What to write when there's nothing to write

Balls. I got nothing.

And one hell of a lot of that nothing at that.

Can't bring it to the dump, they won't take it.

Can't sell it on Ebay, cause it's Illegal.

Can't give it at Christmas, because children will cry.

Can't burn it.

Can't bury it.

Can't kill it.

Heck, there's only two things that I know to do with it

Carry it around with me

Or

Elect it.

But no one likes those options.

I wonder if you can write it.

Apparently so.

Yippie-yi-oh-ki-yay!

Butter and Razor Blades

Well, friends, ThanksMcGiving is right around the corner, and you know what that means: Time for me and Big MaMa Q to start baking up a storm.

You might just find yourself saying, “Myque, I didn’t know that you and your alter-ego cared!” well… there’s a story to that.

Breakfast @ chez Q (check) consists of buttered* toast and coffee, unless I am entertaining guests, in which case it involves bacon, eggs, buttered toast and coffee.

The last of my butter was gently melted within my nightly Macaroni and Cheese, and I knew that if I didn’t fetch some, I would be an unhappy ducky in the morning. (I also realized how fuzzy my neck has been getting, so I also resolved to purchase a pack of Mach 3 blades. Now I realize that this has nothing to do with the story, except I was amused that my shopping list for the day consisted of butter and razor blades, so I wished to share it with you.)

I noticed the packaging was different on my butter, but I reckoned that change was coming to the white house, it might as well be coming to grocery store.

This morning, I noticed my butter was of a funny color, a pasty, translucent white. I viewed the packaging expecting to see some advertising promoting some left-wing value like “No longer made with yellow 5!”** Instead, I realized that I had picked up a package of shortening, not butter.

Gingerly did I nibble my toast this morning. It wasn’t bad, but at 25% of my daily recommended dose of saturated fat per tablespoon, I don’t think I’ll be melting a chunk of it into my Macaroni and cheese any time soon.

So, Big MaMa Q and I have a task at hand, and a toaster oven to do the deed. If the results are… awesome. I’ll let you know.

Waffles!

*by butter I mean Earth Balance brand Non-Dairy, Zero Trans Fat Buttery Sticks
**This was a joke. Earth Balance Buttery Sticks have never contained Yellow 5

The Icy-Cold Grasp of Advice

A couple of days ago, I had a little dream where Old Man Winter and I were sharing a bowl of soup in my grandmother’s stone cottage. He nibbled on a warm, wet turnip while I explained that it wasn’t winter that I disliked per se; it was being cold. He passed me the spoon and told me it was a metaphor for life. He explained that being cold was uncomfortable, and if I allowed myself to be comforted by others and myself, then it wouldn’t be so bad. I ripped off a piece of bread and chewed thoughtfully. He then went further on that winter was also a test, a trial by ice to experience hardships so as to know when life was truly good. He slurped at the dregs of the bowl and I went on my merry little way.

I took him up on his advice this weekend. I treated myself to ice cream, I took long baths, I even talked to my Ma. It was a pleasant time, but a little voice in my head kept telling me that I was over-doing it. Thinking about this, Old Man Winter’s voice suddenly popped into my head.

“Well,” he said, “all things are proportional. How cold do you want winter to be?”

If that’s the case, I reckon it’s time to lay off the ice cream.