murdered

Monday, February 16, 2015

 
Valentine's weekend started out rough as hell, got better when we went to a murder mystery dinner where I convinced our entire table of strangers that I was the murderer, just by being myself!, and ended with me deliberately not showering yesterday and waking Brad up by asking what his ideal cheeseburger would be.

I was craving a cheeseburger. For actual days, I wanted a cheeseburger that I had a long time ago. It was covered in ghost pepper cheese, with a fried egg, and avocado, and it was difficult to eat. It was the sort of thing I should have eaten while wearing a bikini and washing a car.

"What's your favorite cheeseburger? Mine has ghost pepper cheese and an egg."

"You just had that."

"I know. I don't want to drive to Thousand Oaks to get it."

"It's from the brewery down the street. It's here."

Shocked that he remembered something that I didn't, I continued thinking about cheeseburgers until we got out of bed at 11. I didn't shower, which is a thing I don't do maybe twice a year, because I hate not showering. I mean, I hate showering, it's boring and rarely satisfying, but I hate not showering more. I hate smelling day-old Karin. I hate the smell of greasy hair. I hate the smell of greasy face even more. God, is there anything worse than a greasy face? Especially when I can smell it. Do you guys remember that episode of the Kardashians when Kim said she can smell when someone nearby has a cavity? I loved that episode because I can identify. I don't even think she was kidding.

Wish I didn’t pour sriracha on my eggs this morning because my esophagus has been red and burny feeling and it hurts when I breathe. Or talk. Or just live.

I’ll give you more thoughts later, no worries. Don’t worry.