Spoon me, grind me

A new evil has come into my life. An insidious attack upon my pocket book, and very soul.

Spoon Me frozen yogurt.

Seriously, ruining my life. I can't get enough of it. It's located on bulldog blvd. It's like a healthy oasis, floating out amongst of sea full of fatty slop. If an oasis could float, that is. I suppose that was rather nonsensical. Oasis' exist in the desert. Not the sea. Doi. It's the yogurt poisoning, befuddling my mind.

They have 3 flavors; natural, green tea, and acai. The tea flavor taste like the normal, only mixed with dirt. Dirt, as in that sort of earthy taste that strong teas often have. All 3 are delicious to the taste, and won't add much to your gut. At 90 calories per serving, how can one not overindulge?

And therein lies the problem. Overindulgence of the aforementioned deliciousness is a rather costly venture. The smallest size with 3 toppings is a little over 3 dollars. The large, 6+ if you go with acai or green tea. But how can you not? With mango, strawberries, peaches, kiwi, watermelon, pineapple, and a plethora of other toppings, the small size is just a huge disappointment. Just enough to piss off your palate, and leave you desperately unsatisfied.

So, knowing that it is relatively healthy, I can't help but constantly crave it whenever I desire something sweet. Which is ALL the time. 3 times last week I pedaled my pitiful carcass to that place and ordered the largest one. The only downfall; that place is seriously sweet bro nation. Despite the quality music played there (The Shins, The Sounds, Kaiser Chiefs, and all manner of indie rock) Spoon Me is a constant bro fest.

Saturday night there was even a DJ. And possibly one of the worst DJ's I have ever heard. He "spun" from his ipod, with the choppiest, most random song transitions. As much as being surrounded by all manner of collar popping, aeropohollicrombie wearing, fauxhawking, douchebaggery is a rather spine crinkling experience, it makes for some entertaining people watching. Like, observing the bro with the red popped collar and cargo pants grinding his genitals all over the behind of some two bit skank in a mini skirt--priceless. Or the dude with both a pink and purple shirt on, to the end that he might have 2 collars for popping (for emergencies) gettin' his bro on, bumpin' his fitch ensconced crotch all over every platinum blond in sight. Cringes turn to smiles, then to all out laughing, as one wonders how people buy into all of that. To each his own, I suppose.

I would absolutely love to read a blog, written by a bro who was observing me.