SLOW COOKING FOR SINGLES.

Today I received an e-mail that made me feel slightly less confident in myself. The circumstances leading up to the e-mail are as follows:

1. A couple of months ago I bought a crock pot.
2. I love slow cooking chili, stew and just about anything that can be slow cooked.
3. I received an e-mail from my gay uncle entitled "Crock Pot Cooking Recipes"
4. I sent said uncle an e-mail that said "You must have heard I got a crock pot. Thanks for the recipes."

His reply left me a little rattled:

"Your welcome Jim,
no one told me [about the crock pot purchase],
I just thought they were
good for us single folks
enjoy

G-Dude"

First, a fifty-something-year old man should know the difference between "your" and "you're". If you're not homeless and you're not retarded, you owe it to yourself to sort these out.

Second, when he thought, "hmmmm, who, like me, is a single, grown man who would appreciate these crock pot recipes?" he thought of me. While it's true that I am a single (well, was single) grown man who happens to love slow cooking, I think this should come as a surprise to most people. For instance, I would say to you "I love slow cooking," you would reply, "No! You? I never would have guessed that, ever."

And G-Dude? His name is Gordon, so I get it. But he's also a gay man. So is it Gay Dude or Gordon Dude? Either way, I think it's time to give up referring to yourself as a dude.

I guess I should just come to terms with the fact that slow cooking is loved by many different types of people. As it very well should be.

***

In unrelated news, last night I was granted a viewing of an episode of Elimidate featuring my friend Kristyn. She gave us a behind the scenes narration of how it all worked. It's debatable which was the most memorable moment in the show, Kristyn pulling the guy out of the hot tub and straddling him to make out, or her referring to the other two girls and holding up her left then right hand, while saying 'fatty or skank? fatty, skank, fatty, skank..." Brilliant.

DISAPPOINTMENT AND CONFUSION.

The Disappointment.

Yesterday, after a day of sleeping off an eventful Friday night, I was lying on the couch talking to my roommate, who had moved her bedding from her actual bed to the living room floor. We were trying to decide what we should have for dinner. Seeing as we were still both a little hung over, the obvious choice seemed to be McDonalds. There's something about a Big Mac--once I start thinking about it, I can't stop until I'm eating it.

After that decision was made, we also decided that in the interest of supreme laziness and avoidance of doing anything remotely healthy we would not only get McDonalds, but we would also have it delivered. Yes, in New York you can have the unhealthiest food on the planet delivered direct to your door.

I phoned the nearest McDonalds, only to be informed that you have to order from their "call center," or some sort of delivery headquarters. They take your order and then send out the troops, bearing slabs of sawdust meat pressed between sleek caramelized buns. But as soon as I had I told them my phone number, the dream was over. 248. Not a New York number. Not one person (out of four in my apartment) had a New York phone number, which McDonalds apparently requires in order to process your delivery order. The result was six blocks of walking and much sadness.

Thanks a lot McDonalds. Thanks for nothing. Actually, thanks for the Big Mac, the Chicken McNuggets and the bbq sauce.


The Confusion.

Daylight savings time normally takes place on the last Sunday of October. Not this year. No, this year it takes place on the first Sunday in November, according to the internet. Could someone please tell my phone that? This morning my phone independently decided to fall back, bringing me joy in the form of an extra hour to lounge around. Much to my surprise, when I returned home from beating the hell out of diabetes through a five-mile walk, I discovered that it was not 12:30, but 1:30. Meaning I had missed a half-hour of the Lions game and squandered precious sitting still time.

Thanks a lot phone.

Speaking of the Lions, 5-2 bitches! Halfway to the promised 10. Perhaps Kitna truly has been touched by the hand of God.