LB: If you could only eat one of the following foods for the rest of your life, keeping in mind you will never again be able to eat the other ones, which would you choose? Volcanic Beef, Amici’s pizza, Indian or pork cracklin.

Me: Oh my God. WHY do you do this to me? I don’t know I have to think. Only one! This is so hard. Okay, I know I’m not going to choose Indian or pork cracklin.

LB: You’re not picking pork cracklin? But didn’t you just write a whole post on how much you love pork cracklin? I know that because I read your blog every single day. It’s the highlight of my day, I mean, life.

Me: I just think I’ll get sick of too much pork cracklin, ya know? Once a week for the rest of my life? That’s a lot.

LB: Excellent thinking. I’d just like to point out that one of the things I love best about you is your intelligence. Right behind your beauty and singing voice.

Me: Thanks. Me too. So, now we’re down to Volcanic Beef and Amici’s?  I don’t know!  I love them both so much! This is soooo hard. Wait, is there a way that I can alternate choices somehow? Like maybe visit one of them, only just on weekends?

LB: Kara. You need to think of this like a marriage. Only to your favorite food. You have to choose the one you like best and that’s it. No visiting. No thinking about it. You are committed.

Me:  So, I would never, ever be able to eat the other one? Okay, I think I would totally get sick of Volcanic Beef so I’m choosing the pizza.

LB: Wrong. You love Volcanic Beef more than pizza.

Me: I know! You’re totally right. As soon as I said, I instantly regretted my decision! Volcanic Beef, it is! I am married to Volcanic Beef for the rest of my life.

LB: That is really good we just got that sorted.

1. I’m really bad at it. The one time I knowingly flaunted the law a couple of friends convinced me (yes, they made me do it, Mom) to jump the fence at a local community center so we could sit in the hot tub. Our luxuriating lasted about two minutes before the security guard ferreted us out (my friend’s LOUD TALKING could have had something to do with it. I warned her repeatedly she should keep her voice down but did she listen? No! It was like she just couldn’t stop having fun!) and while everyone else ran, I was somehow petrified into place. A very loyal friend stayed with me and watched with disbelief (at the depth of my cunningness, obviously) as I gave my name as “Kara Krull.” Oh, wait. You can’t see how clever I was. See, you pronounce my name “Car-uh” but the name I gave him was “Care-uh.” Fiend-ish, no? Oh, and, I added an “r’ to my last name. They will never track me down.

2. My reflexes cannot to be trusted. For example, I once slammed a car door on my hand. No, you read that right. I slammed the car door onto my own hand. Got into the car and for some reason left my right hand on the roof while I reached over with my left hand and slammed the door shut. And, I did not think to open the door. No, instead I turned to my best friend and said, with tears in my eyes, “Holy shit. My hand is stuck in the door.” She had to open the door while I sat there watching her.  And I should note: the only reason I can still type today is because her car was such a genuine piece of crap that instead of breaking my hand, I bent her car door. I was like The Hulk for one brief instant…

I was going to add a third but I think that pretty much sums it up.

But, on Monday I did it. I successfully broke the law. Well, okay, not the law but Apartment Rules. Well, so they’re not written down anywhere but everyone knows you’re not supposed to do it, okay?

I rode our apartment’s luggage cart up and down our hallway (I believe “surfed the way” would be the technical term) over and over (basically until LB got tired of dragging me around, ie. was worn out by my shrieking and giggling) and I DIDN’T GET CAUGHT!

This could usher in a whole new era; sneaking into multiple movies while only paying for one, calling people to ask if their refrigerator’s running and all sorts of other untold events that are best not discussed here.  If you know what I mean. WINK, WINK.

Fine, my plan was a little lame. But you know what is not lame? My adoration for Joel McHale. I know, I know. The first thought that pops into all of your minds is “But, what about G.Love?” And readers, I have given this many, many hours of thoughtful contemplation and have come to the conclusion that there is room enough in my heart for both G. and Joel with a little left over for Becks, if he’s so inclined.

And what better way to convey my adoration than by trying to plant one on Joel every time he came on screen? I figured I’d pucker up a couple of times, LB would return with dinner and we’d settle in for a quiet evening with our stories. Except, turns out it’s not quite that easy…

The photo log presented here documents one woman’s descent into Crazy Town and should not be viewed by: ex-boyfriends, future employers, small children, Joel McHale, G. Love (or Special Sauce for that matter), people who suffer from heart conditions, anyone over the age of 25 or anyone under the age of 30.

A couple of noteworthy details:

-These are the photos where I look least crazy.  If you can imagine. Please don’t.

-LB walked in in the middle of it all. He looked at me. He looked at Joel. He put his hand out for the camera.

-From here on out, you never again have to worry about taking a bad picture because I can guarantee I will have posted one on the Internet that is worse. It’s my gift to you. Go forth and grimace.

Dear me, where was I? Yes. Did you know that you can make your computer talk? And did you know that NFL games are infinitely more interesting when accompanied by computer-generated commentary?

“Do these brown pants make my butt look fat?”

“I just made me a touchdown. San Diego, tonight, you are on KP duty.”

“I would just like to say boo-ya, in your face. That was an early Halloween joke.”

Updated: So in rereading my commentary I just realized they sound so very, very lame when not done in a computer-generated voice. I apologize.

Updated 2: I was just informed that they are also lame when done in a computer-generated voice.

Updated 3: I was also just informed that there was an entire “Office” episode dedicated to this so there is absolutely NO POINT to this post so please stop reading immediately.

Updated 4: LB’s computer won’t stop saying “boobs”, which I’m going to go ahead and blame on a computer hostage takeover so if I’m dead tomorrow you know why.

Updated 5: Just been informed that “boobs” was also used on the “Office” so LB’s computer can’t even come up with an original idea and all I can say is THANK GOD IT’S 5:00 AND QUITTING TIME.