I just realized that I hate my family, so I’m going to console myself with fried food. Lots of it. So much, in fact, that I’m going to give myself diarrhea because it’ll remind me of how shitty having anything to do with them really is, so I won’t do it anymore! Well, I won’t do it anymore with only one of them since that’s all that’s left, which is good, because when you deal with crazy, the less of it, the better, I say!
I’d even prefer having Mama June from “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” as a family member! Either her, or a dead person since dead people don’t lie. Well, I guess they do lie… down… for eternity. But I’m referring to the lying-from-your-pie-hole type of lie.
I know that if I got stuck with Mama June, I’d end up eating food you can only get at WalMart, and then I’d have diarrhea all the time. But the trade off could be totally worth it! Then I could take out all of my frustration on Honey Boo Boo by telling the little brat that bein’ fat ain’t pretty, her mamma is the star of her show, and her daddy don’t love her no more, that’s why he runs off to see the prostitoot!
I figured that some fried potatoes were in order, and because I was so befuddled after my familial encounters, I ended up going to a place I’d never normally go for fried food; a burger joint! I never associate myself with burgers, but hey, if they have fried potatoes, which of course they do since all burger joints have ’em, then that’d be fine with me. Besides, the place I normally go to get some yummy fried potatoes, has been closed down for remodeling, which is annoying as hell since it’s a friggin’ motel restaurant! I mean, c’mon, how fancy do you need to be? If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my twenty years, it’s that you should never try to be something you’re not! That’s why I like fried potatoes. They’ll never be anything but a delicious potato, where as if you’re an asshole, you can always try to be a non-asshole by doing insert occupation here.
Since I was not only befuddled, but down right pissed off, I went to Smashburger, which reminded me of the ‘90s group, Smash Mouth, which is what I wanted to do to my family member. I frequently have association tendencies, especially when it comes to food:
FOOD = love
FOOD = hate
FOOD = keep your goddamned mouth shut!
Smashburger has a large menu above the counter so you can peruse their wide assortment of burgers and accoutrements, which I don’t give a hoot about since I’m not eating a burger. But I noticed that along with the fried potatoes, they had fried vegetables, which was fantastic since I like to get something healthy into my pie hole every once in a while!
So as soon as I stopped sobbing uncontrollably and mumbling the word “bitch” over and over, I stepped up to the counter to give the nice girl my order, and she looked scared and confused for some strange reason, so I wondered if maybe she had to deal with a family member too. She told me that she’d have someone bring my food out to me and handed me a number, which was ironic since earlier that day, my online dating coach told me I was just a number.
When my food came, it was very disappointing. Not because I didn’t get what I ordered, I just didn’t get what I was craving, which were fried potatoes, ‘cause what I got were french fries, which I guess are technically the same thing… but they’re not. Not really. I mean, when I think of french fries, I think of the French and how moronic they are and how it was really the Belgians who came up with the french fry, and when I think of fried potatoes, I think of fat, golden, crispy nuggets of fried potatoey goodness that I can dip into a garlicky aioli! I like big, fat chunks of potato, not skinny little sticks of potato, and that’s what these were.
I ate ‘em, but they weren’t satisfying. They just didn’t hit that fried potato spot, and when I crave something in particular and don’t quench that craving, well, it’s like being forced to mumble “I hate you” under your breath when what you really wanna do is yell out “Go screw yourself you narcissistic bitch!” It’s just not the same.
I ate all of my veggies though and they were seasoned perfectly with plenty salt and pepper, so I guess they hit the fried veggie spot, even though I never had one to begin with.
What can I say, I guess I just didn’t get what I wanted. Now, isn’t that ironic? Just like with my family.
650 N. Moorpark Rd.
Thousand Oaks, CA