*I wrote this blog approximately two years ago, and it was posted on my MySpace page. I finally decided it was time to delete all the old posts. But, this one was just too good to get rid of. So, here it is again, almost exactly two years later, unedited. (Even though I feel my writing has evolved and progressed since then.) Still same ole 20-Something. Still love marshmallows!
Now that I’m 23, almost 24, and reaching all new heights of self-realization as I approach an older age, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have an unhealthy obsession with marshmallows. This is not something to be taken lightheartedly. It could quite possibly be compared to the addiction some people have with taking diet pills or, perhaps, smoking. See, I can’t just eat a substance containing marshmallows and stop there. I have to shove more and more of the said substance into my mouth until I myself am playing my own version of Chubby Bunny with whatever I’m eating that contains marshmallows. Or, one could call it chain-marshmallowing. Let me elaborate a little bit on my history of marshmallow abuse.
I guess it all started with roasting marshmallows. I’ve gone camping every year since before I was old enough to remember. Of course, roasting marshmallows was THE highlight of my camping trip. And I’m not talking about eating Smores; I hate those things. I simply wanted to roast and eat an entire bag of marshmallows to myself. I can distinctly remember the first time my dad roasted a marshmallow for me over a burning barrel on my grandparents’ property. I was around 6 years old. See, my dad’s side of the family is a little bit country, and burning things in a barrel on your property I suppose is somewhat normal. Now that I think back on the moment, the fact that he was probably burning garbage in that barrel and then roasting my marshmallows over it is a bit weird. But anyway, back to my first marshmallow.
My dad was describing to me the whole time about the proper ways to roast a marshmallow. Turn the stick; don’t let it catch fire; blow it out quickly if it does. That’s the proper way, right? No, my dad taught me that they’re best when they are charbroiled and black. A bit weird, perhaps. So my dad finishes “roasting” my marshmallow and tells me to take a bite out of it. I leaned forward, resting my fingers on the stick and drew it toward my mouth. The marshmallow exploded in my mouth in a poof of black, charred, ashes. Let’s just say my dad had over-roasted the marshmallow a bit. But that did not ruin my first marshmallow experience, maybe it only made it stronger. They say everything traces back to some childhood experience. I will say that charbroiling my marshmallows the way my dad did is the only way I roast them, and now when I go on camping trips, I am constantly ridiculed for the way I roast marshmallows. Thanks dad.
It moved on to roasting marshmallows over the kitchen stove. See, I could only go camping in the summer, and since I live in Seattle, that is only four months out of the year when I can roast marshmallows. Too bad I don’t live in the country, then I could just roast them over a burning barrel of garbage. But, alas, I have to result to roasting them over the burner in my house. This method is actually quite effective if you turn the burner up to the highest setting and have a bunch of those little wooden shish kabob sticks.
And from there, it has only gotten worse. I eat Peeps by the package. It used to be that you could only find them during Easter. But now, they make Peeps for every occasion. Yeah for me. They’ve even started flavoring them. My favorite is the strawberries and cream Valentines Day ones. Of course, much like my charbroiled roasting method, I’ve created a psychotic method to eating marshmallow Peeps as well. I have to open the package and let them sit out for AT LEAST two weeks, so they get nice and stale. Then I eat them. God, are they good. I always go to drug stores after holidays and stock up on them when they are 39 cents so I can have enough until the next holiday comes around.
So, name anything that has marshmallows in it, and I eat it with excess. Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream? The best! But only because I actually dig the marshmallow ribbon out of it until all that is left is chocolate ice cream. Sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving? So good! But I scoop as many marshmallows off the top as I can without looking like a jerk, then I’m sure to go back at least once to add more marshmallows before the yams are gone. Hot chocolate? Only good with loads and loads of the damn little white things. I’m not kidding, I will heat my hot chocolate, add marshmallows, drink it down part way while consuming all the marshmallows, add more marshmallows, reheat it, drink a little etc. You see how this is going. And I’m probably the only person who actually knows what a Fluffmutter sandwich is. Sounds a little erotic, huh? Guess again. It’s a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich. I f*ing love marshmallow fluff. It is the ultimate marshmallow invention. I WILL and DO buy a jar and eat it straight out with a spoon. I think that is where I finally realized that I have a MAJOR and IRREVERSIBLE problem.
Now that I’ve come out of the closet about my marshmallow obsession, I will tell you what spurred my self-analyzation. They have now invented Marshmallow Microwave Popcorn. And I am doomed. I saw a commercial for it on TV, and thought to myself, “Hmm. That might be kinda good.” Keep in mind that I HATE popcorn. I never buy the stuff. I think it’s foul, smelly, nasty, insert every gross adjective you can think of here. I never buy it at a movie, and if I walk into a room after popcorn has been popping, I almost want to barf. But, if it has marshmallow on it, how bad can it be? Well, let me just tell you IT’S F*ING AMAZING. I want to eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The only problem is, one damn package has approximately 700 calories and 42 grams of fat. I’m not kidding. Isn’t that worse than a Big Mac?
In conclusion, if you see me walking around in five years, fat as all hell, a little bit squishy in all areas, and probably resembling somewhat of a round, puffy marshmallow myself, (Hell, I am pretty pale and my skin could probably give off a whitish glow), then you’ll know why.
I, 20-Something, am a marshmallow addict.
