My love affair with junk food is well documented. I’m not huge into candy or anything, just junk in general. Chips, cookies, french fries - - full-fledged crap. I try to resist the siren song of the Sun Chips, but occasionally I fall a lumpy victim to their crunchy cries.

My boss at work, the VP of marketing, keeps a dish of bite-sized candies on his desk, he readily admits, to draw employees in to chat with him. He keeps the good kind, too - - mini-Snickers and little Milky Ways. I always eye them, but never take from the bowl. I have no problem feeding the break room vending machine money for its fruit chews, but for some reason won’t eat a piece of chocolate free for the taking.

However, one day I really, really wanted a piece of chocolate. I’m not a sugar addict or anything, but I cave easily to cravings, especially at work. They can distract me from creating masterful copy. Heh. So, I dug into my giant laptop bag/purse for my wallet only to find twenties and a pocket full of pennies. No machine-ready bills or coins. I refilled my water glass and tried to forget about it.

I went back to my product descriptions, trying to decide which adjectives worked best, when the mingling of soft caramel and puffy nougat consumed my brain. I bit my tongue, but soon remembered the dish of bite-sized candy bars in the VP’s office. Ooh, he had just the candy I wanted, no coins needed, sitting at the ready on his desk. I made my way over even when I remembered he was out of town. They were two steps from the door, which was wide open, so I kept going. I saw that the office was empty, strode in and grabbed a single piece from the bowl, then spun on my heels when the overheard lights came on. I dropped the mini-Snickers and jumped backwards, hands in the air. I thought I’d been busted by the candy cops. I learned that day that some office lights where I work come on when a sensor notices movement in the room.

I ate the candy, but it was disappointing after my little scare.

“The Bush administration has adopted new standards that would make it much more difficult for states to extend health coverage to children in middle-income families, The New York Times reported on Monday.”

“[Michael Vick’s] jerseys and T-shirts don’t go to waste, though. The nice ones are used as pillows for the animals. The others are used as rags to clean the kennels.”

You suck. You suck the suck of a million vacuum cleaners. You spit out at me entries written in October of last year. You feed me blog posts from a blog you haven’t been aggregating for months all at once, filling my folder with unread entries from weeks and weeks ago. You seem to have no rhyme to your reason. You just present blog postings all willy-nilly, as if it is not your JOB to display information in a logical manner.

I never switched to Google Reader because I’d filled you so full of all my reads. Well, the jig is up. I will be moving to Google Reader if it takes me two weeks. And then I will be through with you.

And don’t call me up two weeks later talking about wanting to show me movie listings or dinner plans. I’ve already dropped you, zero, now I’m getting with a hero.

This is it,

Brittney

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