The irrational waffletastrophe of 2013

It has been over a month since my last post and I haven't gotten a single complaint. 

I hate all of you for not giving in to my playing hard to get. Having said that, here's some words. 





I have been trying to turn myself into a skinny runner. That involves eating greek yogurt and making sure everyone sees me shaking up my protein shake at work. It also involves running, which sucks the fun out of my life while simultaneously making me feel like an Olympian. I have been training for a 5k for 8 weeks and trading off eating what I want and eating nothing I want. So I have basically lost 4 lbs and I need to add a couple more.


Husband with one T and I stayed in Lawton last night. I forgot Ambien, and haven't slept without Ambien for a single night in over a year. I laid in that hard hotel bed from 10-2 while changing positions and begging a mythical being to make my eyes sleepy. If there is a God, he said "No, I will only let you sleep for 7 minutes and will make that sleep contain dreams of adopting a baby water buffalo."

I worried about that baby water buffalo until 8 AM when I finally accepted defeat and rolled out of bed, thinking about continental breakfast.

I looked in the mirror and ran my fingers through my hair, noticing it looked perfect since I had laid awake all night, thinking about my nonexistent baby water buffalo that may be in danger if I don't fall asleep and save his little life.

Mat had told me about the continental breakfast and I knew there was a waffle making machine. I started adding up calories in my head and trying to calculate if I could justify a waffle. The huge black bags under my eyes answered the question. Eat the waffle, Mary, you're ugly and grumpy.

I think I brushed my teeth but I can't be entirely sure. I put on yesterday's clothes because I hadn't wanted to pack a bag, so I just...didn't. Mat had to go to work and looked perfect and bright-eyed, which made me grumpier.

We walk into the continental breakfast and Mat shows me the waffle machine, knowing how excited I was and hoping the waffle would medicate the grump. It was a rather complicated contraption, with different pictures of the steps involved in making the waffle.I was a little too excited and hungry for the calorie-fest so I skimmed over the pictures and just looked at the word push. I pushed on the lever, wondering what was going to come out. I kept pushing, and nothing happened. So I kept pushing, I just wanted to damn waffle and I wasn't feeling particularly problem solvey.

The lever snapped off in my hand and I realized that pancake batter was pumping and pouring all over the counter. It was dripping off  of the counter and onto my pants. The explosion was taking over the biscuit bin and the milk jug, dripping off the counter in front of the bagel toaster.  My hands were completely covered in gooey yellow liquid. It felt like I was staring at the counter for 20 minutes without actually doing anything. I only snapped back to life when a lady that looked like Meatloaf appeared beside me and said "Aw man I was wanting a waffle, too. Scoop some of that off the counter into this here cup for me."




I hated her so much. I hated every piece of her face and every sound she made. How dare her be concerned about her waffle? I was the one who hadn't slept, broke the waffle machine, and now didn't get to eat breakfast without feeling shame!


Because of the post-traumatic stress, I can't remember if I called out for help or if it was Mat or Meatloaf. The Hispanic continental breakfast employee ran out screaming and overreacting and trying to push the circular trash can against the rectangular counter. I know I am the one who made waffle batter explosion, but I felt superior in my smartness in knowing I had not jumped to such an an illogical action. It had been my plan all along to just let the machine empty itself completely and then kind of make a choice after that.



Meatloaf watched in utter broken heartedness as Maria carried away the batter-soaked napkins, utensils, food, and trash cans. Did I mention I hated her? I still hadn't said anything to anyone, and the incident had to have been happening for at least 2 minutes by this point. She ended up getting frustrated and leaving to go back to her hotel room full of ugly people that were waiting on their waffles that would never come.




I slowly crept away and got myself some Golden Grahams. As I was eating them, Mat unfortunately decided to speak.



Mat: Did you look at the  instructional pictures? I think you were supposed to push towards the machine instead of towards the counter.

Mary: Let's just pretend like it was the machine's fault because I'm really unable to muster an apology for Maria or Meatloaf right now.

Mat: Absolutely, Baby. That machine was so fucked up.

Mary: I hate Meatloaf. And Stripes.

Mat: Wait, who is Stripes?



Stripes was the lady with the stripes who wouldn't stop saying the word waffle.



"Ummmm, are they going to bring out more waffle batter? There doesn't seem to be anymore in there"
"Oh, good morning kids. We're waiting on waffles. MA'AM! Can you stop cleaning and get more waffle batter?"
"Oh! I'm sorry. Yes, I can wait on more waffles, it;s just that my kids are waiting to be fed. They, you know, want waffles"
"Can I help you clean up the waffle mess so you can concentrate on just going to get more waffle stuff?"
"Hi, are you waiting on waffles too?hahaha us too. I think she's bringing out more waffle stuff. "
"Apparently, I just heard someone broke the waffle machine. I wonder why they didn't clean it up? Now she's having to clean it up instead of getting more waffles!"




I walked over to Stripes and the woman she was talking to.

"IT WAS ME, OKAY? I BROKE THE MACHINE. I BROKE THE MACHINE AND I DIDN'T CLEAN IT UP AND NOW I'M TOO SCARED TO EVEN TRY AGAIN"



Stripes: How did you break it? What did you do to it?

I walked off and chugged my coffee. I was the outcast of the Lawton La Quinta Inn and it didn't feel great. Now I know how homosexuals and gothic people must have felt in high school.



We finished our non-delicious breakfast and were on our way out. I suddenly felt compelled to thank Maria, as I never felt any judgment from her and she had had to deal with Stripes and Meatloaf.


I caressed Maria's arm and whispered, "I'm sorry I broke the waffle machine. And I'm sorry I didn't clean it up. This is like the wor-"

Stripes walked over with her little stupid grandkid with the stupid glasses and interrupted my apologetic whispers. "It's OKAY. She explained to us how to properly operate the waffle machine so everything is OKAY now and we can get our waffles!"

I turned to Mat and said "tell her to say 'waffle' one. more. time..."



In closing, I now know it was the Jesus of Pants that Fit that allowed me to not have a waffle this morning. He was assisted by the Angel of You Have to Run Tomorrow so Stop Eating Pastries You Fat Ass.