Thursday, September 10, 2009

I Love you, Cheese Quesadilla


It's pretty easy to figure out if I like you and want you as a friend. It has little to do with my interest in spending time with you, or the amount of times I smile at you or even whether or not I request to be your bbm-facebook-twitter-friend-follower. You can feel secure in the idea that you are "Liz Stahl's friend" when I assign you a food nickname. Depending on my mood and the mgs of adderall I have ingested in the hours leading up to your nickname ascription, it could end up being uncomfortably simple ("bread") or something with a few more bells and whistles (saffron-infused sausage pie). When I was a camp counselor, I was pulled aside by a fellow staffer who accused me of having a secretive eating disorder. She explained that even though she did witness me regularly consuming food, the fact that I nicknamed my favorite campers "caper" and "worcestershire sauce" signified an unhealthy relationship with food and urged me to seek some help. I told her to go fuck herself.

Past boyfriends have objected, friends have looked around uncomfortably when I have referred to them by their given name publicly, but I can't stop. It just feels so right. So, hello my little chicken dumpling, OMG do I love you.

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