13.7.10

Birthday bars and mixers

When Fish children get married (I only know this through sibling hearsay) they are given a Bosch mixer. For those of you unfamiliar with what that means, it is like the Mercedes Benz of mixers. Or maybe more like a Range Rover. The 800 watt motor will gladly spin up to 15 lbs of dough. Won't even be pist about it. Just try to do that with your 575 watt kitchen aid. Get real. Some scooters have 800 watt motors.

I am fast approaching my 28th birthday, a day I thought I'd never live to see unmarried. Well, 4 or 5 years ago, anyway. The last couple years I have resigned myself to the fact that I should probably reevaluate my vow to kill myself if single at 30. It is easy to make drastic, personal ultimatums when you are half a decade away from something. "Either get married by thirty, or kill yourself man. Those are your options," I'd threaten me. Now that I'm a paltry 2 years away, 30 doesn't seem so bad.asjkdl;wa;e Not nearly so bad as the gnat, or whatever it was, that just flew into the corner of my eye, causing the startled key mash above, and the trip to the bathroom to dig it out, which nearly interrupted the fluidity of this paragraph. You shant have the satisfaction of that accomplishment, you asshole gnat.

Anyways.

So apparently my parents have given up on the possibility of me ever getting married, and therefore went ahead and awarded me with my very own Bosch mixer as a gift for making it to 28, without any major drug addictions, nor children born out of wedlock running around. And I'm a little embarrassed about how excited I got/am about a mixer. To this point, I have been mostly a stove top (the range, not the shitty brand) kinda guy, so baking is going to open up a whole new world for me. Breads, cakes, cookies, and...breads. I don't know what on earth to do with a mixer besides those things. And considering my current eating choices, cookies and cakes are pretty much out. So mostly bread.

Speaking of new things and healthy eating, I experienced today, for the first time in my 28 years of life, the brief, relative joy of a big hunk. Brief, because I felt gross almost immediately after consuming it, and relative, because it brought me joy relative to, say, a kick to the groin. Or to be fair, more like a plain celery stick. To be even more truthful than fair, I enjoyed the Big Hunk about 100 percent more than I thought I would upon making the decision to actually eat the thing. Which was not at all.

The Big Hunk was discovered by a server, after being discarded on a table, or in a garbage can by a Carrabbas patron. I heard conflicting stories as to the origin. A slip of paper was taped to one side that said, "Priesthood holders are..." I was more bothered by the fact that "Priesthood holders are...Big Hunk," didn't work grammatically, than by how stereotypically BYU cheesy the whole thing was, or whether it had spent some time in the trash can or not.

I am pretty good at not buying garbage. And by garbage, I mean things like Big Hunks, and other candies and treats. Come to my kitchen, and you won't find anything that your dietitian would yell at you for. However, when candy, or treats, or deserts are placed in front of me, I sometimes struggle with control. I can usually completely abstain, but if I eat one of something, pandora's gummy box is opened, and I eat most of whatever that something happened to be.

I was reaching into the martini cooler for a glass, when I spotted the Big Hunk. It was about 8pm, and I was bored and hungry. It was pretty much a given that I was going to eat that Big Hunk. I pulled it out of the fridge, and wondered just what the hell was in there. I really had no idea what to expect, as the big hunk doesn't offer any sort of picture or illustration on the package, cluing you as to what lies within. Because they know if you knew that it looked like probably the most unappealing candy bar you had ever seen, you probably would never give it a shot. Even the claim of "Low fat!" on the wrapper probably wouldn't be enough.

I flipped it over, and was thrilled to see that corn syrup and sugar were the 2 main ingredients. I knew right then that I wanted to put it in my body immediately. I tore it open, and stared at the almost chalky white bar with peanuts nestled here and there. "This doesn't even look remotely good," I said to no one in particular. But hunger prevailed, and I snapped a piece off. It mostly tasted like a marshmallow with peanuts in it. Which was about 100% better than what I had expected. My plan was to eat about 3 bites, but that was thwarted by the aforementioned hunger, boredom, and general lack of self control. By the time it was finished, my stomach felt sick, and I completely regretted eating the whole thing. Sort of like I regretted eating 5 pieces of birthday cake yesterday.

Whoops.

It's my 28th birthday week, I am in the best shape of my life. I can be a little out of control.

6 comments:

Andrew and Becca said...

i got a bosch mixer when i got married. it's pretty kick ass.

Joliene said...

When I get married, I want someone to offer to be my surrogate mother.

But if not, a mixer like that sounds cool. Maybe I would use it. I never use the kitchen aid, I always use a hand mixer.

Jenna said...

Are you serious? A Bosch Mixer? I'll kill myself if I reach age 30 and I don't have one. Screw marriage.

alex aulelio shahan said...

i ate my first big hunk a month ago to impress a girl. it was the worst decision i ever made, next to that one time in high school when i wore a 'my chemical romance' polo shirt and was serious about it.

Fish Nat!on said...

Bahhaha. Oh Shahan. How I love you and look forward to your presence at the mona rope swing on saturday.

Dave said...

8 oz milk, 6 peanuts, induce vomiting, freeze product = cold big hunk.

I was never given the "you're such a 'Big Hunk'" candygram in high school.

But did you know there is a candy bar called "Bony Freckly Loser"?

I was as suprised as you are.