Friday Flotsam

fffffffffff R I D A yyyyyyyyyyy.

Why are hard boiled eggs so stupid?

Let me rephrase that: why is peeling hard boiled eggs so stupid?

Hold on, one more go at this: why is it so hard and stupid for me to peel stupid hard boiled eggs with my stupid fingers and hands?

I have an intense love/hate relationship with hard boiled eggs. It’s like, you have to have this one teensy moment right at the beginning of pure peeling magic, or else, you’re peeling until your HANDS ROT. And it’s not even really peeling, it’s chipping away at the stupid shell. Chip chip chip, curse curse curse, chip chip chip, egg flesh gets destroyed, overturn your kitchen, give up on life.

Ohhhh I get super sweaty when it’s peeling time. If I have to boil and peel multiple eggs for a client or a party IT IS OVER. I am done.

What’s the trick to peeling hard boiled eggssssaaaaaa?

I run cool water.

I start at the top where that little gap is. (<–grody)

I take my time. (sort of)

I chant prayers of solitude and serenity. (not at all)

Yet I obliterate EVERY SINGLE EGG EVERY SINGLE TIME. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I get this right? When should I stop talking about hard boiled eggs?

Okay, one more thing about the hard boiled eggs.

Have you ever noticed how hard it is to EAT the hard boiled eggs once the hard boiled eggs are (mutilated) peeled? They (the hard boiled eggs) taste like the glory days, but getting them (the hard boiled eggs) down your throat is like trying to eat a bowling ball made of chalk. It’s so hard!

I look certifiably insane when I eat the hard boiled eggs. I have to have a garden hose nearby to aid in the clamped chalk shovage.

And what makes zero sense is that I absolutely love hard boiled eggs. Actually, SOFT boiled eggs. When the yolk is a hair gooey (<–sick), with a little pinch of salt and a few flakes of fresh parmesan. Good gracious.

We can’t even discuss deviled babies or else I might punch something. I could eat 17 and half zillion of them.

But have Shamu’s water tank nearby for your poor mouth and head and throat.

I’m done talking about hard boiled eggs.

…hard boiled eggs.

Instagram stories vs. Snapchat. ARE YOU KIDDING.

While I’m super cranky about this new development, I’m actually kind of liking how streamlined it is. One app, one place to do everything. But I looooove Snapchat. And I’m annoyed that we have to go to TWO PLACES now to post videos. I’m being a massive cry baby about this.

So my question is, where do yo- hold on:

POLL! (I feel better)

Where would you rather see videos like Wine Talk and other day-t0-day toddler malarkey? Are you diggin’ watching them over on Instagram, or are you feeling loyal to your beloved Snapchat? As if any of this even remotely matters, but still! I want to know what kind of feels you have right now about all this.

You’re like, how about NONE.

Yesterday I had an epiphany. (no, it didn’t hurt thankyouverymuch)

I bit into an apple and I realized it tastes like bad breath. Not the actual flavor on that front set of taste buds at the tip of your tongue, but the background essence in the center of your mouth, right under the curve of the roof of your mouth that comes from the apple skin. That! An old man’s bad breath.

And I know it’s not my breath, because a) I’m not an old man, and b) I tested my theory on other foods lying around, and when I came back to the apple skin – boom. Halitosis USA. More like, haliNOsis, am I right.

You guys. It was foul.

What I think I’ll do is test out a few different apples side by side, to see if it’s a particular breed (species?) that gives off that rank taste. Then I’ll know what to avoid in my future of apple skin eating.

I’m so glad we got this settled.

Weekend plans? Besides coming out to see us at Mid Coast Modern tonight? YOU HAVE TO COME SEE US. Aaron has a bunch of new woody goodies (<–why?), and I’ll have wine and light snacks. And no kids. And it’s First Friday and spectacular weatheeeerrrrr. Come peep it, if you’re cool like that.

ONE FINAL WORD: I’m getting a new phone tomorrow. I busted it seriously the moment we walked into our Cabo house (because I’m super graceful at crossing thresholds), and the screen is totally shattered. This is why I’ve barely snapped or anything this week. Total crisis, I know.

ONE MORE FINAL IMPORTANT WORD: hard boiled eggs.