I’m A Little Bit Country…

There's a reason why I always loved this story... (Little Golden Books FTW!!)

… and I happen to be a little bit rock-and-roll, too. *whips stiff curly hair back and forth*

Being a product of Chicago is quite interesting. We kinda have that “best of both worlds” thing going for us where we have the Midwest hospitality as well as the metro flair. If you go a little Northeast of our fine country, they’ll probably tell ya’ll that we’re kinda country in the Chi.

…

And they’re right. Ya see, way back into time, there was a Great Migration of my peoples from the Southern states to Chicago (interestingly enough, there seems to be a trend in the reverse order nowadays), and a lot of that “southern mentality” remained steadfast through several generations.

Add the fact that many of my melanin brethren/sistren were raised by their grandmothers (who had a very good chance of actually being born/raised in a Southern state), and you have some solid Southern roots.

So, yeah, I may be a tad bit country. And I’mma show ya how…

– The Universal Coffee Can. If there is one thing I’ve learned from Grandma Cheeks, it’s that the coffee can is NOT just for coffee. In my crib growing up, it was re-used for two main things: leftover grease (of which BETTER be separated from the other grease if it involved fish) and a bank. To this very day, I still do both in my adult life. In fact, I JUST took a coffee can of coins to the bank the other day and ended up with 65 bucks. And the joint wasn’t even half full. Winning like a mug.

– The Refrigerated Baking Soda. I know what ya’ll think baking soda is used for. I mean, it says it right there… baking. But, um, in my crib, the most important role that baking soda plays is sitting in my fridge. Yup, just sitting there. Why? Because my grandma/mama always told me it keeps odors out. I always respect someone a little bit more when I see a box of baking soda in their fridge because they know what’s up. In fact, the chick who lived here before me? She left a baking soda box in the fridge and THAT is when I knew this place was for me. Yes, that makes plenty of sense. Honorable Mention: Baking Soda can also be used in lieu of toothpaste, which I always thought was effing gross, but even big brands incorporate it in their toothpastes so…

– The All-White. While the “all-white-airthang” party has become more mainstream thanks to folks like R. Kelly (who, funny enough… is so Chi and so country) and Diddy, when I go alla’way back to its origins, the FIRST thing I think of is a middle-aged man dressed in head-to-toe white. White linen suit. White Stacy Adams-esque shoes. Lookin’ “shahhhhhp” (or “sharp”, in English) and ready to go to a “Steppin’ Club.*” And yes, this still happens today. And yes, sometimes these same guys end up at clubs/parties geared toward the younger generation, but that’s a blog post for another day…

– The Artwork. Basically, something like this right here. <– for real, click that. For those that can’t see, it’s a picture of a lady making hot water cornbread. Hot water cornbread in and of itself is country, btw. But, it is HEAVEN. Don’t hate. Anyway, it’s probably one of my favorite pictures evah and I was quite touched when Mama Cheeks gave it to me when I moved out into my own place. It’s pretty close to my heart. *pops gum*

Pinchers, that is just the tip of the country iceberg. There are so many other qualities us country folk possess, but I’mma make this interactive. What are other “signs you may be country?” And yeah, please confess if you can personally relate to any of the said qualities. ‘Preciate it.

Love ya like Maury would (probably) love to have Justin Bieber as a guest,

Cheekie

The Cancun Chronicles

Rawr.

*slides back into the blogosphere a la Missy Elliot in the “Work It” video*

Hola, Pinchers! After a week (and a day, blame America) hiatus, I have returned. Pinches all around! I missed ya’ll quite a bit, but I must say, my time away has been well worth it.

Simply put: I. Had. A. Blast.

And, of course, I have to brag… er… boast… er… share my experiences with you! So, how bout we make like Hollywood and cut to the chase? Here are some highlights…

Cheekie In The Cancun  (You see how it’s a spin on “Sex in the City?” No? Eaux. [word to Streetz])

– Let’s start with how I got there. Well, actually let’s start with an expression of raged emotion: EFF A UNITED/CONTINENTAL AIRLINE. Ok. Well, this is more like Continental’s fault, but United owns them now, so birds of a frickin’ feather and whatnot. So, going to Cancun, we had a connecting flight in Houston, Texas. Baby. As our plane was moseying on down the runway, preparing for takeoff, we all realized we were remaining stagnant for an abnormally long time. Mind you, NO announcements were made as to why. Red flag rose in my head then for a moment. Fast forward to us landing. We headed on over to the next concourse/terminal/jiggawhosit to find out that the connecting flight had LEFT. Remember the part about no announcements? They also didn’t say ISH about being thirty minutes late (yeah, we had thirty minutes in between our supposed landing and next takeoff which should’ve been plenty of time) nor did the pilot/flight attendant make an attempt to mention that people who have connecting flights should be allowed to exit primarily (*coughAnotherReasonWhySouthwestIsBettercough*). Long (and frustrating) story short, we ended up having to take much later flights, with our group of 10 being split between two different flights. They did try to appease us with first class, but most of our day was gone. Hmph. Yeah, they’ll be hearing from me.

– Ok, the good part. Our resort, Club Solaris, was on that dopeness. Like, it is such a beautiful place. I immediately felt that “vacay” aura. All of my worries and prior frustrations had immediately lifted as soon as I laid eyes on the blue of the Caribbean Sea as the wind kissed my cheeks. *faints in memory* Anyway, the staff were hospitable (always greeting with an “hola!” or saying “It was a pleasure serving you” when delivering room service), hilariously fun (I aimlessly started singing “SHOTS, shots, shots, shots, shots shots shots!” at the poolside bar (meaning, you could also drink whilst in the pool) and one of the bartenders was like, “EHHHHVERY-BAH-DAY!” outta nowhere. Yasssss!) and simply special. Check out my Twitpic account for the creatively cute way the housekeepers folded up our towels (the octopus is my favorite; love little touches like that!).

– I partied EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. In one way or another. And, um, there is something to be said about partying with your 18 year old niece (her graduating high school was the reason for this celebratory trip). And that something is, “WTF is this life?!” For one, 18 is legal drinking age there. Watching her take sips of her OWN margarita was… yeah. Let’s not talk about how I was way under 18 when I first took sips of alcohol, AND that was NYE, thus it doesn’t count.
And I’m pretty sure I’m traumatized from watching her back it up on the nicca I had JUST danced with prior. He was fahn, doe. And my drunk self cheered her on. See, this is why I shouldn’t have nice things like nieces or nephews.

– On the way there, we befriended one of the party locals and he gave us the skinny on all the clubs (prices, etc.) within the club district (which kinda reminds me of D.C.’s Adams Morgan, accept not at all free and 50-lem times more ratchet). He seemed kinda shady (in that, “lemme take advantage of tourists” way) to me, but he was aight, I guess. Well, he was aight enough for me to dance with him (he kept requesting that I “Kill [him], kill [him]” with my other cheeks; I did just that. R.I.P., local Señor), and then I allowed him to give me a lap dance. Now, this lap dance, doe. I need to spell it out…

Local Señor (LS): *motions toward me to sit in front of him on the booth seat*
Me (to self): Oh, lawd. *walks over there with a grin*
LS: *starts to grind*
LS (yell-whispering in my ear): Now, before I go in, are you married, engaged… ?
Me: *shakes my head in the negative; still grinning*
LS: No boyfriend, nothing?
Me: Nuh-uh.
LS: Then I can do whatever I want, right? You’re all mine, right?
Me: *just full out giggling in a drunken stupor at this point*
LS: *continues to grind… then… — wait for it — LICKS MY FACE*
Me: O_O *busts out laughing*
LS: Mmmmmmm! *more grinding* I’m sure you’re wet, too.
Me: O____________O *dies laughing*

SIR. AHAHAHAHAHA.

– Another night we went to a bar that was pretty much a giant party. Giant dranks in glasses that looked like the old school royal trumpets. Dancing on tables. There is, allegedly, a video of me and my cousins doing the gotdamn “Soulja Boy Superman That Ho” dance on the table. This alleged video is supposedly in the arms of my older cousin. In my ignant defense, the locals dayum near demanded that we teach them how to “yuuuuulllle.” and so, we did. SMH. Another one wanted to learn how to dougie. I obliged him in that, as well. I know ya’ll proud of me for that one. o_O Also, we witnessed a ratchet and seemingly impromptu wedding where the “pastor” kept reciting Spanish verses and every time he gestured toward us, we said, “Ah-meeeeeeen!” NO kind of sense. Then, we ended it all with a conga-line which led to an outside salsa fest. All the staff members grabbed a chick (including me) and we salsa’d it up.

– We went to another place called The Coco Bongo (yes, the one from “The Mask.” *guffaw*), which was hella dope. It was like a live show/dance club all in one. This was actually our big finale night out. The live performers mimicked acts such as Madonna, Elvis, Lady Gaga, and of course… Kang Miko. Re-enacted scenes from “Pirates of the Caribbean”, “Spiderman” and “Tron” on some Cirque du Soleil swag. We were in V.I.P. (upstairs), but we also moseyed downstairs which was like a giant mosh-pit… we threw around giant balloons, confetti sprinkled on us… it was all so trippy. I had a BALL.

– Playing in the ocean is always fun! And this time was no exception. I’m not gonna discuss how one wave overpowered me and drowned my camera even though I wasn’t even that far out. Nor will I talk about how my boob (and it was always the right one!) popped out of my swimsuit and/or bikini TWO different times (different days) after the wave slapped the shit outta me and my little cousin ended up being the one to point it out both times. She was like, “ooooooohhh!” while pointing frantically and running to pull it up for me. Ooooh, indeed, chile. Ooooh, indeed. ( ._.)

– Ah, the flea market. Can I just say that this tiny little space is the epitome of “Hustle Hard?!” Every vendor wass yelling at us, “Hey, over here, good deal! Best deal! Hey sista! Hey, brown sugah! Hey brotha! We are family, we have same skin!” One of them even yelled out, “Tshirts, one dollar!”, then when we got over there, looked at shirts and asked for confirmation, they were like, “Yes, one dollar off. 14 dollars.” o_O Slick little devils. There was ONE item I kinda wish my cousin got and I can only describe it as an apron that has “I’m Shy” written on it, then when you a pull a string, an effing erect (and giant) PEEN lifts up from the apron. Lawd, I had to escort the youngins far away, distracting them with something shiny. They so nasty!!

– Last but not least, something cute happened at the end of our trip. We were partaking in our “last supper” when one of the waiters said, “Hey, I got something cool to show ya, but don’t take pictures.” So, we eagerly and curiously followed him and we saw a huge turtle on the beach shore (actually, RIGHT in the same spot where we had played that morning) digging a little burrow. He explained that once a year, these turtles come onto shore at night and lay eggs, then they leave the eggs and head back to the ocean. They were firm on no flash photography as not to scare the turtle away (some fools wouldn’t listen and tried to walk right up to the turtle, and they were rightfully reprimanded) and the resort staff takes the eggs (to protect them from predators) so that the turtles can grow and flourish. I thought that was a pretty cool and watching one of nature’s miracles was a nice, serene way to spend my last night there.

Overall, I had a fabulous time and of course I’m wishing I was there as I type. I had the time of my life and it’s something I’ll always cherish and remember.

Pinchers, have you ever been to Cancun (or Mexico, period)? Got any stories to tell? Any summer trip stories period? Any in the plans? Let’s get in a vacay mood over here…

Love ya like MTV loves to have adolescent mothers on their payroll,

Cheekie

Pinchworthy: Obol Bowl Sons Soggy Cereal

*CHEEKIE NOTE*: So, on my quest to turn my rinky-dink blog into a legit rinky-dink blog, I’ve decided to start another series. Pinchworthy: Where I’ll showcase ish that makes me so excited I am remiss in hiding it. Thus, I won’t. I’ll share!

 

 

This is precisely my facial expression when my cereal deterioates.

 

I was trolling the Al Gore internets when I came across something magnificent. Wayment. Lemme backtrack for a hot second.

Remember my post where I lamented the very existence of soggy cereal? Yeah, that one. Caught up like Usher? Cool.

Ok, back to regularly scheduled programming. Amongst my trolling, I saw Cloud10LV say something funny in my timeline. Which ain’t unusual. That ninja is hilarious. Follow him on some pied piper ish. I decided to hit his blog since I hadn’t in a while and lo and behold, this beauty was the most recent post at the time.

My face after seeing the picture alone ~~>> O_O (which, ya’ll KNOW is scientifically impossible)

Jigga WHOWHATWHENWHEREWHYHOW?!

The Obol Bowl. The answer to my prayers! Two things…

1. How did I not know about this ’til today?! Ya’ll don’t understand. I had given up on cereal save for granola and (more recently) Honey Bunches Of Oats’ “Just Bunches” (which is a Godsend!). I had no faith left in reglah cerea, period.

2. Who loves me enough to get me one (or two… or three; three begats free shipping!) of these joints? *wistfully gazes at the sky*

Man, I am so excited about this existing that I want to hug a squirrel. It’s that serious. Ya’ll know I don’t fux with squirrels.

To get out a little bit of my excitement, allow me to express what the Obol Bowl is better than…

– The second coming occurring on a Monday while you’re at work eye-hustling the clock.

– Watching your worst enemy get a paper cut on that meaty space between your thumb and your trigger finger.

– Saturday happening over and over again on some Groundhog Day swag.

– Landing the trash-ket-ball (behind the back) shot on the first try.

– Searching for a parking space then all of a sudden driving up towards a space where someone is JUST getting out of it.

– Your birthday wish actually coming true.

– The other side of the pillow in July.

– You.

Man, I feel like dancing in response to this discovery. So, I’m gonna wrap it up here and lend the floor to you, Pinchers. What do you think of the Obol Bowl? Is it the best idea evah? (the only acceptable answer) Or is it plenty stupid and unnecessary? (false)

 

Love ya like Peppermint Patty loves Charlie Brown,

Cheekie

P.S. You dayum right I’mma bout to actually get up and dance around the crib after I finish this post…

Nom Nom Nom: Thanksgiving Edition

I see Mr. Turkey is DESPERATE to change Dubya's mind about the butchering...

 

As your tummy probably told you (via growling), Thanksgiving Day is on the horizon. And that brings food, food, and oh yeah… food. I’m guessing the holiday version of the “Freshman Fifteen” would be the Thanksgiving Thirty?

Anyhow, since the holidays can put people in a sharing mood, I figured I’d share my favorite Thanksgiving dishes. These dishes have been a part of my life since forever and eating them always gives me a little dose of heaven.*

Alas, I present:

My Top Five Thanksgiving Viddles

1. Greens. Oh, just typing out the letters “G-R-E-E-N-S” just makes me shiver with bliss. Grandma Cheekie used to often make collard greens with rice and it was divine. However, my favorite type of greens is mustard/turnip greens mixed with spinach. My sister puts her foot in some mustard/turnip greens. I’m not really the great cook in the family (hell, I can’t compete! but I do learn some things!) so I usually do the preparing. And “preparing” greens ain’t no picnic. We don’t do that canned shit. We use fresh, multiple bunches of greens. Every Thanksgiving, I pick and wash the greens. And greens are dirty (bugs and air-thang), so it takes several different rounds of washing to get them to an edible state. But, lawdhamercy is it worf it. I complain and complain about having to pick/wash the greens, but I end up saying it’s all worth it when I’m eating it. I do this routine every year, too. I do have to admit, I feel all kinds of salty when I pick/wash 10 bunches of greens only to watch them shrivel up like peen in Antarctica when we toss the greens in the boiling pot, causing it to appear as if I didn’t do that much work. Rude. They still tasty dinna mug, doe. *Homer drool*

2. Macaroni and Cheese. Or should I say “cheese and macaroni?” I’ve mentioned my bizarre relationship with cheese before, and this is one of the items that I love to be super cheesy. The cheesier, the better. And let me get this clear right now, I don’t fux with that box shit. Kraft Mac’ N’ Cheese or whatever other ish that comes with powder cheese is NOT macaroni and cheese, IMO. I’m talmbout baked macaroni and cheese. As far as I’m concerned, there is no other kind. The kind with the hardened cheesy top, giving it sort of a different texture. Mmmmm!

3. Peach Cobbler. For some strange reason, I actually didn’t get to taste Mama Cheekie’s infamous peach cobbler until later in life. Maybe she went on a peach cobbler hiatus while I was staying with my grandma? Who knows. Either way, I cannot believe I went half of my life without knowing the taste of this pure heaven. Mama Cheekie isn’t exactly known as the “cook” in the family, but Lawd she throws the eff DOWN on that young peach cobbler. It is the perfect amount of tart/sweet and, of course, my favorite part is the corner since the breading is a bit crunchier on the edge. Yum!

4. Cornish Hens. You know how everything tastes like chicken? Well, these actually taste like chicken considering it is pretty much a damn chicken. It’s like a mini chicken. Our family never really had a huge turkey as our main meat (in fact, my mama prefers duck), so cornish hens would be the meat stuffed with (and placed among the) dressing. Which, I have to mention that, yeah I (and many other Black folks) don’t do stuffing. It’s DRESSING. I love this so much because it’s a very lean meat and it’s mostly white meat, which I love. Oh, don’t worry, that applies mainly to food, brothas. *sucks fingers*

5. Sweet Potato Pie. Another one of Mama Cheekie’s treats. Every Thanskgiving (since living on my own), I always have to request my own personal pie to take home with me because it is so good. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a spoilt youngest daughter. Hey, in my defense, she does it for other folks, too. She’s doting that way. Anyhow, the pie is extra good with a dash of Cool Whip. Oh, and by the way: Sweet Potato Pie > Pumpkin Pie. You mad? *salivates*

Pinchers, it’s your turn! What are your favorite Thanksgiving Dishes? Do share, I’m interested in seeing what kinds of different dishes ya’ll cook out there! Your IP address will get banned if you say ‘chitlins.’ Ok, no it won’t. (It might)

 

Love ya like Nicki Minaj loves Fridays that are pink,

Cheekie

 

 

 

*Idris Elba would give me an overdose of heaven, by the way.

Nom Nom Nom: School Snack Attack

Yeah, I see why I chose junk food over this nitrates-loaf.

I wish nostalgic started with a “w” so I could make a cutesy title for Wednesday.

Recently, there’s been a ginormous surge in Facebook friend requests from ninjas I knew in elementary school. This got me feeling all Barbara Streisand as I frolicked through the memories in the corner of my mind. Got me sitting here wondering how everyone aged and daydreaming about the days of yore. When I was a wee Cheekie. When my cheeks were even more pinchable than they are now and yet I was more likely to cut a bish if anyone pinched them.

One particular aspect of my elementary school — wait… *record scratch* Hol’ up. WHY am I callin’ it “elementary school” when I know dayum well I say “grammar school?” Oh, I’m fancy, huh? Naw, I’m still down. *B-Boy stance* — I mean, one particular aspect of my grammar school times was the cafeteria. And my fondest memories have absolutely nothing to do with the preservative burgers they call food, it was the snacks that ruled the cafeteria at my joint.

It’ll take forever to list ‘em all, and Lawd knows no one has time for that (unless you live in a boring place like Utah, then you have time for everything. #ignorantshotsfired). So, I’ll just list my top five. Gimme a high five!*

1. The Hot Pickle. Excuse me, you thought you were cool? No, trick, no. You were not the ish until you made that pop sound using your tongue and the roof of your mouth after biting into a hot pickle. Yes, you could’ve gotten “sour”, like the Average Tyrone, but if you got that young hot pickle? You were gangsta. I’ve always loved me some spicy stuff (still do), but I could only eat these in moderation. Even though I loved them so. Let’s just say that I’d rather sacrifice my vice than having to introduce vaseline (old school) to my other cheeks. o_O

2. The Hot-Sauced Doritos. Oh, praise Him, this is still one of my weaknesses to this day. I’ve calmed down on them since my more youthful years (shiiiit, I’m STILL youthful, Fountain of Youth BISH), but I used to go SO hard on Doritos with hot sauce. I used to drench those mofos with hot sauce so much, there would be a pool of hot sauce remaining after I scraped up the last crumb. I had my Doritos swimming at a hot sauce waterpark. It was so obnoxious and now that I think about it as a current grown folk (i.e. more rational), I want to backhand younger Cheekie for wasting all that good hot sauce. If I’ve done my fake calculations correctly, I could’ve had 4 extra bottles of hot sauce right now. SON OF A –

3. The Frooties. Ya’ll remember the penny candy lady? The one who illegaly sold candy out of her crib? Shoot, ya’ll remember penny candy period? Well, my favorite was Chews and Frooties, with a slight advantage to Frooties. I would murder a huge bag of those things and I’d only be out of, like, 50 cents. Those were the days, Archie and Edith. Hell, my sister Chyna upped and surprised me by buying me two big ol’ bags of Frooties recently. She wins at sibling-hood. *as my teeth Leiomy-drop** due to all that torture*

4. The Butter Cookies. Ah, the classic cafeteria snack. The cafeteria ladies used to set up this table in the corner of the lunchroom (another non-bougie switch from “cafeteria”…I know damn well I said “lunchroom” back then) and sell these buttery versions of manna for a quarter. This snack is truly a heart-attack waiting to happen classic. Hell, Mama Cheekie — to this day — lusts for these since she ate them when she was a young buck at school as well. It’s hard to find some true butter cookies unless you frequent the hole-in-the-wall chicken shack. Which I proudly do. Harolds FTW. As much as I liked these, they still didn’t hold a candle to…

5. The Caramel Cake. JesusMaryJoseph, I just had a food-gasm right nah. Just thinking about it. Next to the butter cookies, the lunchroom ladies would set up a baking pan full of caramel cake slices, fresh out of the oven, of which they’d sell for 50 cents. And I’m not talking about caramel icing. Let’s get this straight right the eff now. I mean, ooey-gooey warm caramel. Those cakes left me in such a perpetual state of bliss, I am mighty sure I pissed platinum during those days. I remember feeling the ultimate butthurtness when they stopped selling them and I went on a rampage trying to find them at stores, but everyone is up on that icing blasphemy. That ain’t caramel! I know caramel (*points to skin*), and that ain’t no caramel. Blech. But, you know who really reigns supreme in that area? My auntie! She makes THEE best caramel cake in the history of flour. I remember I tasted it at a family gathering one day and was like, ‘Um, why come no one told me ’bout this?!” I was heated that I went about 13 years without knowing the heaven she made in the oven. Where dey do dat at? #FamilyFAIL. Once I got the true benefits from her delectable pastries, she moved to New Orleans. FML. *as I plan to visit her in the near future on some “Heywherethecakeat? It’s so great to see you! *hugs* Thecake, doe.” ish.*

And that wraps up the list. Thank goodness it’s over because my tummy is in that growling mode and that’s never a good thing.***

Pinchers! Share your favorite school snacks! And while you’re sharing, if you can make a caramel cake like the one described above, send it my way. I will pay you in pinches. You pay the shipping & handling charges. Much love.

Love ya like Brian Pumper loves to look like a funhouse mirror Lloyd Banks,

Cheekie

*”We’re brothers. We’re happy and we’re singing and we’re colored.” is what truly precedes this sentence and everyone knows that. It is law.
**So, apparently her name is spelt “Leoimy” and not “Leyomi?” I just found this out, TODAY. Ok, whichever one of you anonymous internet ninjas made me think this queen’s name was spelt like the latter? I wish for you an entire lifetime of Crocs fashion shows. The nerve. And nobody had the ego heart to correct me after all this time?! Hmph.
***My tummy seems to growl at the worst times, like during an exam when I was in college (everyone is quiet) or during a meeting at work (everyone is quiet and trying to stay awake). FML.

Nom Nom Nom: Food and I

Considering my weird relationship with food, my food pyramid is probably shaped more like a clusterfuckzoid.

Man, I’d love some rice right now. Ok, I’d love some rice all the time.

Ah, food. I love it so. But, I love it in my own way, nah mean? You know how Oprah’s relationship with Stedman is inexplicable yet it somehow works? And if it doesn’t work for you, who cares? Oprah still OWNs* you.

Where was I? Oh, right. Sitting in front of my laptop. My point is, I don’t have the most…logical relationship with food. Then again, how often is any relationship logical? Exactly. Because I love sharing in a caring manner, I’m going to give ya’ll a few (three, to be exact) examples of…

My Weird Relationship With Food.

1. The Cereal. I’m not a huge breakfast fan in general, but I really don’t eff with much cereal. Funny thing is, I love the taste of many cereals. My beef is when milk gets in the way of a lot of said cereals. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the taste of the combo as well. What I don’t love — in fact, what I I hate — is soggy cereal. I have a thing with textures and sogginess is definitely one I cannot take. I can probably eat 5 spoonfuls of any popular brand cereal before I’m rushing to the toilet to flush the rest down. I don’t do soggy. I’m just not down with that feeling of eating creamed corn with no teef. It grosses me out and ruins my meal. One type of cereal that doesn’t give me much problem is granola. I loves me some granola. It’s probably the only cereal I buy on the regular. And sometimes Kashi. That’s something to kind of get used to, though. But, they tend to stay crunchier longer. The fun cereals like Frosted Flakes, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios, or Frosted Mini Wheats**? I either have to eat them so fast I nearly choke before the flakes/loops/wheats get soft or I just eat those hos dry. Wait…

2. The Candy. Oh, you’re one of those people that don’t consider candy, “food?” Eff your life. *munches on Skittles* I love candy. That is my vice. I even gave it up for Lent this year and I ain’t n’an Catholic. I did it to challenge and strengthen myself. It was mighty difficult. How I like my candy, is what’s funny. You know the fruity candy such as Skittles, Starburst or Gummi Bears? I always stick those in the refrigerator (sometimes freezer, if I’m impatient) prior to eating. I love my fruity candy cold. I will MURDER some ice cold Gummi Bears, in particular. I don’t deal with no warm gummy candy. Ok, lemme take that back. I’ll gladly eat it as-is if offered, but I rather have it cold. As for chocolate, I’d rather have that near melting. A Reese’s Cup, right before it ceases being solid is HEAVEN to me. Ya’ll can imagine how messy this is. Well…that is why God invented napkins. Booyakasha. So, basically the way these two types of candy is supposed to be consumed in a normative society? Just switch ‘em and you have what I’m about.

3. The Cheese. Ah, the most ridiculous of them all. And something I STILL get clowned for amongst the Cheekie Fam to this very day. See, I used to be a very, very picky eater. I mean, VERY. I’m not exactly “I’ll try anything” today either, but, man was I close-minded towards food as a mini-Cheekie. Because I love to write mini-plays (as you can probably tell by now), I’m gonna describe my early relationship with cheese through the following dramatization. Remember, this is me as a kid…

Chyna (Cheekie’s older sister): Ok, I’m going to McDonald’s. What you want?
Cheekie: Um, a hamburger Happy Meal.
Chyna: Ok, I’ll bring it back.
*fast food time elapses*
Chyna: Alright, here you go! *hands Cheekie the bag*
Cheekie: *eats a fry and takes out hamburger wrapper with hungry glee* *opens wrapper and checks under bun* (-__-)
Chyna: What?
Cheekie: There’s cheese on here.
Chyna: Oh, Lawd. I distinctly said “plain hamburger.” I specified! Ok, give it here. *takes hamburger and scrapes off cheese as best as humanly possible* There ya go.
Cheekie: *stares at burger* I can still see it. *points to mustard seed-sized piece of cheese*
Chyna: O_O Girl, you ain’t gonna be able to taste that. Eat it.
Cheekie: Yes, I can! I can still see it so I’mma still taste it. I know it’s there! *face crumbles up and cries like only a damn Leo would*
Chyna: *jumps out window in frustration*

Ok, that last part ain’t e’en happen. Not once. But, don’t you wish your life was that cartoonish? I shole do! Anyhow, as you can see, I was super annoying with my anti-cheese campaign. But, THIS is the ridiculous part. I still ate pizza. Like, on some “homeless starving child who was just welcomed into a rich home in an after-school special film” shit. I would tear a slice of pizza UP. I also devoured my aunt’s/sister’s homemade baked macaroni and cheese and actually requested that it be made as cheesy as possible. Yet, if you put that mess on my burgers and/or sammiches? Cue dramatics. Today, while I still don’t do cheeseburgers or cheese on my sammiches, I’m WAY less sensitive about it should the restaurant staff make a mistake with my order. I’ll just scrape it off and call it a D-A-Y. My relationship with cheese is still currently weird, but I’ve kinda concluded that I mostly like white cheeses over yellow. But, then again, I’ll eat some processed nacho cheese and some of the cheese on the baked macaroni is yellow so…

*sigh* Oh, hell…

So. Pinchers, what sort of idiosyncrasies do you have with food? Please, do share so I don’t feel like the only weirdo in here. I mean, I know I’m weird and weird people actually have to get used to feeling like the only one, hence them being weird but…share. Weird is the new cool anyway.

Love ya like Kanye Titter loves himself,

Cheekie

*Seewhatididthere. No? You must don’t got insurance because you need glasses. Universal Healthcare, FTW!
**Ya’ll saw those Frosted Mini Wheats commercials for Back to School? Them little bishes are CUTE!