So I’ve had this on-again, off-again thing with gummi bears. When I bought four bags to get me through winter break, I thought I should mix it up a little. Usually I buy the delicious Gonzo brand at 7-11, but I felt like I owed it to the universe to conduct a scientific taste test. When selecting gummi bears, I’ve found that it’s important to squeeze the bags, to see just how gummi the gummi bears are. Consequently, the bourgeois Haribo brand has never made the cut.

Anyway, I decided to finally give these high class German bears a chance, and I was pleasantly surprised by how DELICIOUS they are. They’re a lot harder to chew, but they taste like Kool-Aid. I’d almost be convinced to switch over, but one thing has stopped me dead in my tracks.

What the hell ARE these things? They’re not bears. They look more like angry frogs. The green one is smiling, but the rest of them are scowling.

I’d rather eat gummis that were happy I was eating them, not pissed off.

P.S. If you’re new to the Internet or somehow otherwise managed to miss this, please enjoy the Mega Gummi Bear.

One of Alan’s secret talents is that he can get the last atom out of a tube of toothpaste. No kidding. After he visits, I’m always secretly thrilled to discover that my toothpaste tube, usually squeezed willy-nilly from the middle, has been methodically flattened so that all the luscious minty goodness oozes out as soon as you open the cap. It’s gotten to the point where if I have trouble getting some paste out, I can pout, hand him the tube, and whine, “Fix this.”

We were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond last weekend, and I noticed an amazing product (conveniently pictured on someone’s Flickr account. Read the comments!). “I need this!” I exclaimed. Alan snorted, pitying my pathetic mortal self. “For when you’re not around,” I explained.

I think it’s fantastic. It’s not that I need to get the last drop of paste out of the tube, I’d just like to be able to.

• Goat cheese ravioli AND all you can eat of the BEST FRESH-BAKED BREAD dipped in the best Balsamic vinegar EVER
• Friday’s “Grown-up Mac & Cheese”
• Cheddar broccoli soup (I’m sensing a theme here)
• Down comforters, down coats, down anything
• The concept of an electric blanket. I have yet to experience the reality of one, but the idea? GENIUS.
• Haircuts (Unwonderful thing: having to wait for my hair appointment next week. I waited way too long to schedule one and each day brings me closer to winning the Bozo the Clown Lookalike Contest.)
• Little footprints all over the snow, left by little animals whose presence you never would have known about, had it not been for those imprints in the snow
• Not having to work today
• The tilework in Alan’s new house
• Finding a hidden stash of cookies you baked that you assumed the scavengers had found first
• Petting sun-warmed cats (hot fur!)
• Really bad movies with surprisingly great endings (Talladega Nights)
• Really bad movies, period. (Idiocracy. Alan and I have been talking about that one way more than Pan’s Labyrinth.)
• Really good movies (The Pursuit of Happyness, Freedom Writers)
• The new Wii, but mostly the new WarioWare for the Wii
• Double Chocolate Fudge Coca-Cola® Cake at Cracker Barrel

Dear Mr. Emerson,

So you and I, we have something in common. We have the same phone number. Or at least, I have your old phone number, and you have a string of telemarketers calling you all the time.

I don’t know what you did, but these people want you bad. Owe some people some money, maybe? Whatever it is, they won’t take no for an answer.

Back in August, I used to tell them that they had the wrong number. I even signed up on the Do Not Call List. For a little while, the calls stopped, and I figured I had finally rent our bond assunder.

Now the calls have started up again. I ask them to take our mutual phone number off their lists, but it falls on deaf ears. It’s getting to the point where I want to just tell them you’re dead, but that seems unnecessarily hardcore. Plus, then they might want to stick me with whatever debts you left behind after you vacated this number.

So please, pay these people their money. Or at least let them know you changed your number. I mean, dude, I did a reverse look-up on this number and it lists you. Sure, it’s a pretty great number. It only contains five digits, some of them repeating. The nice AT&T lady went out of her way to find us an easy-to-remember one, and it rolls off the tongue quite nicely.

Just let it be mine, okay? You’ve had your time with it. I have not been taking any messages for you, so don’t even ask.

Irritatedly yours,
Kiki

The mission was a failure. I ended up with Chicken Rice. The quest for a reliable supply of Cheddar Broccoli continues.

I am about to search the entire campus for a bowl of Cheddar Broccoli Soup. Wish me luck.