Feeling: trivial
Listening to: Iron and Wine - Muddy Hymnal
Reading/Watching: random favorite Buffy episodes

There is a reason it is so hard for me to diet: food tastes good.

I love food. I love all different kinds of food. I like trying new foods, and making new combinations to see if they'll work together. I get cravings for random textures, sometimes crunchy, sometimes chewy, sometimes juicy, and the thought of substituting my craving for a rice cake is... well, stupid.

So today, I needed crunchy, and I bought the excessively bad-for-you chicken strips with fries and honey biscuits from Church's, and of course my true weakness: cheesy jalape�o poppers (they should be declared an official Cause of Death, seriously. They are that good, and that bad). I was careful, though, only having two chicken strips and one biscuit and saving the rest for later.

"Later" arrived, and I put the jalape�os (can you believe I had to look up how to spell that? I am such a bad Texican) in the oven to heat them up, because cold poppers just don't do it for me, and they get squishy if heated by any other medium, and the whole point is crunchiness.

But, because I am brilliant, I put them directly on the oven rack, so as not to get a cookie sheet dirty. Ten minutes pass, and I open the oven door to extract fried cheesy jalep- jalipa peppery goodness.

Well, the fried peppery goodness was there. The cheese was... relocated. While in the oven, the poppers unlaced their protective fried coverings and dripped my much-beloved cheese food all over the grimy oven floor. This realization was followed by much rending of garments and beating of breast, after which I retrieved the crunchy peppery shells and ate them sulkily.

Then I had to clean the oven.

Moral of the story: if you're going to buy jalape�o poppers, eat them right away, and save the oven for less crucial tasks, like warming socks.

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