-Whenever I eat any of the whole wheat bread, low fat cheese, or diet whatever that I keep in my apartment, I think to myself, “This isn’t that bad. I can’t even tell the difference.” But when I’m somewhere else and eat the real stuff, I exclaim, “Sweet Lord, what have I been missing!?” The truth is, I’ve never been much of a food connoisseur. I know what I like and proceed to consume too much of it. My attempts at healthy eating generally fail as soon as I leave the confines of my own kitchen. Nevertheless, to me, meals are like one-night stands: as long as I don’t wake up feeling regret the morning after, I consider myself a winner.

-Not all side dishes are created equal. Let me get this straight – my choices are mac and cheese, french fries, stuffing, cole slaw, or steamed broccoli? Why are the last two even on the fucking menu?

-You know you got wasted when you wake up so late the next day that your first meal is dinner.

-Once you’ve had chopped salad you can never go back. Do you really expect me to chew through a whole piece of lettuce now? That just seems like a lot of work.

-Nothing causes me to lose my appetite faster than chicken with “grill marks” that look like they’ve been painted or stamped on.

-My garbage disposal is a luxury unmatched in its simplicity and convenience. The only problem is that people without garbage disposals find me uncouth when I absent-mindedly sweep half-eaten foodstuffs into their kitchen sink.

-My appetite for sushi is insatiable. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t go out to eat sushi with friends because I’m embarrassed to order as much as I’d actually like. Are you seriously only eating a hand roll and a couple of pieces of spicy tuna? I thought that was to tide us over before we order for real.

-I’ve purchased goods and services worth thousands of dollars on the Internet. But online food delivery? I don’t trust it. What if my order doesn’t go through? What if my information is stolen? What if – gasp! – they send me the wrong sides?

-I never gained the Freshman 15; I gained the Junior 15. In fact, I never stepped foot in a gym until my third year of college. I’ve worked out pretty religiously ever since, but I’ve never lost those fifteen pounds. I have, however, learned to suck in my gut so much that it’s become a workout in itself. When you meet me, rest assured I’m doing abs.

-When I lived in Manhattan, I subsisted on take-out and the occasional meal reluctantly prepared by my roommate Brian’s girlfriend. West Hollywood, on the other hand, is not a city that caters to take-out – food delivery takes forever and the additional fees make it overpriced when ordering for one. Faced with no other choice, I learned to cook. And while the three or four things I know how to make won’t win any culinary awards, they do keep me satisfied. The one thing I continue to order in – despite the cost – is sushi. On those occasions, the garbage disposal remains silent.  There shall be no fish left behind.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-If you ring up my total using a calculator instead of the cash register, I’m just going to assume you don’t pay taxes.

-If I have a few minutes to kill and have a choice between updating Twitter and calling my mom, I’ll choose the former. Twitter never tells me it can’t hear me because it can’t figure out how to work the Bluetooth headset I bought it for Mother’s Day.

-It really irks me when people quote famous movie lines and give the actor credit. No, the fucking screenwriter came up with that. The actor just read it off of a piece of paper.

-I carefully choose the underwear I’m going to wear out to the bar on a Saturday night. Not because I think I might get laid and a chick will see it, but because those boxers are most likely what I’ll still be wearing come Monday morning.

-I love to read. Once I start a good book, I usually devour it within days. Except from September through May when new TV is on.

-My buddy Chi has become obsessed with getting wasted at brunch this summer in New York. Now don’t get me wrong, no one enjoys a mid-afternoon bloodbath more than yours truly. But when your friends call you hammered every weekend at 2pm to proclaim, “Daytime is the new nighttime,” it’s time for a brunchervention.

-If you work as in-house counsel for a law firm, do you hate your job twice as much?

-Please do not set your out-of-office reply to say you have “limited access” to email. Bullshit. You either have access or you don’t. “Limited access” is just an excuse not to respond to the people you hate.

-I recently went to the doctor and had to pee in a little cup. I nailed it exactly with a perfect pour. So why did I flush anyway?

-Nothing is more terrifying about driving in LA than speeding down the right lane and being unable to tell if the cars up ahead are merely slowing down or are actually parked.

-And, finally, I’ve begun warning people that going with me to a fancy steakhouse is a waste of time and money. First of all, I still have no idea what the different cuts of meat mean. I once ordered a New York strip because I’m from New York and thought it sounded cool. Second of all, red wine gives me heartburn, and apparently attempting to order white wine at a steakhouse is a capital offense. Lastly, I just can’t tell the fucking difference between a twenty-dollar steak and a fifty-dollar steak. I can spot top-notch yellowtail sashimi a mile away, but rib eye is completely lost on me. The sides I’ve got a handle on, but when it comes to selecting a steak, I’m forced to stall as long as possible – and pray no one laughs when I order the chopped salad. Fuck me.

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