I Literally DO NOT Belieb(er) This Sh!t.

I need to open by saying that I absolutely loathe that Despacito song that is on, everywhere all the time.

Loathe. It.

LOATHE.

So, it was super fun to drive down to CA, not listening to the radio, but jamming out (and singing along dreadfully) to a bunch of music that I really love.

I was assaulted by the Despacito song only 2 times over the weekend -- on Saturday while in Suckhole, CA (Chico), trying desperately to GTFO of that weird town, and the second time was as I was somewhere near Eugene on Monday night, and decided to turn the radio on.

Twice. Not bad; I could soooooo get used to that.

Anyway, back to my trip to CA. I got there around 1:00 on Saturday afternoon, and I was WIPED!!! I hadn't slept since I woke up Friday morning at 5:00 am, and I had just driven eleventy-billion miles, had a harrowing detour through Suckhole, CA (Chico), and it was hoooooootttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt!

I decided to swing by my former place of employment, because I had thoughtfully and generously bought some Voodoo Donuts to share with my compadres. If you don't know what Voodoo Donuts are, you can do a Google.

They are magic.

 YES, they are donuts, which means fat and sugar and gluten and alllllllll the bad things.

But they are bomb AF, and you should eat the ODB (Old Dirty Bastard -crushed Oreo's and peanut butter drizzle), the Oh Captain, My Captain (white frosting and CRUNCH BERRY CEREAL on top), and the maple bacon (nuff said) bar TODAY.

EAT THEM, I TELL YOU!!!

This is the ODB!!  My only joy in life.

Anyway, the last time I had dropped Voodoo off to the homies was in TWO THOUSAND AND FOURTEEN.

Three friggin' years ago.

So, it's not like I made it a daily, weekly, monthly, or even an annual habit. I actually thought I was being the fun former work person who comes from out of state to bestow magical Pacific Northwest treats, like some benevolent, benign sugar fairy.
LOLZ.

NOPE.

I was, in fact, dropping off a box of death and destruction and am clearly just not a good person as a result of my attempt to poison the innocent do-gooders I left the Death Circles for.

One of the people that was duped into eating the garbage that I brought down, posted a pic of them and made a funny little post thanking me for ruining his diet.

All funny, all good, right?

Not so much. Within hours, this saber-toothed tiger broad (it's when you are too old to be a cougar...so, basically me in about 5 effing minutes) was all up on the Facebook going on and on about how this dude shouldn't eat the donuts and how bad they were, blah, blah, blah.  "Oh, people mean well, but...you know, she is clearly trying to kill you."

I was like, jeez, bitch, calm your tits! IT WAS A FUCKING DONUT, NOT THE BAG OF METH I HAD IN THE CAR!!! (kidding! I swear!)

I didn't say anything, though, although I ALMOST did when I saw that she was, like, “I didn't want to say anything since they were a gift, but ohmygodyouwillfuckingdieofeatingtheglutendeathcircleandhowcouldthathorriblepersonwhoclaimstobeyourfrienddothattoyouyoupoorsexythingnowwhydontyoucomeoverandletmerubyourbackandyourjunkuntilyouareoverit”

Or something like that.

Anyway, I was super pissed. Like, lady, if you want to bone the kid, just tell him so, and don't try to bond with him by slagging off another one of his friends about some frickin' donuts.

Whatevs.

You know me, food not feelings, so I decided, rather than respond and be an angry FB bitch, I would eat an entire pizza because CARBS ARE EVERYTHING.

I went to Mama's Pizza in North San Juan and ordered what was probably the second best margherita pizza I have ever had in my entire life, and I ate HALF of it in about 5 minutes. And this place doesn't do "sizes".  Allll the pizzas are large.  Every one.  Seriously, though, it was that good. Crust was amazing, crispy, doughy, and chewy, they have the BEST sauce in the world, and fresh-fresh, fragrant basil with fantastic farm tomatoes and gooey mozzarella. That pizza was AMAZING!!

Seriously, if you are ever in Nevada City and you feel like pizza and you have some free time, GO TO MAMA's. But call first, as they have some really weird hours that aren't necessarily the same ones posted on their FB page.

Anyway, I decided to write what ended up being yesterday's blog, as my fever of rage over the Suckhole, CA (Chico) incident was still fresh in my mind, not to mention Mrs. Robinson's attack on what I thought was kind of a fun gesture.

I took a scalding hot shower, climbed onto one of the fluffiest, coziest beds ever, and popped open my laptop, with the pizza box from Mama's next to it on a towel. I inhaled 2 more pieces of pizza while my computer was turning on, I opened my blogger page and started typing.....ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

At 5;00 Sunday morning, I woke up from one of the most blissful sleeps I have ever had in my life, face imprinted from the laptop's keyboard, denuded pizza crust in my left hand, and open pizza box with only 2 basil-ly fragrant pieces left.

I felt almost as fabulous as I had the last time I had sex, and even the fact that I had failed to brush my teeth before passing out, thus leaving my mouth feeling like an empty can of tomato sauce, did not affect my general sense of well-being.

MAN, I love carbs.

Anyway, I got up, took another fabulous shower, brushed my teeth for, like, infinity, and then went downstairs to an AMAZING breakfast of blueberry pancakes, fresh fruit, hot coffee, amazing sausage links, and icy OJ on tap.

Let me pause here and tell you that Milano's Inn is, LITERALLY, the only place you should consider sleeping if you are in the Nevada City-Grass Valley area. Gorgeous themed rooms with fresh, crisp linens, boiling hot water on demand, fluffy pillows, and delectably firm mattresses. Breakfast, with the AMAZING proprietors, is always locally sourced eggs, meats, and fruits and veggies, plus delicious coffee with fresh cream. For $80 a night, there is nothing better in the area. NOTHING.

Gorgeous, inside and out.  Basically, the opposite of me.

Anyway, after I handled my business in Nevada County, I headed home – a scant 48 hours after my arrival.

Carefully avoiding Suckhole, CA (Chico), I made my way home, rocking out to my preselected jams.

When I got near Eugene, I turned on the radio, only to be attacked by that flippin' “Despacito” song, and quickly hit 'SCAN'.

Suddenly, there it was.

MY JAM.

“I'm The One”

Delicious jam, and I was KILLING IT with my Carpool Disco moves.

My new favorite song, ever.

I was JAMMIN' (Bob Marley Jammin) to this song. I hit 'scan', and there it was again. And again.

And. Again.

Damn, this song is the shit!!!

Soooooo, I got home, passed out for 4 unsatisfactory hours, woke up, went to work – yes, on the 4^th of July!! – and did a bit of a Google, only to find out that my new favorite song EVAH is, in fact, a MOTHER EFFING JUSTIN BIEBER SONG!!!

WTF?

So, this is who I am now.

Evil, dangerous purveyor of deadly gluten/fat/sugar death circles, and a JUSTIN BIEBER fan.

No wonder I can't get a boyfriend.....

Oh, well, as long as there are Ryan Gosling photos on tap on the interwebs, I guess I am OK.

*Sigh*