In case you missed the Chocolate Festival at Fairchild Tropical Gardens:

In case you missed the Chocolate Festival at Fairchild Tropical Gardens:

You didn't miss a goddamn thing.

Unless you like paying $20.00 bucks to wander around someplace that's boring on a good day, and really boring, awful and frustrating on a bad day, with about 40,000 mouth-breathers, clustering around cacao pods, while babies scream and people try to charge you $4.00 for a fucking chocolate cookie.

Sass and I thought it was going to be "ALL THE CHOCOLATE YOU CAN EAT!" We imagined running, Violet-Beauregard-Style through a wonderland of chocolate waterfalls and, like Violet, cracking open a gourd and shoveling out chocolate mousse with our warm, sticky little mitts, after bathing in a waterfall of pure chocolate.

I thought it was going to be like the opening credits of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (best opening credits, oh EVER, in a movie?)

We don't know why we thought this, but we sure as hell didn't think it was going to be a "Eat a complimentary Hershey's Kiss on the way in, and have the opportunity to fight with other people for chairs for cooking demonstrations that you'll never even sit through because they start 25 minutes late, and you then lose interest and bail after the chef can't even start after 25 minutes, because he has to wait for a camera crew to film him, get bored during lectures, and have the opportunity to shell out money for boring crappy chocolate treats you wouldn't buy anywhere else, but for the fact that you're dying of starvation, and instead elect to wait in line for 1/2 hour for a mediocre crepe which is what Sass and I did" festival.

But that's what it was.

Yes, yes, I know. Some of you warned me. I should have listened. I truly wasn't prepared for how craptacular it would be. I shouldn't have been surprised - it was yet another typical Miami assfestival... but because I'm the archetypical optimist, I keep hoping something WON'T SUCK. But I'm always wrong.

The one bright spot was when I called a 12-year old braced-faced girl a bitch. To her face. Because she was being a bitch. Sometimes being mean to infantas does my heart good. Hopefully I scarred her for life. Or at least gave her like anorexia or something. Whatever. As far as I'm concerned, sometimes eating disorders are laughing matters. When they happen to bad people. But yeah. Think about that. The depths of my disappointment with this festival drove me to tell someone less than half my age she was being a bitch. And that's what I'll blame it on, instead of my own incredulity at what a little bitch the girl was being.

AND THUS, I SAY FIE ON THE FAIRCHILD TROPICAL GARDENS 1ST ANNUAL CHOCOLATE FESTIVAL!

An Open Letter to the Guy at Publix Today:

Dear Stupid Old Turd at Publix:

Hey there. I didn't know how to tell you how I felt, so I thought It'd be best if I put it in a letter to you.

Remember how I had put all my groceries on the conveyer belt, and said groceries consisted of embarassing things to buy like eggs (I hate buying eggs for some reason...eggs, corn and toilet paper), Jell-O, Cool Whip, and other embarassingly South Beach Diet items... And remember how I was talking to the Cashier?

And remember how, smilng, you interrupted me, and asked if you could cut through my aisle to get into the grocery store, so you didn't have to make that Everest-ian Trek past the far-distant Customer Service desk to reach your cans of Chili and Beans and boxes of Mothballs? 'Member how you asked me to back up out of my aisle and abandon my transaction, so you could avoid walking 50 feet in total? Thereby beinga minor an unnecessary-and-appallingly-ballsy inconvenience to me, for the sake of your lazy, fat ass?

And remember how I said, "No, you can walk around," while shaking my head and looking at you like you were a total twatwaffle? And then you gave me a shit-eating grin, conveying that you knew you were being a total asshole and that I had called you on your bullshit?

I just wanted you to know that I really enjoyed our moment, where you made an unreasonable demand of me, and I told you to fuck yourself. You made my day. Enjoy that Hormel Chili, and thinking about your adolescence in the 1940s!

Love,

Me.