Best Intentions

[grippingthewheel]

A friend sent me this email and I asked her if I could post it because it made me laugh. She moved to NYC last September And I miss our drunken escapdes dearly.

I feel my life is analogous to something Steven Wright once said, "If toast always lands butter-side down, and cats always land on their feet, what happens if you strap toast on the back of a cat and drop it?"

I decided to head home last Sunday night around midnight. The culmination of eight hours of boozing was my rousing rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody into a bacteria-laden microphone at some Karoke bar in the East Village. As I was walking to the train, I ducked into a grocery store to purchase some sort of processed-frozen-hydrogenated-overly-packaged food. I positioned myself in front of the freezer case and carefully deliberated the choices...when I saw it...California Pizza Kitchen's Thai Chicken Pizza...mmmmmmm, perfect....I grabbed the pizza and skipped down the street to the train.

I was barely inside my apt before I was carefully preparing my pizza feast. I lovingly sprayed the bottom of the pizza with non-stick spray and placed it in the oven. I perfectly browned it so all the processed cheese would be crustified and the crust crispy. After 15 min of hard work and concentration, it was time to retrieve my drunken sustenance.

With spatula in my right hand, plate in my left, I pulled the steaming hot pizza out of the oven and attempted to place it on my plate. I was unsuccessful. Making an "X" with my two arms, I overcompensated the handoff and ended up tossing the pizza against my cabinet. It then fell butter-side down onto the floor, its golden-brown crust cruelly mocking me.

I grumbled out a full-breathed FFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKK, and squatted down on my heels. Scratching my head--perplexed, I took stock of the situation. I pulled the pizza off the floor but the toppings separated from the crust and remained a pile of peanuty-goo, stuck to the ground.

There were two courses of action, I advised myself. I could on the one hand, take the high road and throw away the pizza and go to bed starving, disappointed and angry. OR, I could pick up the pile of gooey toppings, place them back on the crust and then place the pizza under the broiler to burn off all the cat hair I assumed now stuck in the pile. I chose door number 2. After the pizza was nice and burnt, I covered it in cayenne pepper and hot sauce to further obscure my hairy thai pie.

I ate over half of the pizza before I felt the unmistakable tickling of a single cat hair. With great effort, I separated it from my tongue and inspected it...I suddenly realized how fucking disgusting this pizza was. I immediately threw it in the garbage and went to bed so I didn't have to think about what I just did.

It didn't occur to me until later that beyond even eating cat hair, as gross as that is, is cats shite and piss in litter boxes in cat litter, which is foul business. Inevitably, that cat litter is transferred all over my floor by tiny cat feet prancing all over the exact spot my toppings were overturned.

[Gwynn]

NYAH! your friend is one cool girl! Cheers to her!
PS: thaknks for sharing the storie :D

[vat69]

havent you heard of the ten second rule? that pizza was fair game, man, cat hair or not. plus you were drunk, so the choice was the right one.
no regrets, my friend. that may mean no dignity, life is to short to fuck around with dignity, let me tell you.