Give Me the Food

I love Miss Platinum.

I wish that I had “being Romanian” as an excuse for overindulging in food.  Bonus points: I could run around exclaiming, “Opa!” whenever I felt like it.  When people inevitably question me, I would just tell them “Hey, I’m Romanian!”

It’s like my friend who uses being Polish as an excuse for nearly every strange thing she says or does (hi, Peachka!).  Yesterday we were discussing the earthquake in Los Angeles and how she felt it all the way in Santa Barbara, where she lives:

“It was a weird, wobbly feeling.  Like, at first I thought I was imagining it.”


“Yeah.  I thought I was drunk.”

“Wait.  Wasn’t it, like, 11:45 in the morning when the earthquake hit?”


“And you thought things were wobbly and weird because you were drunk?”


“At 11:45 in the morning?”

“Hey, I’m Polish.”


5 thoughts on “Give Me the Food

  1. Are you sure that was an earthquake rocking her world and not a relative of yours…. say your brother in law.

    Yeah I have been watching you and your little friends too. Muahahaha….

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