So, it is definitely for sure Friday the 13th.
Look out for the ladders.
Don't let a piano fall on you.
Don't open the basement door!
Can't you hear the ominous music???
Friday the 13th brings bad luck.
I put mayonnaise on my food on purpose.
I hate mayonnaise.
It is vile and gross.
It is globby.
It leaves sluggish residue that does not go away no matter what anyone says.
It is the signature ingredient in most 1970's Picnic Food.
Mayonnaise has TOTALLY ruined countless restaurant orders over the years.
( Note: Restaurant people who really don't want to have to cook a whole other thing,
just because the cursed condiment is drenching my food - causing me to screech?
And stop, drop and roll - like it is fire?
You can't wipe it off a hamburger bun and pass that off as mayonnaise-free.
Mayonnaise won't go away once you put it on stuff.
You cannot get rid of it, no matter how hard you try.
Kind of like Beetlejuice.
Ooh, TANGENT ALERT:
Mystery At McDonalds: What Awful Wrong Did They Give Us? What Horrible Thing Is In The Kid Play Area?
Fun or Foul? by Allison
Back in Ye Olden Days?
(Note: Not that olden, I am still very, very young)
Before I saw Fast Food Nation?
Before they had to tell you what was in the food?
Before I had young children?
In college, my sister and I would drive out of our way,
to go to this one particular McDonalds,
just to see how badly they would get our order,
and in what way.
We kept track of the below absurdities,
which for some reason was the most hilarious thing ever,
And they never let us down!
1. Wrong Food Order In Two Or More Wrong Ways.
2. Ice Cream Upside Down In A Bag.
3. Correct Food Order, Uncooked.
4. Wrong Food Order, Uncooked.
5. Forgetting We Were There At The Drive Thru Entirely For Fifteen Minutes Or More
6. MAYONNAISE on Wrong Food Order, Bonus Screeching If Uncooked As Well
7. MAYONNAISE on Correct Food Order, Ruining It, It Will Never Be Right Again.
The only thing that didn't happen - our Holy Grail, our Great White?
They never gave us a Filet-O-Fish.
It was super fun activity, though, because we could not figure out WTF?
Were they in there drinking the cleaning fluid they were NOT using on the kiddie play areas?
Were they truly flummoxed by the menu options and what is and is not cooked?
Did they eat all the uncooked stuff and get bird flu or mad cow disease?
Were they messing with us on purpose and laughing just as much as we were,
thinking of us driving away with our Whichever Category Of Wrong?
Those are the only instances I tolerated being around mayonnaise, because it was on our list of things that could go wrong,
and I wasn't going to eat it anyway,
and that was fun.
Only fun memory of mayonnaise.
Here comes the foul part, the fun was up there just now.
When the girls were younger,
and would have be ruined forever if they entered a McDonalds,
or so I had been told?
(Note: That is kind of true.
Nutritionally, I leave that to the experts,
and they have well and fully convinced my girls that McDonalds is salty poison.
I am talking about the disgusting,
filthy kid play areas.
They put little chairs in there,
to lure your kids into throwing fits,
or breaking free and running,
into that petri dish of yuk.
I am fairly sure the kid play tube/ slide things,
are not cleaned regularly.
The ball pits?
Items we have been handed by our children -
things they found in various play areas?
1. Cigarette Lighter
2. Grown-up-person-sized underwear
3. Socks, of various sizes and grossness
4. Hair Extentions
5. Used dirty diaper
(V is no dummy,
she just told us there was one up in the tube thing,
leading to the slide,
she didn't hand it to us)
And I have heard of worse, from traumatized friends.
Not listing those.
That would be hearsay.
And therefore struck from the official record.
The official record of this sub-tangent,
of this tangent of this story.
I am helping the fact checkers,
for when somebody ever decides Post - Apocalyptic Teen Strife is done.
Shark has jumped.
And rambling weird stories,
covered in green tea, is next big thing?
And whole books of my nonsense are like, the new black.
I'm helping the pretend future fact checkers!
By not writing about stuff I cannot prove is true.
Because that would be a sucky job, fact checking my ridiculousness.
"Hey, I need to verify that Allison had a hobo on the roof. . ."
I am so planning ahead for the benefit of others!
I am saint-like, really.
Also, I remember everything!
Not always a good thing.
But in some instances,
like remembering what I was talking about,
way up there when I started writing this.
I meander, maybe?
But I know what I was meaning to say.
What bad luck siren was calling me?
And you know, I hate mayonnaise.
It is a blight upon the world.
And ruiner of endless things people have tried to get me to eat,
but I won't.
Because I know there is mayonnaise in there,
or you just wiped it off.
Mayonnaise leaves its DNA, in the form of goo.
Matt's brother loves like, putting his food in a mayonnaise bath.
It is not something I can watch.
I have been like, "Matt, you can tell him he doesn't have consume that just to mess with me."
And Matt's like, "He's not messing with you, he likes extra mayonnaise."
My only concession on the NO MAYONNAISE I KNOW IT'S ON THERE SOMEWHERE STOP LYING TO ME law of me?
I understand it is the required goo to hold the stuff together,
so must be tolerated, if you want tuna salad.
Because I decide my own made-up rules,
I am allowed to make exceptions,
and sometimes I want tuna salad.
And I can tolerate the mayonnaise,
and I have a theory on that:
On tuna salad, mayonnaise is serving a purpose.
Making itself useful, being glue goo.
Contributing, instead of blopped all over otherwise good food things,
like a gooey, will go bad,
and your hair will be really gross,
wet blanket on the food.
Who would want to eat such a thing?
Apparently, because it is Friday the 13th -
And I am NOT opening the door everyone knows the bad thing is hiding behind.
Because of the soundtrack, duh.
I bad lucked myself!
I put mayonnaise on my food on purpose.
Look for flying pigs,
or the devil asking to borrow a sweater,
Until four this Friday the 13th afternoon?
I would have said that you could find a unicorn,
holding a four leaf clover,
and the directions to Atlantis,
before you would find me willingly putting mayonnaise on my food.
It is kind of Matt's fault.
He has hearts of romaine lettuce as a snack.
I am a chronic romaine lettuce procurer as a result,
but he has a lot to deal with wrangling me,
I will supply him lettuce (unless I forget).
I will buy lettuce everywhere I go (that sells lettuce),
I normally ignore his lettuce,
and put spinach and kale in smoothies,
so I can cross "eat green stuff" off of my Things I Should Probably Do list.
But the other day,
I hijacked his lettuce for myself for lunch -
since I was too tired from the gym,
and I am inherently lazy anyway,
and didn't feel like hunting and gathering.
So I made tuna salad and a ridiculous amount of lettuce.
It was fabulous.
I am now an even more frequent procurer of lettuce.
I am loving the lettuce.
This is slightly concerning me,
because Matt's lettuce is my new favorite thing to eat,
and I am afraid I might be turning into a rabbit.
Specifically my nightmare :
The Easter Bunny.
Talk about bad luck.
I would be the worst Easter Bunny ever,
that fact has already been established through anecdotal evidence,
1. Being terrified of people wearing rabbit costumes.
2. Not wanting to make Easter baskets full of candy,
and that wretched fake grass that never goes away.
3. No way am I going near eggs and colorful dye for a craft.
I hate crafts.
4. Filling those plastic ones with candy is boring.
5. I look awful in pastels.
But I am having fun with my lettuce/tuna thing.
And at four in the afternoon this Friday the 13th,
I put extra mayonnaise on the tuna and lettuce.
Not blobbed on top where I could see it, of course.
That would be gross.
But I actively put more than required for salad goo glue.
I am troubled by this.
Because I know I hate mayonnaise.
I feel like a traitor to myself.
I Am My Own Benedict Arnold ,
If He Was A Turncoat Over Mayonnaise Instead Of The Revolutionary War.
I am blaming it on Friday the 13th.
I know its reputation is Bad Luck Day,
especially in horror movies,
and people who don't like to fly on airplanes, anyway.
It's not really about changing your mind on whether you like or don't like mayonnaise.
I realize my situation is probably not considered traditional Bad Luck.
I don't care, because it is Very Bad Luck,
if this mayonnaise thing becomes a thing.
My version of Bad Luck, so I would know.
For my own safety,
I am writing on the computer,
instead of opening creaky doors.
or hanging out with chainsaw toting people in overalls,
or eating anything that may have ever been near mayonnaise.
Because what if this Very Bad Luck lasts seven years,
like breaking a mirror?
Or the Very Bad Luck jinxes me,
and I won't get good songs on the radio during carpool?
Or worse, if owls like mayonnaise on their eyeballs snacks,
and they find me?
Worst Very Bad Luck ever.
To safeguard against this,
I am going to have to cut back on this lettuce thing, too.
It is the gateway food of this whole mayonnaise curse.
What if I willingly put mayonnaise on lettuce again?
I can't handle changes to my Lifelong, Steadfast ,
Ridiculous Behavior And Belief System.
plus now it's Very Bad Luck.
Also, I really, really don't want to turn into the Easter Bunny.
So I am kind of panicking about mayonnaise and turning into a giant rabbit -
(Note: I realize that the above sentence,
taken out of context,
or maybe even still within this context,
But that doesn't mean it isn't both ludicrous and totally true,
and happening right now.
I don't think that I have panicked over those two things at the same time before!
I have totally panicked about both of them individually,
like one million times.)
So as a distraction from this new bizarre concern of mine,
I am going to make a mixtape.
But what if bad luck is contagious and the computer gets it?
That would be bad luck for several people,
and the computer and neighbors hearing my fit.
I'm ditching the diversion strategy, since it isn't working,
and I am writing about how it isn't working.
So it is like, double negative distraction.
Or a distracting distraction from a distraction attempt?
I don't know.
Too lazy to figure out how to diagram that sentence.
I shall employ my beloved and oft-used Scarlett O'Hara Strategy:
I am not going to think about it,
I will rely upon her sage advice:
(Drat!!! I knew I should have bought that curtain dress costume!)
I shall say fiddle dee dee,
I'll worry about that tomorrow.
At least the worrying about it tomorrow part.
I don't know how to fiddle,
or fiddle dee dee.
And tomorrow's not the 13th anymore!
Saved by the wisdom of Scarlett O'Hara.
I totally want that costume now.
I'll worry about that tomorrow.
Or, like, get an intern so somebody can worry about it today.