Peeps can also be eaten out of the microwave. This is often done in conjunction with “Peep Jousting,” a game in which two Peeps are placed in the microwave with toothpicks stuck in them. The Peeps expand in the microwave, the player whose Peep pierces the other Peep gets the honor of eating both hot and gooey Peeps.
Outstanding.
noneI went on a girl date.
Not just any girl date, but a blind girl date. So blind, in fact, that I don’t think the other girl knew it was a girl date. But for me, it was a chance to make a connection with another girl, to establish a friendship in a new environment, so that when I arrive in Ireland I won’t be totally alone, friend-wise.
My boyfriend, orchestrator of the date and thus the modern day equivalent of the very attractive Rashida Jones, teased me mercilessly before and after. Was I nervous? What would we talk about? He escorted me there, made small talk, and then very cleverly excused himself to go back to work. It went pretty well, but she played it cool. When I met my boyfriend again later, he asked how long I was going to wait to friend her? Would I write on her wall, or send or a message, or just not? What did we talk about? Were there sparks? Did she like me? Did I like her? Do I think we’ll connect again when I get back to Ireland?*
I said later, “You know, scenarios like this are why all my friends used to think I was actually gay!”
What happened to making friends? It used to be so easy. High school was, in looking back, awesome: hanging out with your friends all day, doing minimal work, and talking back to teachers who didn’t really mind. There was no real pressure to bond with anyone, you just did because they were there, all day every day.
I haven’t made a real friend since then. College was a total wash in that regard — it was impossible for me to connect with many people at BC, and I drifted from the few that I liked. Those that I made at Trinity are either gone to their respective home countries or hate me because I’m beautiful (read: dating someone beautiful). Even now that I’m back home, I see my best friends once a month, if that. I’m not forced into anyone’s company for very long, so nothing lasts.
I know most of that’s my own fault. I’m a recluse, and I don’t enjoy going out in America, and so when I’m invited places I just decline and go back to playing with my stuffed animals. But I’m not talking about at night. I mean, don’t most people have those friends they can call up to go to lunch? That they can jump into conversations with without having to first ask everything polite, because they talk so much that they already know what they’re up to? That have long phone calls for no reason and throw birthday parties for each other?
I don’t know what I’m talking about, I never made a friend-friend at BC so I don’t know how we girls are supposed to interact at this age. The last all-girl several-hour get-together I had involved pasta salad, boxes of chocolate, and Love Actually, and that was Christmas 2008. All I know is, college is over in a few months, and for the rest of my life I will be desperately reaching for connectible points in every female interaction I have. Topics of conversation I’ve got in my repertoire: menstruation, Taylor Swift, commitment, Ellen DeGeneres, going to bed early. Any other girly talking points I should brush up on?
*She friended me back!
3 comFrom: Molly Griffin
To: Mama Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 1:10 PM
Re: Hi…
Off to lunch now, made myself a peanut butter sandwich. Except I’m afraid to eat it, because there was a spider on my bag on the train this morning, and I didn’t want to flick it onto another person so I just kind of freaked out to myself, and then it disappeared… I have NO idea where it went, it went on the underside of my bag and wasn’t seen again. If it is EVEN in my sandwich, I swear to God.
—
From: Molly Griffin
To: Mama Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:31 PM
Re: HiWELL I FOUND THAT SPIDER IT’S IN MY BAG.
—
From: Molly Griffin
To: Mama Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:31 PM
Re: HiI WISH YOU WERE HERE TO KILL IT FOR ME.
—
From: Mama Griffin
To: Molly Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:33 PM
Re: HiAHHHHHH, hairy?
—
From: Molly Griffin
To: Mama Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:39 PM
Re: HiIt is FAST, that’s what it is, I don’t know how to kill it I don’t want to feel it when I do. Plus I’ll have to smash it against my nice bag. I’ve just been freaking out for about 10 minutes.
—
(For the greater good, the rest is optional viewing. Click through to read more.)
From: Molly Griffin
To: Mama Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:43 PM
Re: Hioh my god I did it I smashed it good using the side of the bag so I didn’t have to touch it but now I’m going to throw up while I scrape it off. This has been a horrifying day.
—
From: Mama Griffin
To: Molly Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:46 PM
Re: Hi
—
From: Molly Griffin
To: Mama Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:47 PM
(no subject)you are not a mother to me anymore. i just jumped out of my skin you awful woman.
—
From: Mama Griffin
To: Molly Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:49
Sorry
—
From: Molly Griffin
To: Mama Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:51 PM
Re: SorryOkay very well. You may enter my family again.
—
2 comFrom: Mama Griffin
To: Molly Griffin
Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 3:53 PM
Re: Sorry
I’m about to sit down and write an entire essay on Nuala ní Dhomhnaill (even though I’m outrageously sick and am incapable of thinking because of all the mucus I keep sucking back up into my brain, green, green mucus that I’ve used half a roll of toilet paper to stymie just this morning but can’t because every time I give one of those hacking, rattling coughs it just loosens everything again and omg I’m going to the US ambassador’s house on Thursday I better be fixed by then), but before I do, I just had to share this. Because I’m all snuggled up in bed right now, drinking tea and huffing eucalyptus and being very weak and vulnerable and innocent, and what song am I bopping to? Oh, only “How About You,” the hit acrostic single from the hip-hop group called Envy that I formed with my cousin Amanda around the age of seven.
2 comHow about you, now how about me?
How about you, now can’t you see?
I like the rap and I like the roll.
I like the rap, it’s the groove of my soul.
I like the rap, now can’t you see,
Now here’s a few words that tell about me.
M is for the madness.
O is for the ocean breeze.
L is for the laughter.
L is for a long cool squeeze.
Now don’t forget the Y, you see,
It is for the yelling at me (HEY).
I most unfortunately have begun to think like Homer Simpson without realizing it. Of course, I have realized it now, but for too long my thoughts have usually gone something like, How can I make money without getting a job? and, If only there were some way to get money right now instead of waiting until I actually do something to merit money, and, I played poker for chips pretty well, perhaps if I raise the stakes next time?, and, If I got into an accident, what would the payout be?
Scarily, these run parallel to:
“After years of disappointment with get-rich-quick schemes, I KNOW I’m gonna get rich with this scheme… and quick!“
I should be scared by my desperation, but not yet! Because I am still deseperate. Do you know how much shit costs over here, not just for an American but for anyone? A lot! And you do know that I want to stay here for the summer, right? And that I am having trouble drumming up the courage to tell my parents because the cost-benefit of “It will cost several thousands of dollars, but there is a possibility that I will cry less on a daily basis!” is not an impressive bulletpoint on a Why You Shouldn’t Book My Flight Home Just Yet PowerPoint? And oh my God I had the scariest, most straightforward dream the other night where my dad stood in front of me and ripped me a new one, telling me that I was the most selfish child and was the reason there was no heat in the house and that I should go kill myself, so my four-year-old self toddled up to the roof and jumped off, and my twenty-year-old self pointed at my dead body and said, “Look at what you’ve done”? That if I really want to stay and avoid pressure suicide, I am going to have to pull money from somewhere, and it won’t be my ass because I already spent all that on a weekend trip to Galway and Kimberley’s (nom nom nom)?
So right now I’m coming up with hair-brained schemes to make some fast cash. I’m jealous of the postgraduates I know who can simply volunteer to teach some labs or tutorials and make a buck. Back at BC, I could just tell the professor I freelanced for that there were some tweeks I needed to make to her website and I’d get $40 to help me get through the week. Here, though, I am a victim of the recession. I don’t really want a job while I’m in school, because now that I’m a bit of a social butterfly I like being available to whatever anyone has in mind. For the summer, when there are fewer people around, yes, of course. But for now, if I am going to do anything, I want to work from home.
My most desperate move, which you may have already noticed by scrolling down this far to read, is that I’ve added advertisements. I never wanted to have advertisements for some purist blogger reasons (i.e. I’ve been on the blog scene for 8 or 9 years now, and the personal site scene even longer, no way will I ever taint this hobby with profit!). But really, I’ve built websites for money, too. Of course, I’m not a mommy blogger, so I’m not going to make the money those ladies make, and no one is going to come rapping at my door, furious that I’m exploiting myself for cash. I’m really, really not important enough in the blogging world to even be at a stage where I employ advertisements. (Which, as a side note, kind of makes me sad. I was sort of hot on the Internet back in high school. I mean, not really, but I used to have a readership outside of my friends. It should come as no surprise that this is one of the reasons I’ve feared becoming boring as I’ve become happier–because literally, as I’ve become happier, I’ve lost readers. Catch-22!) Anyway, contractually I am not to encourage clicking of these advertisements, but I will say that this website has been sucking money out of me for two years now (official dot-com birthday is the 19th) and that it should really start pulling its weight.
I don’t know if the ads will be permanent–for now, I think of them as a temporary solution to a temporary problem. They won’t be much of a solution, and I’ll probably make about $10 every year at the rate my page hits are going, but hey. If I can put a coffee cup out on the street and someone may throw a few cents in, then why not.
3 com
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