Get in the Kitchen and Make Me 300 Sandwiches

Have you heard some woman is making 300 sandwiches for her boyfriend so that he'll propose to her?

I'm assuming you have, because I've seen nothing else on social media since this morning. Ted Cruz talked for 21 hours, and this chick is making sammiches upon sammiches upon sammiches.

A lot of folks are pissed. And a part of me gets it, the woman behind 300 Sandwiches, Stephanie Smith, a senior reporter for Page Six, is trying to make herself known for giving breath to every douchebag who thinks "make me a sandwich" jokes are funny. For the record, they're not. And never were.

To them, she's the Patron Saint of Domesticity. A beautiful woman whose boyfriend gets to say the following without the fear of castration:

“Honey, how long you have been awake?” 

“About 15 minutes,” I’d reply. 

“You’ve been up for 15 minutes and you haven’t made me a sandwich?”

For real, sweetheart? I completely understand that some things said in the confines of a relationship may not translate to the outside world, which is why you don't blog about those things. Because now everyone hates your boyfriend. He looks like a mega-tool. And I'm sure he's not, he just really loves sandwiches.

It's the same reason I don't blog about my boyfriend calling me a gutter slut, because people wouldn't understand that it comes from a place of love. (By the way, I'm pretty sure my dad's reading my blog now. So have fun crying that one out, Pops.)

But she put this all out in the open--every slightly disheartening comment.

As he finished that last bite, he made an unexpected declaration of how much he loved me and that sandwich: “Honey, you’re 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring!” 

I paused. … Maybe I needed to show him I could cook to prove that I am wife material. If he wanted 300 sandwiches, I’d give him 300 sandwiches — and I’d blog about it.

Now don't get me wrong I make my boyfriend sandwiches all the time. I cook. I bake. I clean. I do all kinds of things that would make June Cleaver proud. But none of the aforementioned duties are performed with hopes of proving that I am "wife material". What does that even mean, anyway?

And how long after the 300 sandwiches are made does he have to propose? Is there a window of time or will he dropping to one knee while wiping dijon off his face? What if on sandwich 298 she finds him balls deep in her best friend? Is the agreement then void?

It just seems bizarre to be so attached to a proposal that you're willing to barter like you're buying matrimony on Craigslist.

I don't know Stephanie Smith so I don't want to judge her too harshly, but I do question how it feels to compromise the natural course of a relationship with a deli item? Will she feel a slight pang of regret when he does propose, because it was based on a sandwich quota? Is the thrill still there? Or is it like a modern day dowry? I'll give you 2 goats, an acre of land and 300 sandwiches.

But maybe we're all bartering in relationships. Look how funny I am. How good in bed. How many goats I have.

Maybe Stephanie Smith is on to something. Something really fucking weird.

Now I wonder if she'll make me a sandwich? No mayo, babycakes.

TLC Presents: How did this Dude Trick Five Women into Marrying Him?

TLC, the channel responsible for all your learning needs, is debuting a one-hour special that has 'hot new series' written all over it.

My Five Wives follows the life of Brady Williams, a Utah polygamist, his five wives, and his 24 children. Williams and his wives practice polygamy, despite being shunned by their church and community.

Yep, even the Mormons thinks this shit is a little excessive.

The premise sounds a whole lot like Sister Wives, which if you're not familiar with Sister Wives click here (you probably also have a worthwhile life and don't need terrible reality television to fill the hole inside of you). But it's better, because instead of four wives--there's FIVE!

Ohhhh, scandalous.

Every time I see a show about some dude with, like, 10 wives, I can't help but wonder what kinda voodoo, black magic is this bastard dappling in? It's the only explanation, because it's always some man who you're pretty shocked has one wife.

How did he pull this shit off? What did the conversation sound like?

Okay ladies, I understand I'm a slightly balding Mormon of average wealth and body type, but I think y'all should let me routinely bang each and every one of you. In return, you'll get to bare and raise about two dozen of my children

Oh, and there might be a TLC show.

Do these bitches not know how to negotiate?

I mean, Honey Boo Boo got her own show and all she had to do was represent a cultural stereotype and say stuff like "a dolla make me holla".

Shit, girl, a dollar makes me holler, too. You have a valid point.

I just don't understand. I can think of no man that is awesome enough to make me live with four other women and blow out my vagina. It's like a really fucked-up sorority.

Oh, and have you never heard of birth control, Brady? You're not in the Mormon church anymore, can you not pull out? Even that '19 Kids and Counting'
woman thinks you're being a bit ridiculous. When the Earth is overpopulated to the point where I can't get quality kale for my green smoothies, I'm coming to your motherfucking house. Believe that.

Here's hoping, that TLC decides that My Five Wives is not a good fit amongst its high-brow programming. Mainly, because I don't want my boyfriend to get any ideas.

My Five Wives airs tonight at 9/8c. And Breaking Bad airs on AMC at the same time.

Somehow the show about Meth seems less detrimental to society. Your call.

Rorie Gilmore: The Only Thing That Could Make Me Watch 50 Shades of Grey.

I don't give a shit about 50 Shades of Grey. I just don't care about some hot ass billionaire beating the hell out of his virgin assistant.

If someone gave me dental insurance and I didn't have to make coffee anymore, they could do whatever they wanted to me. That's not called BDSM. That's called being a college graduate in the year 2013.

But moving on. I know the whole entire internet exploded because they picked the characters for the 50 Shades movie and they weren't attractive/homely/brooding/brunette/fictional enough for the fans of the series. There's even a petition.

These sex-starved soccer moms sure are picky, y'all.

I thought the actors cast looked just fine for a movie that will undoubtedly rake in millions and make PeeWee Herman feel less weird about masturbating in a theater that one time.

That was until I realized who exactly fans were petitioning to get cast in the film.

Wait!!! They want to cast Rorie Gilmore in the horrible sex movie?

Sold!

If you don't know about Gilmore Girls you can escort yourself off this post now, there's a post about twerking a couple days back that might interest you.

Oh Em Gee! Where can I sign this petition? The only thing that might get me to watch this awful shit storm of a movie is the hope that I can watch Stars Hollow's own Rorie Gilmore getting paddled by the stripper from Magic Mike.

Hell, if they got Jess to play Christian Grey, I would fund this fucking movie myself. It's like my high school wet dream. 

For those of you that can't tell, I have an unhealthy obsession with the show Gilmore Girls, and it would make my whole entire life to have this fantasy realized.

I know some of you are thinking, if you love the show and one of it's main actresses so much why would you want her subjected to a movie that would more than likely be this decade's Showgirls?

Well, I might say, Ms. Bledel's Gilmore money may be drying up, and horny middle-aged women's money is still green.

However, that would be a lie.

I'm actually just a pervert, who loves the idea of my favorite TV character having semi-kinky sex on screen. And if that makes me wrong, then I just don't want to be right.

I know I can't be alone. Who would reconsider watching this full-length porn movie if their favorite TV character was cast in the lead? 

Michael Scott as Christian Grey, anyone?

Walter White Should Make Pumpkin Spice Lattes.

At the certain unnamed coffee establishment that employs me, people lose their freaking minds come September.

Why, you ask? Oh, because pumpkin-flavored everything makes a much anticipated appearance.

You didn't know that pumpkin lattes are like crystal meth to suburban housewives? Well, they are. Ann Taylor wearing ladies in pearls come in offering up their kids' college funds for an early taste.

It's the closest I'll ever get to being a drug dealer.

Here's an example.

Customer: Do you guys have Pumpkin Spice lattes yet?

Barista: No, not yet. But we'll have it in a couple of weeks.

Customer: Come on, I know you have it in there. 

Barista: I'm sorry, ma'am. Unfortunately, I can't sell it, yet.

Customer: Listen, you little bitch. You will sell me that latte!

 What do I have to do? You into girls? You want my wedding ring? 

Okay, that might be a little bit of an exaggeration, but I have been offered money before. And I'm pretty sure one of my co-workers could have gotten a blowjob if he gave in.

I'm not entirely sure what makes people so obsessed with pumpkin products. Maybe people are eager for a small taste of Fall after a brutally hot Summer. Maybe the manufactures mix whatever drug Miley Cyrus is on in it.

But whatever it is, I wish anything could make me as happy as the first week of September makes my customers.

It's like swing sets to kids. Or crack to Tyrone Biggums.

Are any of my readers addicted to pumpkin lattes? Tell me why (or why not) in the comments!