two arguably negligible letters? I’m bringin’ DoughnutsBack. Owww! Sing it with me:

I’m bringin’ “doughnuts” back
Them other peeps they don’t know how to spell
I think it’s special… what’s it filled with, yo
So put it down and I’ll suck out the jelly

A few weeks ago, my sister and I ate at The Cheesecake Factory in Chicago. We stood in their nasty waiting area (the walls resemble intestinal tracts) for half an hour on a Sunday night. We’re insane.

Anyway, between us, we ordered three staggeringly large (because they all are) menu items. The first was the spinach/artichoke/but mostly cheese dip. It was yummy in the way that a deviled egg is satisfying a few hours before the main Thanksgiving meal. Yes, you want the egg — but were steaming slices of carved meat and stuffing to be plunked down in front of you, you’d toss it over your shoulder without even looking.

Such was the scene at TCF, as round 2 (Cajun Chicken Littles, with garlic mashed, veggies (gross) and two dipping sauces) swooped in for the kill on our massive table that should have seated at least six.

I call this shot… “Abandoned Chip.”

You want it.

Damnit, Annie! There’s so much freakin’ dip left! Looking at it now makes me crazy.

Have you ever done this?

BREAKING NEWS: I’m recapping Dancing with the Stars this fall. Tune in!

Gotta run, but since images speak louder than words and it’ll also make this post seem longer, here’s a photo I took of a piece of CPK Thai Chicken Pizza tentatively shaped like Texas.

(I have no emotional bond to Texas. CPK…different story.)

Guess who’s back? Me.

Over the last month, I’ve taken loads of unnecessary photos in the midwest (Michigan and Chicago). Most were of food. A lot were of Chicken McNuggets. With a car to myself, I could have gone anywhere and purchased rare, impressive, and photogenic meals, but instead I ended up lining up nuggets and White Castle burgers in what I’d almost venture to call “artistic” settings.

Sack of Ten

Discussion questions:

1. Why only ten?

2. Artistic?

3. If we can’t actually see Slider 8, can we be sure it exists?

4. Sliders 5, 7, and 10 are upside down. Is this significant? Was it intentional? Why or why not?

5. What, ultimately, is Annie trying to say in this piece? Is the photo about burgers, or is it about longing? Construct an expository paragraph containing the word “gurgle” that explains your choice.

After nearly a decade of ambivalence and/or not caring about White Castle, I’ve finally decided I’m in love with it. There are no exceptions. You couldn’t throw anything on that menu at me that I wouldn’t catch in my mouth and enjoy, including the new Hidden Valley Chicken Rings (right, on my All Reheated, All The Time conveyor belt, with a tiny bit of Pizza Hut Stuffed Crust pie pokin’ its way into the frame… with a bite out of it… I’m so gross). Whitey’s also carries Tobasco Chicken Rings, which I’m guessing just means thousands of tiny red flakes instead of green.

The Chicken Rings should strike any normal person as nasty. Me, I’m impressed. Shaping disgusting chicken innards into small circles, then deep frying and caking them in ten times more artificial flavoring than would ever be called for. Admit it: It’s a wonderful idea!

(Remember when Tobias cries out “It’s a wonderful restaurant!” at Burger King on Arrested Development? That’s in my top ten.)

I’m a firm believer that once you find the perfect consistency for a certain food, you’ve got to make sure that, if possible, you get to eat it in that exact state every time. Case in point: I discovered that baking the Sliders at 450 degrees for about five minutes — even if they’re already fresh from the restaurant, “fresh” and “restaurant” being understandably shaky terms in this case — produces my favorite Slider consistency. The bun, which is so bulbous and shiny and expertly shaped, like an infant’s head, looks and tastes better when it’s charred a bit, at least on the top. That way, you get some crunch at the very beginning of the bite and then once you’re through the “shell” (similar to the candy coating of an M&M) you get to chew the rest of the still-soft inner bun. Mmmm.

Beware of the tongue-singeing cheese! It’ll getcha. But it’s worth it, because later you’ll be doing something else, think “why does my tongue kill?” and remember, fondly, “Ahhh, White Castle.” And you’ll probably be on the toilet.

All of the above is to say that even though I’m back in Brooklyn, when I don’t know what to write about in the next couple of weeks, I’m just going to do throwbacks to my long-ass vacation. They’ll come out of nowhere, like cool weather and the new Pepperidge Farm Rainbow Goldfish. Watch out!

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.

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!

I need this (right) in my life right now. In the commercial for it, a guy eats one while driving a convertible. Convertibles are impressive and cool, which means so will I be when I rip into one of these on the street. I call it “Big Mess of Crap from Taco Bell” but a simple Google search will tell you it’s actually the Crunchwrap Supreme and that it has returned due to popular demand.

Check out Crunchwrap Supreme’s Diary for proof. Two questions: 1) How did I miss this the first time? 2) Who is in charge of hiring people to write blurbs in the voice of the Crunchwrap Supreme? That needs to be my new job.

Loyal readers such as my parents and that’s about it will remember my aversion to liquid cheese (LC) and wonder, “Annie, why would you or your really popular website endorse a product filled with ‘’Warm Nacho Cheese Sauce?'’ This is a good question, and to be honest the idea of WNCS still definitely freaks me out. But the WNCS constitutes such a small percentage of the Crunchwrap that its existence is mildly acceptable. (After I actually eat one, the WNCS’s rating will likely jump from “mildly acceptable” to “so very necessary” because I’m a traitor like that.) As evidenced by the animated text pockets on Taco Bell’s website, there is so much else the Crunchwrap Supreme has to offer, like “Seasoned Beef,” “Cool Sour Cream,” and every health nut’s favorite, “Fresh Lettuce and Tomatoes.” Health nuts will love the Crunchwrap Supreme!!!

Mine all-time fave Taco Bell item is the Mexican Pizza, which I also call “Big Mess of Crap from Taco Bell.”

Apologies in advance: I don’t get to write about The O.C. anymore (I’ve moved on to covering a far more ridiculous show), so I’m gonna do it right here. Instead of covering the entire episode, I’ll just be focusing on something really small (annoying, even!) and apply it to my own life because HELLO! It’s what I do. I’m cool.

Last night on The O.C., Marissa and her on-again/off-again sister Kaitlin were chillin’ out by the pier, because that’s what all cool girls do in Newport Beach mid-morning, and Kaitlin told some long-winded story — that was actually a lot like this sentence — about how when they were younger, Marissa could never decide on which flavor of ice cream to order at Baskin Robbins.

I was immediately intrigued, for many reasons. 1) These two actresses probably haven’t even eaten ice cream since they were around six. 2) That’s a really funny product placement, even if it’s only a Mention. And 3) Baskin Robbins was my favorite ice cream store when I was younger, and the more things on TV that can relate to Annie Barrett’s Own Life, the better! Also 4) Baskin Robbins made the Clown Cones I’ve written about before. You remember, right? (I’m basically talking to myself here, so yes, Annie, I totally remember that! It was such an awesome entry.)

Anyway, the story 14 year-old Kaitlin told was funny because I can totally picture someone as annoying as Marissa wanting to sample all 31 of the flavors before making her final decision. Imagine my shock and awe when I realized that Kaitlin was actually describing my life! See, Kaitlin, who bragged that she always got Gold Medal Ribbon because she “knew” that she “loved it,” is like my friend Kara, who in the hundreds of times we must have gone to Baskin Robbins NEVER ordered anything except Gold Medal Ribbon. She knew about it from day one, even before I’d ever been to the store with her. It was like she’d claimed that territory as part of her America. I’d always be a little jealous, becuase I too liked GMR. She was right — it never disappointed. It was just something you could count on, like running water or Ryan Atwood.

So Kara would choose Gold Medal Ribbon. They’d give it to her and she’d stand there all smug, totally happy with her decision. Smart as a whip, that Kara. Such conviction at such a young age. Meanwhile, I’d be sweating (literally… I wasn’t even fat, but I did sweat a lot as a preteen) while touring the rest of the flavors. If I got Gold Medal Ribbon, I’d be a copycat, but if I got something I didn’t like as much, I’d hate Kara and myself for the rest of that day. Sometimes I went with rainbow sherbet or a Clown Cone or even this other flavor they had called World Class Chocolate that always always always sat right on top of GMR. It was brutal. Sure, I liked World Class Chocolate, but I never once got to order GMR if Kara was there because I thought she’d get mad at me. Why didn’t I just order it first, or pretend like I didin’t remember that it was her favorite flavor? Nah, she’d be onto me in a second. Smart as a whip, like I said.

Wow, Annie, another killer graphic.

What the F is the point of this? It’s right here: I hate Marissa. And now I’m LIKE Marissa. It follows that I now hate myself. Great! Time for this week’s Query Chart, or what people searched online that made them find this site.

Yesssss. larry king’s chili and i hate oprah are welcome additions to the list, which 100% of the time includes the query “butt crack.” I am an amazing writer and a prominent thinker of my time.

Speaking of phrases like “of my time,” how absolutely offensive is it that in this year’s Survivor, they broke up the women and men into older and younger groups? One of the women, Cirie, was like “I thought I was young!” while the graphic below her name said she belonged to the OLDER WOMEN group. Yikes. I also think producers planted that fish in the rocks so Tina could find it, bring it back to camp, be seen as even more of a threat, and get BOOTED!

The Office was really good last night, too.

But I don’t really like TV.

I find it incredibly fitting that when I hurried to pause my TV right before this week’s new episode of LOST (I wasn’t ready to dive in just yet because there was Thai takeout to be picked up) I happened to pause it on precisely this image (right). McDonald’s’ (wow, that’s awkward) new addition to its Dollar Menu is a sixer of McNuggets. This is huge. They warn that this will only be the case until January 31, so DR encourages everyone to go out and reap the benefits of the deal so that McD’s will have no choice but to continue the big moneymaker, now and forever and ever, amen.

The commercial reminded me of another hand-centric pause I captured during the iPod Nano commercial (left).

“Uh huh… I guess all those hands look the same to you, Annie.”

OMG, you’re right. I’m so racist.

No, I just like the whole “reaching for the unattainable” theme present in commercials today. Keeps the dream alive, eh? Then, when you’re sitting at home with your Nano and dollar pack of nuggets, you’ll feel more triumphant. You just beat all the odds, and yet what you did was entirely ordinary and shallow! See? It’s better for us all. Deception is key.

I should point out here that until this week I was partial to the 99-cent menu at Wendy’s. Cheaper, more to choose from, and Frosty-inclusive. Can’t go wrong. Unless you get the chili, I guess. (Which I constantly do. Sorry. It’s excellent.)

Hey, that’s my mom!

Currently loving: Soft Baked cookies, this time in “Sugar” variety
Currently hatin’: NYC deli prices on beer. WTF? I miss my independent supermarket down the street (Strawberry Fields, awww…), even if I was their only customer, hence their shutdown.

This week’s UNCALLED FOR! award goes to a KFC commercial featuring a pink-sweatered mom coming home to her hungry husband, son, and daughter with a huge-ass bucket of chicken.

She tentatively says something like “I got original recipe for you, crispy strips for you, and popcorn chicken for you…” and her voice trails off as if she’s deathly afraid that all three of these were really bad moves.

Suddenly the son stands up. He’s shaking his head, slowly, for maximum effect. Is he pissed? Is he pleased? Oh, Christ, I have to find out right now! The boy starts clapping, and within one second the dad and girl are on their feet. IT’S A STANDING O FOR MOM! They’re not going to kill her! They love her taste in chicken. Because it’s theirs. Applause! Way to go, honey. You didn’t fuck it up.

As if the standing O wasn’t bad enough, the mother then puts her hand to her heart and gasps in relief. She can’t believe that her family’s so happy with her about the damn chicken. Her near-tearful reaction implies that this will be the highlight of her week. (Note that there is no third of the bucket dedicated to her own preferred style. Chances are she won’t even eat the KFC because it tastes like shit.)

Really? This is what we’ve been reduced to? KFC, this despicable commercial was… UNCALLED FOR!

Currently loving: Corner Bakery sugar cookies from the Birthday Box
Currently hating: KFC, for making me crave crispy strips right now

Update on how my “Lose Weight” plan is coming along: Tonight I ate a Mexican pizza and two taco supremes and Did a large Dew from Taco Bell. Then I came home and ate a grilled cheese and bacon sandwich on challah bread, dipped in ketchup and when the ketchup ran out, Ortega Taco Sauce that has possibly been in my fridge since I moved in (July 2004). Now I’m continuing to make a solid dent in this:

I actually bought this back in March, after reading from Venice that the dude who subbed in to write the O.C. column while I was out of town hoped Annie Barrett would be “picking [him] up a giant tube of Toblerone from duty free. Man, are those tasty.” Being a loser, I duty-fully did just that.

Except… I ended up never setting foot in the office again. I kept thinking I might, so I saved the chocolate. But during a recent two-person TV/music/”deep thinking” powwow in my apartment, it just didn’t make sense anymore for that huge bar of gold to keep collecting dust amongst my extensive collection of Moody Blues LPs. Sorry, EW dude. I sort of tried.

No, really, though — I think the Plan’s going great.

I’ll be out of town for nine days. Where? A bad photograph of the most ridiculous commercial currently on television is your clue:

Most people would find the Olive Garden’s Never-Ending Pasta Bowl disgusting because OG is an evil corporation whose food isn’t that good. I find it disgusting because I know, deep down, that my chain-restaurant standards are low enough that I would secretly really enjoy sitting in an Olive Garden eating plates of sub-par pasta until I gained seven pounds… just to make sure I got the most out of the deal.

The offending item:

First, these are all shitty choices. Dairy Queen can be good if it’s July, you’re in the Midwest, and you’re resigned to being fat and happy for the next seven days. Baskin Robbins gives shoddy portions, and Coldstone Creamery employees make me want to shoot myself. It was suggested by someone I thought cared about me that I apply for a job and work there for a few weeks for research purposes, singing to the customers and shouting out my name in cheer form with key anecdotes about myself. Dude, I have a blog for that.

Yes, it would be hilarious and I might even get to write a bestselling novel about it, but who needs millions of dollars when you can have, instead, ice cream dignity and $14 an hour to watch for product placement in television? Not me, that’s who! Besides, I’m still planning on getting a job at Starbucks for a few months, just long enough to pen my debut novel, Lots of Lattes. Or maybe even Latts o’ Lattes. It’s gonna be about, like, espresso and stuff.

Secondly, I don’t appreciate the way “Rob Jefferson” has preselected Baskin Robbins for me. I remember those “Clown Cones” from Baskin Robbins. Did every store have those, or was it just the one at the Garden Market shopping center in Western Springs, IL? This was an ice cream cone with — again — a severely low amount of ice cream in the actual cone and (here comes the “clown” part) little florets of thick, multicolored buttercream icing dotting the cone and the ice cream itself to form a “clown face” that never looked anything like a real clown but tasted really, really sugary. Most of my naive little playmates would eat all the florets at once because they were all anyone cared about. I was all “WTF?” to such children because I preferred to eat my florets gradually, with a balanced ratio of ice cream to icing in each bite. I’d feel sorry for one part if I favored the other unfairly. The textures of both clashed so violently that it was just a tumultuous experience in general. In fact, I’d really rather not repeat it or even think about it ever again. And yet I’m writing about it. You can tell it’s almost six in the morning. Maybe you can’t, and I’ve just outed myself. Whatever. Look, I just found an article which mentions the Clown Cone. The writer seems to think the CC was a once-a-year birthday treat. Wow. Either they became too popular for that rule to hold, or the Garden Market chain’s employees just got way too overzealous with all the floret fun. I’d like to bet on the latter, but again, with the shoddy portions… those employees (always the same man, woman, and teenage daughter — it’s like they slept behind the counter) didn’t seem like so much fun at all. What am I talking about? Look how long this paragraph about florets is! Am I really going to post this?

Guess so.

I wrote the TV Watch for LOST on EW.com today. That’s why I am awake. It’s not my fault, except it really is.

Just realized the date is 05/05/05. DUDE.