Metaphors on the Metaphysical

It has always been my intention to maintain a relatively coherent stream of discourse on here. No one wants to hear bitching and moaning of an aimless college student. So in an attempt to avoid that, I've effectively gone without a single damn update in more than a month. My bad. No pictures either... no fun.

So what's up is that big thing is about to happen, I think I'm about to be done with college. And having decided to permanently postpone a premature decision to apply to grad school, I've left myself with about a hundred others decisions to make. Now none of them are really bad, they're actually all quite nice. It's like I'm in some delicious smelling restaurant run by all the Iron Chefs. Whatever I get, I know it'll be pretty damn good. The thing is, it's the last night it'll be open. That bastard Bobby Flay caught them dissin' his ribs behind is back, and Food TV has sentenced them to a life of Rice-A-Roni and instant mashed potatoes. Shit luck, right? Anyways, my belly's only so big.

Would you believe me if I told you I had some sort of personal connection to the various dishes. Like maybe I slept with the baker's dozen of pirogies, or that I really connected with the cazuela. Maybe I owe it to myself to try the hagus. You know, I've never really been elegant, do I have to shave and where a shirt with buttons to try the caviar and brie?