Life As Written By A Liver

Thank God for Ernest Hemingway look-alike contests. Maybe they all reminisce over the war they fought to reinforce traditional gender roles.

Well, it all started when I met with my landlord at a nearby McDonalds. I was on my lunch break and needed to sign some housing paperwork to secure my place in the world (or at least in the Tulsa metro). While I was still on my way to the restaurant (sic), I couldn’t stop thinking about how unethical it must be for me to use their god-given, golden-arched facility without first grabbing something off the menu. As I pulled into the parking lot, those thoughts had become something like a bout with anxiety. My very integrity was tagged to this meeting, as I'm sure it would be for anyone. The anxiety grew to an overwhelming sense of guilt as I marched in through the cloud of half-cooked hash browns and pre-packaged biscuits. So, I did what any good, red-blooded Oklahoma boy would do: I spent my media-made money on a medium cup of iced tea before sliding across a booth to sign my life away. Here’s the thing, though: I just couldn’t bring myself to eat their less-than-delectable breakfast entrees during my oh-so-holy hour of lunch (only Jack in the Box would please my palette at that point). So, half an hour later I’m driving back to work with two full cups of iced tea– somewhere around 30 ounces of the stuff. Well, now what? Do I walk into work double fisting this tea and risk ridicule? Do I drink one quickly and subject myself to frequent urination? Do I leave one cup to boil in the summer sun? Do I simply avoid work and drink my tea in peace?

Here's a compilation of pictures from my hot (100+ heat index) date Thursday.