The Epitome of Bachelordom, or, I Really Have to Thimk before I Act.

This blog entry may go down in history as the absolute "Too Much Information" about Moloquin, but damnit, it's amusing when I think about it, and seeing as I'm always up for a good joke (even on myself) I figured, why not share it with everyone. Here goes readers, your forewarning...There may be some nudity in this entry, so to paraphrase Homer Simpson, if you are offended by the human wang, look away. Ok, there won't be any pictures, but there may be mention of something that would be cresting the PG-13 rating that I mentioned in the last entry. Ok, to be honest, there is no way that this is going to break the PG-13 rating. PG at best. Tits.

I have come to terms with my bachelorhood. It's been an interesting climb, but I have finally reverted to that same twenty something guy with an apartment phase, albeit, much cleaner this time around. It has taken me the better part of a year to get back into the groove, but it's much like falling down a cliff; you really have no idea how far it is until you look back up and see you are never getting to the top again, but not in a bad way. The bottom is just different. A little darker, a little less vegetation, maybe a creek...What? Nevermind.

Anyways, back on the train. In true bachelor fashion I have made some adjustments to my life. One of the major ones is the removal of all snack foods from my house. Snacks are the Babylonian Whore to the bachelor. You will always keep returning until you are 300 pounds, sitting on the couch in a pair of boxer shorts and wife beater top, drinking chocolate milk straight out of a gallon jug. I desperately did not want to turn into that guy, so all junk food was banished from my home. One of the other things that has changed is only picking up the food I want to eat for dinner from the supermarket on the way home from work. Same principle as above. When a bachelor is sitting in the living room at ten o’clock at night and gets the munchies, it's hard to differentiate from a bag of chips, and frying up two pounds of ground beef. Trust me; we will do this if we get the idea in our head. Ask around and you discover some of the most obscure dishes used as snacks during the late hours of the night in a bachelor’s house. In conclusion, don't drop by my house for a surprise dinner; otherwise you may be eating a bottle of sambucca for supper. Seriously. I keep no food whatsoever in my house. Now the stage is set, on to Act 2.

Some night about a week ago I'm lying in bed re-reading a book by Simon R. Green when the urge grabs me. Damn...I'm hungry. Of course it's now 2:30 in the AM and I'm almost at the point of sleep anyways. I figure, I'll just ignore it and I'm good until morning. No harm, no foul. I keep reading and the hunger isn't going away. I guess you can't just have a bunch of saltines for dinner and get away with it.

"I'm ignoring you stomach...Go to sleep."

"gurglegurglegurgleglorp."

Damnit. Looks like I'm gonna have to put some food in me or I'm never going to get to sleep. It's now about 3:00 or so and I'm tired and fed up, so up and out of my nice warm bed to find something to give my stomach so it will shut up.

One piece of info before proceeding, it may seem odd but it's necessary for the tale. I have always slept without pajamas. I have always found them constricting so they went away when I was about eight or so, and I've never looked back. Now mix this information with the fact I have no sense of modesty (or just no sense maybe) and you have a unique combination. Onward we go.

I hop out of bed and start the trek down to my kitchen. Of course, I'm not wearing anything. Why would I? It's my house and it's a little after three in the morning. The only person that could possibly be in here would be a burglar, and I'm pretty sure I'd get the upper hand as hungry naked guy. Surprise alone should be worth something.

I get to my kitchen, and start digging around for something to eat. As mentioned before, I keep a pretty bare cupboard so this is quite a challenge. I go to the fridge and find lots of liquor bottles.

"Yeah, that'll help me sleep, but not in a good way...next. Look, some bread, oh, wait, looks like the colony living on there has just discovered electricity. Lets put that back in the fridge and hope they discover something cool like time travel, or where all my left socks have gone. More liquor, more liquor, some beer just for a change...nothing. There is nothing at all in my fridge worth eating. Into the cupboard we go...Look, some saltines, oh wait, that's just the empty box from the ones I ate at dinner. A bag of sugar?"

Instantly I'm nine years old again with a bag of confectioner’s sugar...

"No, let's not do that...Damn near killed me when I was nine. Parsley, oregano, salt, spices out the wazoo. Maybe we'll mix up some Parsley Oregano Nutmeg Sambucca suprise? Big BIG next to that one. What's that? Up there, on the top shelf where everything not healthy for me used to be?"

What my grasping hands had discovered was a box of liquor filled chocolates I had received for chrismas. They were the good ones too, not the cheap ones that you find at the checkout at the grocery store, and seeing I just wanted to get something in me so I could get to sleep, in they went. Now, you might be thinking that this isn't very different than the stuff that was in my fridge, and you are mostly right, but this was prepackaged so it was good to go, plus I was tired, frustrated and not thinking 100% clearly.

Now this is the crucial moment, the climax of the story so to speak.

As I'm gobbling down liquor filled chocolates my brain kicks in and for a brief second, I can see clearly for a moment, and what do I see? I see a naked, early 30's male standing in his kitchen eating liquor chocolates. Damn. I really hope I can climb back up that cliff to get to the top again, because down at the bottom of the chasm it is a scary, scary place.