A Slice of Humble Pie, Gingers, and a Gross Something I Did

Here's the slice of humble pie:

During Conference my brother "Rob," asked me, "Have you always had a mustache?"

I had no response, for I was too busy calculating his slow and painful death in my brain.

Before I could murder him he responded to my lack of response by saying, "You should take care of that, yeah?"

I don't know Rob, are you asking me if I want to shave my mustache? Or if I should shave my mustache? Or if I knew I had one? Thanks for telling me what to do with my mustache in the way of a passive-aggressive question - love ya, yeah?

Also, for all my friends and family out there who think its polite not to tell someone when they have crap in their teeth or um, forget to tell them they've had a mustache for 24 years I would say this: "Dishonor on you, dishonor on your family, dishonor on all ya'll."

I really want to blame my mustache on Eugene. I never see the sun so my hair is darker, yeah? (That is me passive-aggresively telling you to tell me that I don't have a mustache as a way to make me feel better for not apologizing to me in the first place when you didn't tell me I had a mustache the first time we met)

Hopefully next time you see me faithful blog readers (IE: Mom, possibly Nick, and most certainly my beloved brother Rob) I will have taken care of the mustache issue.

Moving on - Gingers. The following is a real conversation that took place several days ago:

Chelsea: You know, they don't like Gingers in London any bit. (She now speaks with a British accent in case you were wondering)

Mom: What?

Chelsea: Yeah, they get teased ruthlessly in school. The Brits don't like Gingers.

Me: That's ironic since Ron Weasley has red hair. You think they would love Gingers.

Mom: Well, Harry has red hair too.

Me: Um, no! Harry does not have red hair Mom, Ron has red hair, as does the rest of the Weasley family.

Mom: I'm talking about Prince Harry!

Me: Oh.

Yes I'm still getting sleazy for Ron Weasley and my obsession with the Royal Family is genetic.

Aaaaaaand something gross I did.

I ate a bowl of Lucky Charms.

Well, its really not that gross, but for me its pretty nasty. I don't like sugary cereals (unless its Peanut Butter Crunch = CRACK COCAINE IN ITS PUREST FORM) I strongly dislike the way the marshmallows feel against my teeth when I bite into them. It reminds me of nails on a chalkboard, except my teeth is the chalkboard and the marshmallows are the nails. Plus stale marshmallows that get disturbingly slimy in milk is also a strange sensation. And to top it off I do not like discolored milk - its weird.

I think the last time I had Lucky Charms was 13 years ago. They have changed all the charms since last time I ate it. I remember when they got the rainbow charm - it was so cool because it wasn't a shape. All they had was stars, moons, and then all the sudden a freaking awesome rainbow marshmallow. Now they have shooting stars in various colors and the freaking awesome rainbow.

Anyway, it was oddly satisfying. I still cringed when I bit into the marshmallows and partially vomited into the ROYGBIV milk that was left over, but I kind of liked it.

Why do we have Lucky Charms you ask? Its kind of a long story, but basically Kim (Armenian expatriate sister now living in London) wanted to take some to some other expatriates living in the UK and we happened to be at Costco. Well the pack comes with two bags of LC and Kim couldn't take it all with her so I told my mom Nick would eat it.

Ironically, Nick has yet to touch the LC's. Me, however, ate like a pig at the trough and thoroughly enjoyed it.

I'll elaborate more on Snick's life when things get back to normal. I shouldn't blog in such a state. Sugar comas are bad for the brain... and blogging.