I was wrong. Mraz did have a wedding gift for Kerry and Sean. He posted this journal entry talking about Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, which I’m pretty sure is something the happy couple enjoys. You think I’m stretching? Just a little? Yeah, I am, but I haven’t gotten a gift for them yet either, so why not another blog entry with their names in it? Love you guys!
I just found the new journal entry today, as I’ve been away from my computer for a while. But that’s ok; it gave me something to fill my morning with, other than multiple trips to the water cooler and chatting up my boss about how his two-year-old daughter has started asking him to read cake cookbooks to her before bed every night. She picks out a picture, points, and he has to tell her what it is. That’s one smart cookie.
In his most recent musings our Prophet Mraz also talks about cakes, and cavities, gas (the laughing kind), and kissing:
“Food has become a totally sexual experience for me. With no gal pal around for months what else is an orally fixated boy to do.”
I’m so with Mraz on that one. In the absence of a good man, chocolate has always been a close friend of mine. In fact, to show my appreciation to the cacao tree I wrote a 15-page multi-genre ode to chocolate as part of my master’s degree. While researching it I found a study that said people who consider themselves chocoholics could be self-medicating, which was an eye-opener for me, although it should have been obvious. If chocolate can help after a Dementor attack, it can certainly ease my general malaise.
(Looking for a stronger dose of chocolatehappy than a candy bar can provide? Read about the flourless chocolate torte I made for Easter.)
This is also why I included a bit about “drinking and eating anything you like and not always in moderation” in the Mraz Doctrine. Moderation is for wimps. Eat two banana splits in one sitting, or a half-pound of truffles from your local chocolatier. Put on Galaxy or 0% Interest while you do it and feel the happiness from your mouth spread all over your body until your toes are tingling and you start to contemplate a pilgrimage to the Ben & Jerry’s factory in Vermont. It’s not a bad idea. You just might meet your Cinnamon Bun-flavored soul mate there.
You bring the bubble machine, I’ll rent the Pontiac.