A late night thing
Maybe you’ve seen the Oreo Pizza Moustache commercial on the TV? Or maybe you don’t watch the TV.
Semi-related, unpaid admission of TV watching: I must say I like the first few episodes of Mad Men on AMC and Tell Me You Love Me on HBO. After I’ve absorbed all the interior design elements, I sense I might not follow through watching the entire seasons because of that rule in writer’s handbooks to build in lots of tension and issues with characters.
This grows tiresome.
I’d totally be fine with an episode where no one got emotionally damaged and everyone had slices of Oreo Pizza.
Speaking of which, we ordered one late last night—let me rephrase—Dan ordered one late last night. Me? I’d have gotten the Cinnathings and scraped off most of the sugar. (another sem-related tangent: I learned this carb+sugar combo from my Dad with his Zesta crackers and Duncan Hines frosting binges.)
So how was this dessert pizza? If you like Oreos it might border on orgasmic. It was warm and crumbly and Oreo-fillng gooey. I took two bites and shrugged. I’ve always not liked those cookies. And Fig Newtons for that matter.
Current music: The New Pornographers “Myriad Harbour”