The Origins of the Were-Potato: A Spudly Abomination.

My love for the potato is frightening.

But not as frightening as some of the things that happened today at work.

- I had folks try to order $180 worth of ice cream pints with a continually declining credit card (it was expired)
- poorly-parented children knocking things over and running all willy-nilly about the store
- a host of older folks with interesting hairstyles (my favorite being a man with a white mustache, light brown eyebrows, and black hair), scents (insert those of your wildest imagination here), candor (they were doozies), and jewelry (my favorite set was a broach and earring set that were shaped like lion doorknockers. The thick framed glasses really set them off).
- Of course, we also had strange calls (yes, plural) from Tennessee asking specifics about flavors that we haven't even released yet. Calls came from other places too, but the Tennessee lady was my favorite. I like telling you guys my favorites. It's my favorite.

I was calm and friendly to all, of course. I am an ice creamian professional. That's opposed to a hot creamian professional, although I am a whipped creamian specialist as well.

So what is so significant about today that is making the crazies come out to play? Apparently it must be the full moon. That's the only explanation I can possibly conceive.

Knowledge of tonight's full moon got me thinking about were-things after I returned home. That's probably not too far a cry from today's thought processes with all the tween supernatural phenomenon, but I'd be in this place of mind regardless from all of my comic book upbringing.

Where does the were-thing train of thought take you when you're like me? It drops you off at Potato Station. And never picks you back up.

So, right here, right now, just for you, I reveal the first findings of the Were-Potato.

Born of moonlight in a potato field next to a graveyard, the Were-Potatoes first rose out of a desire to live among humankind. 

 Originally a peaceful breed, after constant rejection by man, they turned violent, eating all humans they came across just as the humans had done to their lesser brethren. After a great war that lasted decades, the Were-Potatoes fell to General Bob Evans, who scalped and skinned them all and then sold their entrails in packages that were marketed with adorable children.

Some say that there are a small band of Were-Potatoes that survived. It is legend that they lurk in the shadows when the moon is at it's fullest, waiting, regrouping, biding their time until the war can begin again. Beware, humans; that rustle in the darkness, those eyes you feel watching you, may just be the Were-Potatoes out to eat you alive. *cackle, cackle!*

Yup, it's the delusions settling in permanently. Just over a week left. Dying!

Looking to the science:

Height: the 5'0" of a hardened Were-Potato Hunter.
Weight: the 124 lbs of what is not Were-Potato Chow.

It's dangerous to go alone. Take this:

Rini

Au Naturale! And I Can't Touch Them!

I love potatoes like the day is long.

Fortunately for me, the days are getting shorter. Unfortunately, potatoes and their wiles are drawn to me like leeches on a blood-balloon.

In the grand conspiracy of the world against my life, Wendy's has decided that this month, of all months, was the appropriate time to unveil their latest creation of taste and delight.

Pics courtesy of phone!

My outrage is evident. My favorite supplier of the golden wonder that is the fry has perfected their concoction. The words "natural" and "sea salt" perk up my ears like a little blind dog who's just heard the can-opener. I WANT THESE. I want them NOW.


However, like a brave, young soldier, I leaped promptly away from Wendy's Midas touch, for I was not about to have my insides made golden with goodness and have all these weeks be in turbulent vain. Like the mighty Christina Aguilera so aptly puts it, "Made me learn a little bit faster, made my skin a little bit thicker, makes me that much smarter, so thanks for making me a fighter." That's right, Wendy's, you make me a fighter. I'm a better person now because of you and Aguilera. Though, she also has made the past claim that she's a genie in a bottle, and that just sounds like a great deal of tomfoolery to me. Perhaps she isn't the best person to trust and quote.

Well! Returning from that bunny trail: Wendy's has natural fries, I want to eat them, the urge is like that of a maniacal mad man with a curled up mustache, but I am a super trooper 'til the end (of the month).

The mad man's science says:

Height: a 5'0" tall of Frankstein's daughter.
Weight: the 124 lbs of an Egorian hump.

I'ma eat like twelve of these when I get out of this month.

All Natural and lightly Sea Salted,

Rini

Dwarves, Dinner, and How It's Done.

I love the Potato.

Although, I must admit, I'm finding ways to cope with not eating them. I'm stir frying a lot more. Heck, I even made a dessert the other night with my dinner. This process is forcing me to actually cook; something I've been trying to get myself to do for a long time now.

Cooking with Rini used to look like this:

Bag of fries and/or fish sticks and/or chicken strips.

Turn on oven.

Put on cookie sheet.

Look at how long to cook said bagged foodstuff.

Put cookie sheet in oven.

Wait.

Check food.

If ready, take out.

Put on plate.

Eat like dinosaur.

Of course, if I were being REALLY honest with you, plain ole Eating with Rini looked like this:

Find bag.

Open bag.

Take bag to room.

Eat entire bag whilst watching Dr. Who/ Big Bang Theory/ 30 Rock/ and/or full length movie of some humorous sort.

Stare at bottom of bag for a moment and realize all chips are gone/ inside stomach.

Feel sort of sad that chips are gone. Do not feel bad that you ate whole bag of chips. In fact, if there are more bags, maybe open another bag.

If other bag is open, repeat. If no other bag is opened, throw empty bag away.

You are now done eating.

Now, I could still do this "cooking" business mentioned formerly even without my beloved potatoes, since fish sticks and chicken strips are, well, potato-free. I really think this whole endeavor has been more about self-education than anything, though, so a-cookin' I have gone. You know, for science and all that. I'm what would happen if Snow White's seven dwarves and Alton Brown got thrown into a teleportation unit and accidentally combined together and suddenly became female. Yep, you got it. I'm Chefy the dwarf. Or Hungry the dwarf. Yes, that makes more sense. Hungry the dwarf eats all the things.

So now Cooking with Rini looks like this:

See what's in fridge.

Find - green peppers, carrots, bean sprouts, red onion, mushrooms, and raw chicken.

Cut things into bite-sized pieces and put in little bowls.

Throw all things found into a skillet with some sort of oil.

Cook until done and tasty.

Eat like dinosaur.

So there's improvement, I'd say. Maybe if I actually looked up things to cook I'd cook more things. I like food.

Here's a whole box of shake 'n' bake science!

Height: the 5'0" of a master Iron Chef!
Weight: the 123 lbs of secret ingredient!

Just imagine what things will be like when I'm a-cookin' with potatoes. It'll make me as happy as a dwarf named after the emotion for which it is consistently, I'm sure. Did that make sense? See, now I'm Confused.

Wishing for the Spud I love,

Rini