puke pies
erica says i should add an entry. shes "bored" with my diary. this from the girl that updated last when she graduated almost a year ago. please. however, i am apparentla her bitch and i do what she tells me.
this weekend was dedicated to the bar. big fucking surprise! i have so much fun and its such a good escape from reality though. if only i didnt rely on alcohol for my fun, i would fully embrace it.
3 weeks of lead teaching down, 5 to go. this lead teaching stuff is very hectic. im not sure that i like how much work it is. i think im going to start cutting back my workload by writing my lesson plans a new way. im sick of the msu bullcrap that im being forced to do. what are they going to do, fire me? (a tribute to the days of camp)
alisons entry on being forced to eat food made me think back to my childhood. i fucking hated potatoes. i couldnt stand them. i could tell if they were in my food. my mom used to try and lie to me and tell me that they werent. but i would use my potato radar and seek them out. she tried the tactic of cutting them very, very small. she would tell me that they were cheese bits, or onions. i could usually choke them down in this form. however, my parents are potato fanatics. they love them some potatoes. they cant get enough of that shit. at some point they must have had a secret meeting and decided that any offspring they produced WOULD love potatoes. i remember them going on a kick. they started creating potato dishes where they should never have been. potatoes in your eggs. potatoes on salad. potatoes, potatoes, and more fucking potatoes. one night they made potato pancakes. im not sure who created these wretched vomit cakes, but they should be sought out and punished. severely punished. so my mom makes the puke pies. i figure im clear for this one. you cant really expect to fool an 8 year old into believing that potato pancakes contain no real potatoes. however, the secret parent club has decided that they have had enough of the no-potato eating child. the child will eat potatoes. we all sit down for dinner. my innocent self is still expecting my dinner to come out at a later point, since i obviously can not stomach potato pancakes. but no. nothing else appears. instead, a potato pancake is plopped onto my plate. im not sure if youve had the horrifying experience of eating a puke pie, but you are expected to cover the retched monstrosity in sour cream. then eat the whole mess. the only thing i hated more than potatoes, was fucking sour cream. so i sat and stared at the enemy. i refused to put it in my mouth. i was hoping that the power of punishing parents was not limited to a small girl in a rohl dahl book. i was not blessed though. my potato pancake did not pick itself up and hover above the table. it did not blow up into a million small chunks that would have to be scraped off the walls. no, no. it sat. it grew cold. it formed a shiny foggy looking layer from the grease. my parents and siblings soon abandoned the table. i was forced to stay. i became the tables prisoner. i sat. and sat. and sat. eventually my mom came and compromised. three bites, and i would be free. i cut the smallest bites possible. i stacked three together. i stabbed my fork into them. i raised it up to my mouth. i swallowed them whole. and then. it wasnt pretty. the entire table was covered in vomit. i knew the puke pies were cursed.
to this day i can remember this incident vividly. however, ask my mother. she will look puzzled. give her a second. she will then think it over. "no, no. that never happened. you must have dreamed it." not only does she insult the incident by not remembering it, but she denies that it could have happened. she attributes the entire event to a dream! as if. i dont think i would still gag every time i see potato pancakes if i had dreamed it.
*note, i currently love potatoes. i could eat them all day. however, if i ever see another potato pancake headed towards my mouth, i may become violent.