Hiding in my own confusion

You know what I find odd? A lot of people don't like milk. Like, they'll put it on their cereal or in their coffee or whatever, but apparently, I am in a minority of people who like to just drink it straight. And, like, I love milk--especially with peanut butter. Peanut butter is so sticky that I can't eat it without milk--milk is the only thing that will satisfactorily wash down peanut butter. But I also just drink milk with dinner sometimes. My mother used to make us, and Jeff haaated it, but I usually drained two glasses at dinnertime, because I can't get enough. I even drank milk with dinner at college sometimes, if the mood struck me, because there was something weird about Providence water, and fountain soda never tasted right--although, I think I just ended up getting used to it after four years. And then when we had the apartment with a kitchen, so I could cook for everyone, I usually ended up drinking juice. But there was always milk in the house--and not just for cereal. Or for drinking with chocolate chip cookies. Oh! One time, I made chocolate chip cookies from scratch with my bare hands, because my roommates and I really wanted chocolate chip cookies from scratch, but we didn't have a mixer (what college senior would even need an electric mixer?) So I used a wooden spoon and the awesome power of my right wrist instead. It took forever, but it was worth it in the end. And, I mean, the pre-made cookie dough is fine for baking cookies, but the fun part of making chocolate chip cookies is eating the raw dough, and homemade raw dough is so much better. It's worth the risk of getting salmonella.

So anyway, I love milk, and I'm weird. Apparently. I really was not even aware that anyone other than my brother was not a fan of milk until I went to college. What a weird thing to be naive about.

I have a confession to make: there is one Brandi Carlile song I have decided I just don't like. But one out of, like, sixty? That's not bad odds, right? I was also never a big fan of "Sixty Years On," but that's not her song, so I won't lose any sleep over that one.

But speaking of Elton John, I watched his episode of The Muppet Show a few weeks ago, and oh my, at one point he was wearing this sparkly pink jumpsuit that was just far too tight. I think I actually said, "This man is almost too gay to function." Sorry, Elton, but Freddie Mercury was far better at being weird and gay. I wish I'd been hip to Queen before Freddie Mercury died, but I was just a tiny child when he did--at the age of seven, I was not hip to anything. So what would be better is if Freddie Mercury were still alive. That would be great. So...are we going to cure AIDS or what?

In other news, I have a demon cat:
Last winter, I bought the best pair of fingerless gloves at Target for, like, eight bucks, and of course I lost one of them, like, in January. I love fingerless gloves, y'all, because I usually hate wearing something that covers my hands, because then I feel all clumsy and stuff, but if the tops of my fingers are free, I am suddenly magically not as clumsy. And they keep your fingers mostly warm, even with the holes. But I loved these gloves, and I will never be able to find that pair again, because clothes are different every year, and I think that is retarded. I want those gloves back, dammit. I also lost the other glove, too--or maybe I just threw it away. Because what good, exactly, is one fingerless glove?

I was going to take this opportunity to bitch about the heinous day I had at Bath & Body Works yesterday, but I think that would be a waste of energy. It was horrible, but I did get the back room miraculously cleaned up and somewhat organized, to the delight of all the important people who work there. Now I just need to sleep for a week, and everything will be fine.