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This video gave me the chills last night, and I’m sure you’ve watched it and felt the goosebumps creep up by now too. (Clearly that’s the effect that they were going for when they made it, using that cute little Gavin kid and all.) And when I reblogged it as it was going viral last night, I did so a little hesitantly, thinking to myself, “I hate to think that these people have some other not-so-admirable political motive behind all of this, but… what’s the other side of this story and who and what is really behind this campaign?” Well, apparently I wasn’t so horrible in questioning the overall authenticity of it all and this blog post by Grant Oyston nicely explains why.
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Oatmeal for breakfast is awesome, but if you can’t have cinnamon in it, then what’s the point?
Two mornings ago, I woke up, drank two cups of coffee, read a few chapters of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, and decided to make a bowl of oatmeal when I felt my stomach starting to growl. I poured the oats into a bowl. I mashed up a banana and mixed it in. I poured in a cup of almond milk. I went to grab the cinnamon so I could sprinkling a bit of it into the mix and complete the oatmeal-making process. Where was the cinnamon?
I scanned the counter. I put cinnamon in my oatmeal every morning. I always placed it back in the same spot on the counter, where could it have gone? I opened both doors to the spice cabinet and searched around. I moved the other spices- cumin, paprika, nutmeg- around like chess pieces, all the while keeping my eyes peeled for the cinnamon. It wasn’t in there. With my left hand still on the cabinet door’s handle, I spun around and looked toward the kitchen table and then did a once over of the entire room. Nothing. No cinnamon anywhere. I turned back to the cabinet, moved each and every spice all around for a second time, and when I could officially confirm it was not on the lowest shelf, grabbed a chair from the kitchen table for assistance in searching the two upper spice shelves. It wasn’t up there either.
For a minute I thought about popping the bowl of oatmeal into the microwave and eating it without any cinnamon, but that notion didn’t last long at all because I remembered that oatmeal without cinnamon tastes like plain, boring oatmeal. Unacceptable. So, I had to call my mom, because it’s a rule of life that even when they don’t know where things are, moms always know where things are.
"Hi Mom, do you know where the cinnamon went?" I asked.
"Uhh, no. I haven’t used any cinnamon recently." She said.
"But I always put it back in the same spot and it’s not there anymore so you must have moved it," I complained.
"Kate, I didn’t move the cinnamon. I know it for a fact. Just look around, it has to be there somewhere," she tells me.
She’s a neat freak, so deep down I knew that if she said she didn’t move it, she definitely didn’t move it. She would remember if she had put it away somewhere. But since I still can’t find the cinnamon and she doesn’t know where it is, I hang onto the notion that she must have moved it and just didn’t remember.
"Ugh, ok… whatever. Never mind. I’ll talk to you later," I sigh.
"Bye," she says.
At this point, like twenty minutes later, I was too hungry to care about the very specific tastes of my breakfast. My stomach was growing impatient and I was just going to have to settle for a less than satisfactory morning meal. I threw the bowl into the microwave and when it was ready, I leaned back against the counter, bowl and spoon in hand, and began to eat. Two-and-half bites into my delayed breakfast, for no reason at all (I swear I wasn’t still looking for it; I had fully accepted the absence of the cinnamon at that point) I nonchalantly turned my head to the right, and out of the corner of my eye saw none other than the stupid, little brown bottle that I had been searching for peaking out from behind the standing paper towel rack.
Thank god for my wandering eye, because I got to have cinnamon in my oatmeal that morning after all, which proves two of life’s undoubtable truths; the moment you stop looking for something, it will almost immediately reveal itself to you, and, your mom is always right. Always right.
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BRB! Moving to Seattle.
[image via Organic Authority]
How to smell like bananas forever
- Buy your hospitalized grandma a banana in hopes that she will eat it in place of nasty hospital food.
- Grandma refuses to eat banana, leaves it on table.
- As you leave the hospital, look around suspiciously to make sure no one is looking, grab said banana, and toss it into your bag for later. (She was never gonna eat it anyway.)
- Forget about banana and do not use your bag for three days.
- Three days later, toss a bunch of crap into your bag before you go to work and wonder why you all of sudden smell like bananas. Wonder if you even ate a banana today.
- But even if you did, why would you smell it again now?
- Get to work. Banana smell is still present.
- Don’t really care because bananas smell good.
- Work your entire shift intermittently wondering where the heck the banana smell mysteriously came from. (It’s like there’s a banana in your bag or something!)
- Return home at 11:30 PM, retrieve your book from your bag… What is that slightly mushy feeling that brushed your hand?
- A banana!
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