3.) I have some really phatflydope excellent posts coming to you very soon. I want to tell you more, but where’s the my fun in that? Let’s just say a guest post and a giveaway are involved. You don’t want to miss it.
4.) Thanks for being so nice and attractive. I really do love you.
What’s making you smile today? If you haven’t found anything, perhaps Henri, the existential cat, can help you come to terms with that:
For a supposed guilty pleasure blogger, I don’t think I talk nearly enough about one of the most mind-frenchingly awesome pairings the world has ever known. No no, not Brad Pitt and Gwyneth PaltrowAngelina Jolie Jennifer Aniston. I’m talking:
Peanut Butter and Chocolate.
The master of this holy union, the mother of this ship, the queen bee to this hive, is, of course, none other than the:
Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup
Let us have a moment of silence to pay our respects to dairy farmer H.B. Reese (who invented this wonder in 1923), shall we?
…Much obliged. So, if you’re like me, you probably can’t recall the first time you tasted a Reese’s peanut butter cup, but they’ve always been your Numero Uno. Remember Halloween? What would it take to trade one of your Reese’s cups? That’s right. It would take nothing. Because ain’t nobody laying a finger on your Butterfinger Reese’s.
There’s a noticeable passion associated with Reese’s peanut butter cups. We don’t just like them. We love them. We don’t just nibble on a mini one and call it a day. Even those so-called ‘gourmet’ peanut butter cups never seem to stack up to the original.
Reese’s peanut butter cups are an intrinsic part of American culture. They’ve come up with plenty of variations over the last 20 years, and there’s a cup for what seems like every holiday. (Whether or not you just celebrated Easter, I hope you picked up some Reese’s eggs – it’s the perfect chocolate to peanut butter ratio.) There are t-shirts, magnets, even peanut butter cup-flavored lip balm stamped with the iconic Reese’s logo.
An internet search on Reese’s peanut butter cups brings up the corporate
website, and then hundreds of recipes. To me this is a simple sign that peanut butter and chocolate are welcome in any home, for any occasion. If that Reese’s pie didn’t win over your girlfriend’s parents? Heck, you didn’t want to be a part of that family anyway.
The evolution of the Reese’s peanut butter cup slogan is also indicative of their influence – and I can’t argue with any of them:
1970s-1980s: Two great tastes that taste great together.
1990s: There’s no wrong way to eat a Reese’s.
This year Reese’s peanut butter cups were the sponsor of NCAA’s March Madness basketball tournament. They’ve already been an official sponsor of the NCAA for 4 years running. You couldn’t get me to watch 2 minutes of the college basketball that was on a continuous loop in my house last month, but even I noticed the giant Reese’s logo on the court floor (and subsequently started salivating). I wondered how the players kept focus. Or maybe it was the perfect motivator.
Do you have a favorite Reese’s memory? A favorite kind of cup? Do you not like Reese’s peanut butter cups? (If not, what’s wrong with you why not?)
On this historic day, otherwise known as Wednesday, 19 of your favorite humor bloggers are staging a WordPress coup. We have banded together to address the important topic, Better Living Through Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Yes, you read that right. Your eyes are fine. Well, they may not be fine – I really don’t know. But it does say “19 of your favorite humor bloggers” (or who SHOULD be your favorite bloggers). We are all presenting the same topic, each from his or her particularly unique perspective.
Why this topic? Why now?
Click on the bloggers’ links below to gobble up the entire, yummy bag of 19 posts.
Silence is a virtual. Especially Dinner time, from telemarketers.
Well, I guess the cookie has a point – silence is virtual (virtually unheard of) when it comes to telemarketers.
I don’t even eat the cookies (you are not a cookie, fortune cookie! For the love of Samoas, go talk to some Girl Scouts!), but at this point I had to keep going. And then it came. The fortune that’s making me lose sleep at night:
You can’t possibly live long enough to make all of them yourself.
All of what?! What am I supposed to be making? Oh god. This has something to do with turning 30 later this month, doesn’t it? I’m supposed to be making something, something only people in their 30s know about. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. What’s going to happen? Will I be allowed to live long enough to try?
In fact, it would appear they’ve even started having secret meetings. I fear a cult is forming, and these young recruits will soon do their bidding.
Despite their unsavory reputation, I find myself turning to Zest and Zeal for advice. You see, something terrible is about to happen. And I can’t stop it. It’s almost as terrible as when someone tells you “you have a pretty face” or when I learned you can’t legally buy Kinder Surprise eggs in the United States.
I’m about to…
…Well, you see…
It’s just that…
Dangnabbit. I’m turning 30 in 3 weeks!!! And I don’t like it one bit. So, with an old, decrepit and heavy heart, I sought out Zest and Zeal last night. The conversation went a little something like this:
Me: Guys, I just don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
Zeal: Here, have another drink.
Me: F&*%. How’d you get my vodka?
Zest (glancing nervously at Zeal): You know, Jules, you’d look really good with green hair.
Me: Ha ha. Thanks for bringing that up. Thanks a lot. You’re supposed to be making me feel better.
Zest: Um…Second Husband? Glee? Champagne? Cats dressed like Easter bunnies? Titanic in 3D?
Me (starting to smile, then frowning): But won’t I be too old for all of that? 30-year-old women aren’t supposed to eat animal crackers just because they come in a cute little box with a string. And I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t have a Jersey Shore wall calendar in the kitchen. And, oh god. I bet the next time I go to the MAC make-up counter they’re going to call me ma’am.
Zeal (hiding the vodka behind his back): Jules. Jules, Jules, Jules… On the road of life, there are many winding, um… roads.
Me: Shut up.
Zeal: I wasn’t finished. (takes deep breath) There are many winding roads, and you need to learn to…um…put on the brakes and stop and smell the…deer…poop.
Me: I hate you.
Zeal: Why don’t we just SHOW you how good life after 30 can be?
Me (narrowing eyes): The last time you said you wanted to show me something, it involved a bb gun and Kate Gosselin wigs.
Zeal: You said you liked it!
Me: I was…just trying to be…polite…
Zeal: Listen. Do you want our help or not?
Zest: Isn’t he as cute as a peanut when he’s frustrated?
Me (muttering): …I’m going to regret this, but… Fine. Show me.
Me: Gosh. Thanks, guys. I actually do feel better now. …Zest? Zeal? Where’d you go? Aw, crud. I’m getting too old for this sh*t.
Have you ever gotten any good (or bad) advice about getting older? How do you cope with the aging process?
I have a confession to make. I don’t read a lot (blogs excluded).
But I used to.
In fact, one of my earliest guilty pleasures was indulging in the Baby-Sitter’s Club “junior” series spin-off, the Little Sister series. By 9-years-old, I knew I was way too mature for these beginner chapter books about 7-year-old
Karen Brewer, but I devoured every single one I could get my hands on. My best friends, “The Twins,” and I would sometimes sit on the floor of their small bedroom and each read an entire book. For years, I read a new book every single day. Friends’ parents would always ask, “What are you reading now?” when I came over.
When I was 13, they made the Baby-Sitter’s Club into a movie. I called up my oldest childhood friend, and slightly shame-faced but excited, we met at the mall to see it. By then we were way too old for that stuff, even though the baby-sitters in the movie were our age. We loved it.
By 13, I was definitely aware that you were ‘supposed’ to read the books first, and felt superior every time I fell into that category. Books were for smart people and movies were for…less smart people. Right?
As I got older, and books appropriate for my age became more and more dull to me, I rarely read anything. I worked at a book store in my late teens, and when people asked for recommendations, I pointed them to Oprah’s book club list and fed them lines from other customers. I hadn’t read any of the books on the counter, and I was constantly ashamed. Reading was suddenly a chore, something I’d need to do to prove I was smart, or worthy of intellectual conversation.
Then, of course, HE happened. I’m talking Harry Potter. Then David Sedaris. Bill Bryson. Twilight. Percy Jackson. It became easier and easier to allow myself to read what I wanted to read, just as I had done when I was 9-years-old. If it was popular, unpopular, meant for teenagers, I didn’t care. I naturally gravitated towards fantasy and humorous memoirs, and I gave myself permission to give up on a book whenever I wanted to if it wasn’t gripping. Oh, the freedom! I read more, but only when I wanted to, just as I do today.
Two weeks ago, I saw The Hunger Games and I loved it. I’ve never read any of the books. And guess what? I was GLAD I didn’t know what was going to happen. It was exactly what a movie-going experience should be; I was emotionally invested within the first 5 minutes, even though I had only just met Katniss and her younger sister.
I think both mediums, books and film, can produce magic. There are plenty of movies that inspired me to go back and read the book (and vice versa), and I’ve enjoyed them both for completely different reasons (The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll is a perfect example).
But I’ll be honest. I still carry a little of that old ‘The Book Is Best’ prejudice. Right now I’m reading The Help, and am enthralled. I won’t let myself see the movie until I finish.
I’m dying to know, where do you fall on the book vs. the movie argument?