neurotic mayo

I believe I brought this up once before—but it’s getting worse. For the past couple months, I’ve been growing more and more neurotic about locked doors. Namely, my car and my house. There’s only been one time that I’ve found it to be unlocked. I’m not sure what’s going on in my brain. I will remember locking the door. I’ll be positive I locked it. However, I will get several feet away—sometimes quite a long ways away—and I will have to go back and check. If I don’t, I eats at my brain, wondering if I locked the door, even if I remember locking it. Thus far, I have gone ahead and given into the neurosis. It’s not going to hurt anything by continuing to check to make sure I’ve locked the door, so why not? However, it feels like this strangeness is coming from somewhere other than just being worried about the actual locking of doors. Not really sure what it means, or if it matters. All I know is, as I walk back to my house or back to my car my brain is screaming, “freak! freak!”
On other notes, to all you who think we Missouri cooks don’t know what we are talking about when we say that low-fat stuff isn’t the same and tastes like shit: You suck! I, once again, gave into your guilt laden words this week as I prepared one of my favorite meals. It’s one of the least fancy things I do. I’ve not made it for one person here in Colorado that likes it. However, it’s what I get hungry for the most. Ms. Wells made it form my family when one of my grandparents died. It’s a casserole. Chicken, carrots, broccoli, tons of mayo and cream of chicken soup, topped with cheese and crunched up potato chips, served over brown rice. One of the least healthy things you could ever eat. Fat and cholesterol city. As I was buying the huge vats of mayonnaise, I begin to feel the pressure of living in what was recently named the healthiest state and my desire to be sexier (although, just found out yesterday, two of my married teachers [women] have been discussing what they think my body would look like naked—and apparently, they’ve decided they’d really like it----things you never dreamed your elementary teachers talked about])—so half of the mayo I bought was the kind made with Olive Oil. I decided that wouldn’t be too bad since I love olive oil. It was horrible! So not good. Slimier and hardly any taste—and somehow greasier. As I made to two 9X13 pans (I always do bulk cooking for my frozen leftover meals), one with normal, one with olive oil mayo, I have sooooo much that sucks. I decided to mix them together in an effort to increase damage control. Now I have nearly twenty frozen meals that suck ass—and not in the fun, family-friendly way. Screw you, skinny people!