Monday, Apr. 12, 2004
Dear Diary:

Prepare to be Blinded By Science.

Maybe you should be sitting down for this.


Okay, here goes:

It Is Possible To Eat Too Much Pecan Pie!

Frankly, I'm as stunned by this pecan pie revelation as you are. Aren't you glad I had you sit down? I mean, really, You Could Have Swooned from the shock and maybe hit your head or something. No need to thank me for my concern, though. I'm all about the caring.

I established The Pecan Pie Theorem Sunday through careful experimentation during the family Easter dinner. I ate not one but TWO slabs generous slices of insanely good pecan pie, pecan pie which had been made with maple syrup.

Oh, sure, I could have stopped at one piece but this pie was the Pinnacle of Pecan Pie Perfection.--a crust so light and flaky that it had to be covered with filling or it would have floated out above the pie pan. A filling so delicious that I didn't want to chew it, I just wanted to suck on it and make soft, orgasmic sounds. One slice was pure ambrosia. I had to have a second, to see if it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

I think we can all agree that I have never been afraid to explore the frontiers of science.

Now I don't claim to eat a perfect diet or anything, but I must confess that it's been a while since this much sugary goodness has rocketed through my system. I knew I had hit the apex of the sugar buzz when I caught myself seriously considering singing "Let's Get Physical" while doing jumping jacks.

Maturity? What is this thing they call maturity?

Ah, but the worst was yet to come. Sugar is a cruel, cruel mistress. Oh, sure, she can make you feel that this, this is the day that you should just head out the door right this very minute and fulfill your dream of running a marathon, because by golly You Have Energy To Burn.

Then an hour or so later she gaily rips the rug out from under your feet and tosses you into a cleverly hidden Pit of Low Blood Sugar and Despair. Never, ever turn your back on sugar. She Is Not Your Friend. Oh, sure, she'll show you the good times. For a while. Then she kneecaps you, and before you know it you're dragging your aged carcass somewhere quiet to nap.

Not that I would ever eat myself into the sort of sugar stupour where a nap afterwards might be necessary. No. Not me. Not ever.

Excuse me while I go and try to mop up that pile of sugary drool over on my pillow.


P.S.-- It's not too late. That four-year-old bug ridden lollipop could be yours! I'm getting such a kick out of your stories, jokes and links that I'm going to keep it running until Thursday.

Mileage on the Marnometer: 304.19 miles. Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck. 25 per cent thereTen percent there rubber duck.
Oh man. This is going to be hard
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers

Going Nowhere Collaboration

.:Comments (12 so far):.

Old Drivel - New Drivel

Subscribe with Bloglines

Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -

.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (12 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime

A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!

< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>

This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

�2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.