Oreo Cookie Blues

As I stare into my cabinets and contemplate death by Oreo, a Phil Collins song starts to play in the background. Before I realize it, I begin to sway to the music. As Phil sings how there's only a memory of someones face, I begin to hum. And before long, I sing at the top of my voice. Long runs....screams of agony; the whole nine yards. I am feeling Phil Collins' pain.

Then I snap out of it. I shake off whatever depressed moment I was in and slam the cabinet shut. No Oreos for this girl. No more Oreos for the chick who sits at home on a Saturday night curled up in a Thomas the Train blanket that smells like a 3 year old. No more for the broad who would rather chat by text then hear another humans voice. I don't deserve the deliciousness of an Oreo cookie. I have taken advantage of the comfort it gives as it melts in my mouth. I no longer relish the bag that at one time could sit in my cupboard for a month. These days, the package only lives for two days before I mercilessly demolish it with a Pepsi.

No wonder my size eights are too tight.

I know what I am doing. I have replaced companionship with food. Instead of reaching for the phone and asking a friend to a movie; I reach for an Oreo and set my DVR to play whatever campy Lifetime movie I recorded for such a time as this. I have become the epitome of pathetic. What's worse is that it doesn't bother me. I don't feel the loneliness that consumes me. I now view my isolation as an old friend ready with a bowl of popcorn to discuss the bad acting of the movie I'm watching. It has become my dearest confidant. My bff. My homie. My road dogg.

And that, ladies and gents, simply will not do.

So, from now, I will throw off the Thomas the Train blanket that could actually use a good washing. I will no longer turn on Phil Collins, Celine Dion....or Yanni. Instead I will jam to the "Rump Shaker" or something along those lines. I will go out on a Saturday night, and not just to the bookstore alone either. I will find my social life once again. I will accept the invitations of socialization from well meaning friends. I will discuss the mundane. I'll laugh when it's appropriate. I will pat a distraught cohort on the back with a "There-there." In short, I will re-join mankind.

Of course, if all else fails, I could always end it all with some double stuffs and a glass of milk.