February 2006 Archives

Sorry Rap About Glad Wrap

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I stand before you today, my five dearest readers, begging you to PLEASE release me from my misery.

(I didn’t mean it like THAT, so please put those guns away that you’ve whipped out with such great speed and eagerness.)

PLEASE tell me that I’m not the only one among us who has the following torturous dilemma? (Perhaps all you foodies out there would be able to advise me.)

I DESPISE… no, I utterly LOATHE… Glad wrap.

I find absolutely nothing to be so “Glad” about when asked to use it. (In fact, I believe that a more apt name for it would have been “Sorry” wrap.)

And I’m almost always asked to use it.

You see, as has been established on here before, I don’t cook. (And that’s not overdone, that’s actually putting it medium-lightly.)

Thank heavens that most people who have the displeasure of knowing me in Real Life, have come to accept (if not fully embrace) my general helplessness and inability in the kitchen. The result is that I’m happily left out of any food preparation activities.

It’s widely known that I merely have to glance at the fresh produce to have it wither up and die. Add to that my uncanny ability to burn water, and I’m not even trusted to slice, dice or butter. Instead, I’m left with the cleanup part of the culinary experience, which suits me just fine.

Firstly, I’m very successful at cleaning off my own plate. And, remarkably, I don’t even enlist assistance from my canine companions when it comes to the cleaning of the other diners’ plates.

In fact, my dishwashing could inspire soapsuds to fly from here to the States and back again. I’ll rinse, dry, put away and even sweep without much hesitation or grumpiness or even a tear.

But Glad wrapping the leftovers… now THAT is something I hate and fear!

It should be a genuine, Google-able (Googlable?) phobia: “Glad Phobia. Fear of happiness and/or, more likely, of the sticky clear plastic commonly known as Glad wrap (no matter what other brand-name it’s sold under).”

As soon as I’m left with bowls of food to preserve and a roll of Glad wrap to allegedly assist with the preservation of said leftovers, my physical form senses what is about to occur and so it always happens that my right hand turns into another left hand, and all my fingers turn into uncooperative thumbs.

Well… actually, I’ve quickly derived inspiration from Eminem’s famous Wrap… er, I mean… Rapping rappertoire (okay, I'll stop soon, I promise) to help me explain exactly what I mean.

This is to be performed to the tune (beat?) of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.”

(Keep the beat by banging on some pots and pans.)

Original lyrics to be found here:

Here then is my "Sorry Rap about Glad Wrap (to be performed to the tune… er… beat?… of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself”."

"Look, if you had one roll, or one opportunity
To Wrap everything you ever wanted – One moment
Would you capture it or just let it slip?

Her palms are sweaty, fingers weak, hands are heavy
There’s food on the floor already, mom’s spaghetti
She’s nervous, but on the surface she looks calm and ready
To Wrap chops, but she keeps forgettin’
What happened last time, when the roll wouldn’t unwound
She opens the box, but the roll won’t come out
She’s pulling, but there’s no fooling her
The roll’s not out, it just won’t unwound, blah!
Snap it back to reality! Oh, there goes gravity
Oh, there goes the Rabbit Stew, it was smoked
She’s so mad, but she won’t give up that
Easy, no
She won’t have it, she knows her leftovers must keep
If it don’t it will reek
She knows that, but she’s weak
She’s so clumsy that she knows
She goes back to her fridge, that’s when it’s
Back to the Roll again yo
This whole Wrap shit
She better go capture these leftovers and hope it don’t slip her

Hook:
You better not lose your fingers in the serrated side of the box, the moment
You grab the Wrap, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to unroll
If tomorrow you want to still dine on this roll

The food’s escaping, through this hole that’s gaping
This Glad Wrap isn’t mine for the taking
Make me queen, as we move toward a new roll of Glad Wrap
Culinary life’s borin’, but Glad Wrapping’s close to post mortem
It only grows harder, only becomes stickier
She rolls it all over the Wrap is all over her
Toast to roast Wrapped, she’s known as the Sorry Wrapper
Sticks to fingers, Heaven only knows
How to do this she groans, she’s no Wrapper
She goes to the kitchen and barely knows her own leftovers
So hold your nose ‘cos here goes the moldy water
The leftovers ain’t lefovers no mo’, they’re mold product
They crossed over to where moldy leftovers go
Her nose closed, she smelled nada
So the Wrap Saga is told and still won’t unfold
I suppose it’s back to that old partna’, the Tupperware lives on
Da Da Dum Dum Da Da

Repeat Hook

No more games, I’ma change into what you call rage
Tear this muthaf***n’ Wrap off like 2 dogs caged
I was playin in the beginnin’, the mood all changed
The food’s been chewed up and spit out and now the stage
Where I keep trying to unwrap the next roll
Best believe nobody’s able to Wrap with this roll
All the pain inside amplified by the fact
That I’ve been trying this from 9 to 5
And I can’t provide the right coverage for my leftovers
‘Cos, man, these damn Glad Wrap rolls don’t stick
And it’s no BBC food show, there’s no Nigella Lawson, this is my life
And this Glad Wrapping’s so hard and it’s getting even harder
Tryin’ to Wrap the leftover feed, plus
Teeter Totter caught up between my fingers and the food
Glad Wrappin’ makes me scream on and
Too much for me to wanna
Make the Glad stay in one spot, another day of no leftovers
Has driven me over the edge, I would’ve liked my leftover’s hot
I’ve got to formulate a plan ‘fore I accept my Sorry Wrapping lot
Success is my only mutha*****n’ option, failure’s not
Glad, I loathe you, so this Glad Wrap of yours ‘s gotta go
My food cannot grow old in an uncovered pot
So buying Tupperware is my only shot
Tupperware fail me not ‘cos this may be the last chance at leftovers I’ve got

Repeat Hook

With Tupperware you can do anything you set your mind to, woman"

- Copyright, Redsaid 2006.

(This one is dedicated to my sister, whose birthday could've been on leap day, but luckily she made it out on the 28th. I'll wrap put your leftovers in Tupperware any day, sista! Thanks for taking me in (on?) and early Happy Birthday!

Stellenbosch – In what can only be described as one of the most gruesome and shocking bloodbaths in recent history, Valentines Day was murdered early this morning right outside of Stellenbosch, a picturesque college town nestled in the heart of the South African wine country.

The alleged murderer, described as an embittered single woman in her early 30’s, has been arrested and is being held without bond in a local jail.

According to a witness, when the suspect, who was said to be covered in a sticky red substance thought to be blood (or a chewy, cherry-flavoured filling found in some popular brands of assorted chocolates) and bruised, torn rose petals, was frisked and handcuffed, she exclaimed: “Now this is the most action I’ve had in years!” The witness added that the suspect's maniacal laughter gave him “the heebie-jeebies.”

Mr. Mark Hall, President of Valentines Day’s multi-billion dollar empire, was too shocked to personally comment, but a statement released on his behalf reads: “We are deeply saddened by the loss of our dear friend Valentines Day.
Valentines was seductive, remarkable. Like true love, those are qualities that will withstand the test of all eternity. The murderer will therefore not be allowed to get her wish of eradicating Valentines Day, and 14 February shall forever remain Valentines Day’s Day, or Valentine’s Day for short.” (Hall’s PR people have never been big on grammar, and correctly inserting apostrophes has always been particularly tricky - Ed.)

The statement concludes with a bit of shameless plugging: “Commemorative cards shall therefore continue to be available during February of every year. My company will be personally responsible for distributing and selling those cards.”

This final and successful assassination was not the first attempt to take Valentines Day’s life.

In February 1999, a young woman who had been driven mad by unrequited love, shot at Valentines Day with a bow and arrow. An overexcited witness described the event: “The arrow flew by with a whistling sound! It narrowly missed Valentines Day, and instead pierced a member of the Valentines Day entourage, a half-clad elf named Stupid, or something like that, right in the buttocks!”

In court transcripts of the hearing that followed, the deranged suspect, when asked whether she had any remorse over shooting Cupid the Cherub, screamed: “I loved the way the fat and cellulite on his flabby butt-cheeks drilled and shook when the arrow went in! It was spot-on! Not bad for my first try, ‘eh?” (She was Canadian.)

The judge took her answer to be a “no” in the remorse department, and she was sentenced to 450 hours of non-stop Hallmark Channel viewing.

She committed suicide after serving only two hours of that sentence.

Single women were responsible for almost all the other assassination attempts on Valentines Day's life. Only in one case (of particular flair) was the emerging suspect a gay man, but like all the other attempted murderers, he was single too.

As news of the Valentines Day massacre has been rapidly spreading around the world, friends, fans and perfect strangers (the latter ironically often found to be married to each other) have been inspired to send messages of their grief.

A South African expat in Atlanta, GA, writes: “I am reeling at this news. However, I was not too surprised when I learned that Valentines Day was murdered in my crime-ridden homeland. I always knew that something like that would happen, which is why I packed up and left with my family in the late 90’s. Do you know that we never have to lock our doors here? In fact, we would sleep with it wide open, only my wife has been nagging me about the chill. I told her the chill had little to do with the mild Atlanta winters and far more to do with her own cold-bloodedness and frigidity. She’s filed for divorce.”

A South African psychologist (and self-described amateur meteorologist) replied: “It has been an unusually hot summer in the Stellenbosch region where the massacre occurred. Oppressive heat tends to do strange things to the human psyche, so it was definitely not the safest time for Valentines Day to travel to South Africa. It would’ve been better for Valentines Day to come in June and July, during the Southern Hemisphere winter, when people tend to want to snuggle more.”

Even U.S. President George Bush commented on the Valentines Day massacre. “Valiumtime Day was great.” And, further moved by the tragedy to display an unusual amount of eloquence, he added: “It’s very sad indeedly.”

During the news conference, he was seen passing a note to his Secretary of State and former National Security Advisor, Dr. Condoleezza Rice. It read: “Where is South Africa? If you also doesn’t know, ask Rove.” And: “P.S. May I please go to the bafroom.”

Valentines Day leaves behind devastated parents Channuka and Christmas, an adopted African brother named Kwanzaa, drunken Irish uncle St. Patrick, and French niece Bastille.

Funeral arrangements for Valentines Day are still unknown, but red roses, chocolates, diamonds, sports cars, romantic getaways for one, and wads of cash have been requested in lieu of donations to charitable organisations.

I’m taking a break from repatriating to bring you the following news.

It’s official: At last I have an excuse for EVERYTHING about me that people find even remotely odd.

I even have a doctor’s note AND, even better yet, a six-month to one-year prescription to back it up.

So the big news is, I’m officially (and therefore it warrants being written in all-caps) DEPRESSED.

This is FANTASTIC news, especially when one considers that my beloved Time/Life A – Z Medical Encyclopedia is still en route somewhere between the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn on the Atlantic Ocean, and I have therefore been running out of ideas for diseases I could possibly diagnose myself with (although, according to a gem of a book I have found as a temporary replacement, I’m now convinced that I have a condition called Dyspraxia. But more about that glorious discovery later).

Apart from the somewhat annoying symptom of bursting into tears at inappropriate times, I highly recommend depression.

The fatigue that goes along with it gives one an excellent excuse to stay in bed for days (the part of my life in the US that I miss the most. That, and the Starbucks. And the doughnuts… pardon me, I’m in tears again), and since one is considered to be in a fragile state of mind when DEPRESSED, one is handled with kit-gloves and therefore not criticized for staying in bed for days at a time and for bursting into tears during comedies or dinner. (And my sister is an excellent cook, honestly.)

And then of course, there are The Drugs. That is by far the best thing about being officially DEPRESSED.

Since the doctor was made aware of the fact (in fits and starts, and through even more tears) that I had donated most of my American Dollars to an immigration liar (get it? Ha ha. Oh, and you’d BETTER laugh at my lame puns and attempts at jokes, because I’m DEPRESSED and therefore very fragile, remember?), she came up with a way to medicate me on the cheap. So for a prescription of less than a hundred Rand per month (divide by 6.4, to get the US $ amount), DEPRESSION can be really quite affordable these days.

(Even during these trying times of mental illness, I’m a cheap date!)

So now, in the words of witty folk singer/songwriter Cheryl Wheeler, I leave you to wonder the following about me:

“Is it peace, or is it Prozac?

I'm psychiatric now
It just happened
I don't know how
Life was moving right along
At a reasonable clip
When bang zoom
Lost my grip
And I'm psychiatric now

Oh I might smile thinking things are really swell
Or I might cry - trouble is you just can't tell
Cause I'm psychiatric now

So when I'd had enough of this
I went to a psychiatrist
I said I'm acting crazily
I think my mind is gone from me
He looked at me said I agree
You think you're nuts and seem to be
So he prescribed some pills for me
And I went to the pharmacy
I took them and I seemed to be just ... fine
There's just one little question on my mind.

Is it peace or is it Prozac
I don't care
No need to know that
When the moon is full and the world's too close
I just keep my smile and I up my dose

Is it peace or is it Prozac
Is this mellow, am I a maniac
Is my mind out there and can I get it back
Is it peace I feel or is it Prozac?"



















about
is a South African girl living in South Africa. That doesn't sound very original, we know, but you might find it remotely interesting when you learn that she has only recently returned to South Africa for the first time after a nine year, one month and two week (non-stop!) stint in the United States where she accidentally became an outlawed alien (also known, especially in immigration circles, as an 'illegal immigrant.' We prefer the term 'outlawed alien' ourselves). During her reversed exile from her homeland, she kept herself occupied by winning this website (but only after shamelessly bribing the judges) and thus being unleashed on the web where she slowly, leisurely became the World's Laziest Blogger; by being a nanny and by attending sci-fi conventions in search of other aliens. In the US, she also made her sailing debut, her international acting debut, tried and failed to learn the piano, and never learned to cook. She is hopelessly addicted to coffee, dogs (especially Labrador Retrievers), how-to books (with a particular fondness for her copy of the Time/Life A - Z Medical Encyclopedia), and she tends to grossly overuse parentheses (we're not kidding) during her attempts at writing, which you may - if you really have masochistic tendencies - subject yourself to by reading the words to the right of this column. If you REALLY and truly STILL want to know more, you can read her C.V. here.
Or you can stalk her send her some love via e-mail at: redsaid[AT]gmail[DOT]com

The Wish List (Because yes, she really does need more how-to books. Honestly!)

online


comments
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Terra: YES! Wait... you didn't think that I would be this possessed to post for NO REASON, did ya???... [go]
  • Terra.Shield : OH! ... [go]
  • Marco Author Profile Page: Be a bit like serving drinks at AA?... [go]
  • Marco Author Profile Page: I personally think it is a mindset that has been cultivated over the years, and one, if not stemmed,... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Ms. Crazy Cat Lady Pants!!! Squeeeee! Sooo good to see you! (I thought NO ONE was bothering to read ... [go]
  • Ms. Pants : Kitties don't get enough credit sometimes. (All times, if you ask me, but I'm a Crazy Cat Lady.)... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: Hey Tamara! I know, right?? That is a tough act to follow indeed. I adored that dentist. He used to ... [go]
  • Tamara Tipton : Well, I am not sure how any dentist could live up to that standard! LOL! I hope your appointment was... [go]
  • Redsaid Author Profile Page: I'm really really glad that I'm not the only one, Po! Sometimes I drive myself mad with all the what... [go]
  • Po : Those questions run through my heads for various times in my life too, that is for sure!... [go]
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