431: Live with a pregnant girl to whom I am not related...who has a one-year old child....and can't cook.
Daily life living with a pregnant girl has been quite colorful to say the least. Being a man who appreciates order, seeing remnants of King Joseph's (yes) failed attempts at feeding himself breakfast scattered across the dining room/kitchen area floor has taken getting used to. A woman who can calmly cook today's food on a stove riddled with yesterday's mess is no woman I would want to hump...if...I...were a fisherman. That's beside the point. While this has been the most enjoyable of my living experiences here, it's still not completely ideal.
I respect my body. I also don't have a human being growing inside of my unwed body as she does, so we eat very differently. She can apparently live off of Cheetos and mini-chocolate donuts, while I keep that shit away because I love it so much and am unable to eat it in moderation otherwise. At the moment (12:35am), she has taken it upon herself to use the amazing steamed broccoli I prepared earlier in her....GOULASH. Now, I'm no expert on GOULASH, but I am certain this is one of her West Los Angeles-originated adaptations. It will undoubtedly contain "beef hot links", a clear favorite, and my broccoli...as well as my rice...and ketchup, another clear favorite.
After briefly consulting my cousin, Google, GOULASH is typically stew-based, and is traditionally made with beef, neither of which applies to this...dish. What she has prepared can safely be labeled Unwed Black Mother of Two Casserole. And, without tasting it, I give that shit two tatted-up breasts WAY DOWN.
Her last creation: Velveeta Shells & Bullshit. Now, I was raised by caring parents. It's safe to assume that, most of the time, my family loved me. Knowing this, it's also safe to say they wouldn't prepare me for failure by sending me out into the world with an appreciation for powdered pasta dishes. If you must only add heat and water, it's not macaroni and cheese. I'm sure that's in the Bible somewhere. I don't trust it. Or anyone who stocks their shelves with Velveeta Shells & Bullshit. Or anyone who has ever built a meal around Velveeta Shells & Bullshit. We are not college students, misappropriating scholarship refund checks on Jordans and 40-inch Yaki. We are FUCKING ADULTS WHO EXPECT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY. With that said, I don't eat instant pasta not called Ramen. What's next, Spamburgers and bologna-based lasagna? *gags*
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