I don’t always get to eat breakfast. As a matter of fact, I find that I skip it more often than not.

I am an eggs-for-breaking-the-fast kinda chick. I like them because they can be prepared in sixty katrillion ways and still taste fabulous. I like them because I like to cook. I like them because breakfast makes me damn happy.

Here’s the dilemma:

I hate getting up in the morning.

While I don’t need to leave the house until a quarter to 9, I’m never up and out of bed earlier than 8. I’ve gotten my morning routine down so well that showering, make-uping and dressing can be done in about 30 minutes, leaving 10-15 for preparing lunch.

See?

No time for cooking eggs.

I could technically get my ass out of bed when I actually wake up, which is usually around 7:15. But I like to use this hour to watch re-runs of Third Watch, only the second best cop show ever. The Wire takes first place.

Obviously.

So, by the time I get my ass into work I am damn hungry. Ready to chew off an arm, even. And what do I have to eat at the office?

Kashi “chewy” Trail Mix granola bars.

Have any of you ever tried that stuff? It’s like chewing on cardboard with the occasional dried fruit. Not even the promised 4 grams of fiber and 6 grams of protein make it any better. You’d think that the almonds would help spruce it up, but in fact they’re as dry as dirt and only feed into the all over grossness that is this granola bar.

Gag me.

The worst part is that I am still damn hungry after eating one of those suckers.

Now, if only they could build a real kitchen with a stove at the workplace, all my problems would be solved.

Back in the 90s when the Internet was all new and shiny, I went to Barnes & Noble, bought several HTML books and started my very own webpage.

About the Backstreet Boys.

It’s okay. I’ll give you some time to digest that and bust a gut laughing at my expense.

Done?

All right. So I made this super fantastically awesome page through tripod. I’m telling you the honest to blog truth when I say it was spectacular.

A spectacular mess, that is.

I tried to see if it was still floating around in cyberspace so that I may provide you with a nice screen shot. But that just isn’t written in the cards.

We’re probably all better off for it.

I was really proud of that sucker. I used to spend hours upon hours tweaking code, designing buttons, making graphics and hunting for photos to display. It would be four, sometimes five in the morning before I gave my poor eyes a break.

Occasionally, I look back on those days and wonder how in the hell I could’ve invested so much time, energy and money in to that group. It never does take long for me to remember.

I’ll spare you the details.

What I find so intriguing is that I sat my ass down, focused on a goal and just went for it. Some days I wish I could get a bit of that tenacity back. There’s just something about getting older that lends to complacently.

Maybe a little too well.

If I could only be as dedicated as I was back then, maybe I could get a decent grasp on CSS and XML.

Last night, in celebration of tomorrow’s Inauguration, a few fabulous DC bloggers hosted a Bloggerational Ball. If you’re wondering what exactly that is, it’s really just an excuse for us to get all swanky and then proceed to get shitfaced.

And it worked.

But before I get into that, may I just say that Facebook is becoming the absolute bane of my existence. You see, I bought this A-MAZING dress during Thanksgiving weekend which I decided would become my Birthday Dress.

Obviously, planning the outfit a month before the birthday festivities was the only way to go.

So when I read about this Ball going on, my first thought was that this dress would be perfect. It makes my tits look fantastic, hits every curve just right and has all the colors of the rainbow jammed on there.

It’s loud. It makes a statement. And I love it.

But that’s really neither here nor there. Once my train-wreck of a thought process came to a full stop, I realized that this fantastical dress was already splattered all over Facebook. Because of the birthday party.

I miss the old days when nobody was the wiser that I wore the same things twice in a row to Big Events.

Facebook is officially bugging the shit out of me and it is fantastically frustrating.

And so is this hangover.

Guys. I am not a drinker.  I get sick too quick. I am always driving. I hate spending all that money.

Naturally, this meant Maxie and I had to pregame at my house. And then pregame again at a bar with Liebchen and Arjewtino. And then get extra smashed at the actual Ball.

Two huge cups of vodka with sprite, two huge beers and four lemon drops later and I’m sure you can imagine how I was feeling…

Loving the fact that I wore my Chucks with the dress, but hating the fact that I couldn’t stand up straight. I mean, by the end of it all I was hungover before I even left DC to get home! 

If I am remembering correctly, not only was my ass smacked a few times but I am pretty sure that my boobs were the object of several people’s attention, because I vividly remember hands pressing against them.

I am never drinking again.

It’s official.

I really feel for the brussels sprout. It is often the most misunderstood and under appreciated vegetable of them all. When people make quips about green leafy things, it’s usually the brussels sprout’s  name that’s dropped.

I find this to be completely unfair.

That lovely vegetable has never meant to do you any harm and it surely deserves a second (and third) chance. Eating sprouts is like conquering little itty bitty cabbages.

Who doesn’t want to eat a whole cabbage in one bite?!

Terrorists.

That’s who.

Oh, and brussels sprouts are incredibly tasty! Especially when prepared with a nice roux-based cream sauce. And despite the fact that I had to enlist Google and DMB to figure out how to actually spell “roux,”  I can still attest to the fact that it makes those sprouts fantastically amazing.

Yum.

Like little dance parties of flavor.

Last night I decided to take a stab at making my very own London broil. I let that slab of beef marinate for 24 hours, prepared my very own mushroom steak sauce and made fresh mashed potatoes to go with it. Of course, no hearty meal can go without some kind of a vegetable.

Vegetables are what makes the world go round.

Or at the very least, give you regular bowel movements.

Those are handy. I promise.

Naturally, I picked brussels sprouts as the second side dish. And like any self-congratulating chef would do, I posted my dinner plans on gchat which prompted a lovely reply from LittleSpoon:

“You had my mouth watering until brussels sprouts.”

Y’all can probably imagine the gist of our dialogue from then on. Or maybe not. Since we went from brussels sprouts to Barack Obama pants within 10 minutes.

But, you know, whatever.

Somewhere in there, she expressed that lima beans would be an acceptable substitute, at which point I almost fainted.

I mean, who the heck voluntarily eats lima beans?!

I absolutely adore it when people decide to stick their already used utensils into jellies, jams and peanut butter. And by “absolutely adore,” I really mean “absolutely hate” to the point where it throws me into a full-on rage. 

How on earth does anyone think it’s okay to stick their knife into the butter, spread it on their bread, and then stick the same utensil into something else? Without cleaning it off with a napkin first?!

Just thinking about it raises my blood pressure. 

It is, by far, one of the most disgusting food habits. Ever. I do not understand how it is acceptable to leave specks of butter  in fruit preserves.  Or bits of jelly in peanut butter.

It’s fucking gross and the idea of eating somebody else’s left over chunks of crap from 3 months ago makes my stomach turn. I suggest using a spoon to scoop any assortment of spreads from the jar and a knife to spread it. 

Like civilized people.

And don’t even get me started on drinking milk out of the carton…