Peanut Butter Jelly Time--Or, Why the French Should Jump on the Peanut Butter Train

I'm not usually a picky eater. I mean, as long as there's something edible in front of me, I'm happy to douse it in cheese like a true American. But there's something about Pop-Tarts that have just seemed unappealing. Maybe it's the fact that they're not supposed to taste good to those who are too lazy to put them in a toaster (true story). Or that my brother and I grew up hearing that they tasted like cardboard and that Gatorade was donkey sweat.

Does not want to be associated with corporate beverages

Tastes like it anyway

But until today, I didn't give Pop-Tarts the benefit of the doubt. It turns out, even the right flavor of cardboard can make your taste buds explode with happiness. I mean, S'mores are great and all, but when your outer layer of a pastry tastes like graham cracker, life just gets complicated. I mean, is it a cracker, is it a breakfast food--make up your mind!

But going to my boyfriend's apartment, I discovered the second largest collection of Pop-Tarts I have ever witnessed--the first being at work, but seeing as that's a grocery store, let's not judge here. By the time I left, Pop-Tarts were practically coming out of my ears. This on top of the fact that I'm always hungry, made for the inevitable: facing my breakfast related trepidations. And so, biting into that chocolate-peanut butter melange of deliciousness, my brain did something akin to this:

And that's when the epiphany of all epiphanies happened:

Peanut butter makes everything better. 
I mean, let's look at this objectively: Why do you think the French scowl so much? They don't have peanut butter. Sure, Nutella is amazing, but how does "Nutella/Jelly time" sound?

That's not sexual. Not even on Wednesdays.

Not convinced?

How do you get kids excited about eating healthy? Ants on a log. And while the odd similarity between raisins and ants is enticing, it's the creamy, sweet, rich peanut butter that makes the celery something other than a stringy, weird mess.

And I mean, everybody knows that the waffle shop downtown is an imposter and can never reach the original Waffle Shop's standards. But its selling point--peanut butter pancakes--keeps it in business. Why even bother with other pancake choices when you can have extra delicious on your deliciousness?

If for some absurd reason, you're not human and don't like peanut butter, the epicness of this food group (yes, I'm categorizing it in its own food group, what now?) doesn't just stop at its taste. Being fresh(ish) out of high school, I've heard my fair share of "that's what she said"s, and innuendos, and while there's a clever zinger every now and again, most sexual jokes are predictable and overused. But "peanut butter jelly time" is sneaky enough to keep people wondering, but not so obscure that you just seem like that person who gets really excited by school lunches. It's sexual without even trying to be sexual.

In the words of Robin Thicke, "what rhymes with hug me?"

Freaking...deliciousness. That's what rhymes with hug me.

*spoiler alert: It doesn't actually rhyme. Shh, don't tell anyone.

Happy Monday!

Namaste.

An Open Letter to Bruno Mars

Dear Bruno Mars,
I think it's time we sat down and had a little chat. I know you don't feel like doing anything, but look, we can even sit in your bed, and it'll be in person so don't bother picking up the phone. But I'm growing a little concerned at your obsession by this girl who won't kill herself for you.

I know. It seems a little romantic to be all "hey babe, I'd kill myself 3 different ways just to be with you," but unless you're talking to a ghost, there's a wee bit of a problem with this logic: She's alive and well, kicking and dealing with needy men. That is not something ghosts cannot do. Ghosts don't care about needy men--they can be all "oooh, I'm a ghost," and scare the shit out of people and have a good laugh about it. So maybe while you're throwing your head on blades for this chic, she's getting a little freaked out because you're trying to enter a world that she is not in. I know she's got this whole pale look going on, but stop to consider that she uses REALLY light foundation before jumping to the conclusion that she's a vampire and that she's not giving you any because she's undead and all that.

Maybe it's because you expect her screams to sound like something out of Legally Blonde. Think about it.

I mean, you should really consider her feelings here. What if she was on that train, coming to surprise you at your second vacation home, and she saw you jumping in front of it? Do you know how much therapy that would cost her? I'm sure she'd try to stop you--but again, she's not a vampire. She runs at human speed. And human speed doesn't allow people to stop over dramatic fools from leaping in front of trains.

So if you're dead (3 times as dead, because apparently just plain dead is sooo yesterday), you're just gonna be wandering around in limbo for a little bit, because, surprise, she's got you locked out of heaven because she doesn't have the keys! I know it's easy to make copies and all, but think of heaven as a VIP club, and you have to have wings and no pulse to join. I'm sure she'd be happy to open up heaven's door (but Bob Dylan reminds you that you must knock first), but she's just as powerless as you in the situation.

And look, let's not get all Romeo and Juliet here, and force her to kill herself just because you thought she was dead in the first place. That's just rude.

Let's just assume that the girls you fall for are alive, and that you should probably follow Flight of the Conchords' standards before promising your death to chics:

Namaste.