the week I didn't eat mcdonalds

Those of you know me well (or simply have me on facebook) would know that I'm a self-proclaimed McDonald's addict.  Sober, drunk, or hungover, I frequently crave the succulent, salty, ketchupy goodness that McDonald's offers.  The downside is that I've come to realize that I like McDonald's a little too much.  Over March Break, there was one day where I ate McDonald's three times.  This is where I did a self-intervention and decided to take some time off.


Two days later my car was broken into and McDonald's was the rational thing to do.  I started over.


Monday Morning
I really wanted Mcdonald's to feel better after the whole car/being drunk thing that had happened.  Fortunately, being without a vehicle made McDonald's seem like an arduous, impossible task, so I was safe Monday.  I had to worry about other things, Micky Dee's didn't really seem like a priority.


Tuesday
Things were getting tough.  The letter 'M' threw me into fits of sweat and panic where I was reminded of the golden arches that I had grown to love and to trust.  I felt panic attacks coming on.  I became irritable.  I even dropped the F-bomb repeatedly at my father, even after he gave me $1,000 to pay for the shit that got f'ed up in relation to the car.  Tuesday felt like the end.


Wednesday
Stress distracted me from the allure of McDicks.  Numerous homework assignments and a three-hour class were effective in distracting me from my addiction.  I drank a beer but was otherwise healthy.  I felt like I could overcome my challenge.


Thursday
Shit hit the fan.  Car came back, I was desperate.  I drove by and sadly looked in the windows at all of the obese children and picky old people and remembered when I used to belong there.   The light turned green, however, and I drove back to res... I felt stronger than before.  
Then I got drunk.  Obviously I wasn't going to drive after drinking, but that didn't mean I couldn't get someone sober to drive for me.  In my drunken haze I probably asked some people to take me.  I don't really know what happened... but I ended up laying down with a bottled water to recover slightly.  Upon feeling better, I took some shots and hit the downtown.  Due to my lack of sleep on wednesday, my return to my room after the bar meant I passed out almost instantaneously, leaving no opportunity for McDonalds.


Friday
I roadtripped to Saint John with a few people.  I thought, "this is it, we're going to need to get food, and we're going to get McDonalds."  I opted for A&W.  I know it's still fast food, but hey, it's not McD's.  Also, I chose the grilled chicken sandwich.  A step in the right direction.  That night was similar to Thursday's story-  I was too tired when I got home from a crazy night out to get McD's and consequently went to bed.


Saturday
I really, really wanted breakfast from McD's to cure my hangover.  I went to the caf to distract myself.  I ate more than enough food and consequently threw it back up.  Then went back to bed.  When I re-awoke at like 3 or 4, the liquor store needed to be visited and the room needed to be cleaned.  By the time I was free it was time to drink.  I took a cab back from the student pub and passed out very early.  A concerned RA gave me some sliced bread, but that was the closest I came to McDonald's all week.


Sunday
finally, a week later I went to McDonald's again.  So. fucking. satisfying.

The Flying Fuck

Hi, I'm updating for the first time in two bajillion years.

Tonight, whilst drinking because it's St Patty's Day and finishing some homework (classy, I know), I repeatedly uttered the phrase, "I don't give a flying fuck!"  usually in reference to my lack of homework completion, or the fact that I'm drinking and it's Wednesday night/Thursday morning.
Then I was like... "what's a flying fuck?"

I envision it as a bat-like creature.  With red eyes.  And an axe.   And it can fly.
Well obviously it can fly, it's a motherfucking bat-like creature.  Anyway, this is my artist's rendition:

Anyway, that's what a flying fuck would be if it were an animal.  But who coined the phrase "I don't give a flying fuck" ?
Maybe it means that you're angry about something, but you don't care about it enough to force a flying fuck upon it.
"Those old people really pissed me off, but I really don't hate them enough to give them a flying fuck, so I guess I'll just leave them alone."  
"I have a paper due in like 20 minutes, and it's not done.  Clearly unleashing a flying fuck would be irrational and wouldn't help me finish my paper, so I shall exclaim that 'I don't give a flying fuck!'" 

It appears as though saying that you don't give a Flying Fuck means that you're just too apathetic about the situation to wish something SO horrible on whoever is responsible for it.

But what if I did give a Flying Fuck?
Instead of internally thinking "I don't give a flying fuck about your carpal tunnel syndrome you old bitch," I could exclaim "I GIVE YOU A FLYING FUCK!" and unleash one upon her.  It would... I don't know, I don't know what a Flying Fuck would do... you could say... I don't give a flying fuck!

Anyhow... that was my first update in awhile.  Sorry it sucked.  If you liked it subscribe or comment or something.  if you hated it, well, I GIVE A FLYING FUCK.  Go get raped by its ax or red eyes or bat-like powers, bitch.

I swore too much in this, sorry Grammie if you read this.