Fuck You, McCormick. And You Too, Schilling.
I listened to "Waiting for a Star to Fall" by Boy Meets Girl on repeat in the car this morning for my hour-ten commute and now I need a blood transfusion.
I made French Onion soup from scratch last night because I like spending two hours producing something that tastes like it came out of a forty-nine cent dip package. The next time I spend eleven dollars on gruyere cheese and an hour clawing at my onion mascara eyes like a meth addict it better be because I'm making brownies.
