Ouch! And other random thoughts

So, I was un-friended on Facebook. Props to Facebook, actually, because I have no idea when I was un-friended. It tells me every time someone sneezes, but a high school classmate (who has more than 300 friends and is clearly not discriminating) was able to drop me without my even knowing.

I sort of can't blame her for dumping me; she found me when I first joined Facebook, and she wrote on my Wall, and I never wrote her back because I didn't want her 300 other friends knowing what I was up to, and I hadn't quite figured out that you can just send a private message through the system, so I never got in real touch with her. Which is fine, although if I had, I'd have told her that I found, during my spring cleaning a couple of months ago, a picture of us from our ninth-grade semi-formal. Maybe I will scan and post it, and tag her in the photo, and she'll want to be friends again, if only to get me to take down the photo of her in a dress with puffy, fuschia satin sleeves.

Also on my mind:

-- I have been obsessed with my fiber intake for the last couple of weeks, ever since I rode the morning train to D.C. with a colleague who pointed out that my staple early-morning train breakfast (a single-serving bowl of Special K, a Diet Coke and a water) is insanely low in fiber. I'd of course never considered that before -- come on! the ads tell me Special K is good for my diet! -- but now that my co-worker flagged the issue, I'm reading breakfast-food labels like never before. And now I need to rethink my train routine, which makes me unhappy, especially because the 7-11 doesn't sell single-serving containers of any high-fiber cereals. Hmmm. A dilemma.

-- My fiber obsession triggered a voice in my head from an '80s television show, which I initially attributed to Square One TV, but this morning it hit me that it's, in fact, from Perfect Strangers. I don't remember the exact circumstances, but someone makes an inappropriate poop joke, and some stuffy old lady, all offended huffs, "Well, I never!" And Balki, of course, replies, "Eat more fiber." My brother for some reason went to a taping of Perfect Strangers, and said that Balki seemed to be all coked up. This does not surprise me.

-- Twice in the last week, the Smelmooo and I have gone to dinner parties capped by make-your-own-sundae bars, both of which included freshly-baked brownies. Heaven. There is nothing I like better than a make-your-own-sundae bar.

-- One of my co-workers this morning said, "There's something I need to tell you guys," with a tone that suggested that she had super-big news, like that she was having a baby or something. But, in fact, she wanted to tell me about a wedding she'd gone to that featured what she called Mashed Potato Sundaes during the cocktail hour. Which sounded like one of the grossest things I could imagine, until she explained that it was basically a martini glass filled with mashed potatoes, with a toppings bar featuring bacon and cheese and all kinds of toppings. Which actually sounds kind of yummy, if you call it a fixin's bar or something. But it is not a sundae.

-- My parents' good friends did a family vacation the same week we did, and they actually hired a professional photographer (they did not wear matching shirts). I saw their daughter last week, and we swapped war stories, and I think we came out about even. Their shoot took an hour and a half, which I think would've been worse than our 15 minutes of family fun. But now my mom is hot on getting professional photos done at the Jersey shore this fall. Eh, it'll make her happy, and it won't be the end of the world. But I think I will lobby hard for coordinated, not matching, wardrobes.

-- I normally have an anti-talking policy at the gym, but the other day, I was on the elliptical next to the Smelmooo, catching up on my People, and I could not help exclaiming, "Wow, that's a big blow to US Weekly, losing Joey Bartolomeo to People!" And the Smelmooo looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. I can't blame him. I tried to backpedal, explaining that she went to Colgate and our alumni newsletter did a little write-up on her, blah blah blah, but he was, quite reasonably, hearing none of it.

-- I'm inexplicably sad for Drew Barrymore and her latest break-up, and very happy for Nicole Kidman, although I'm not so much a fan of "Sunday" as a baby name (perhaps because I know a dog named Sunday?). I am wholly uninterested in the whole A-Rod/Madonna scandal.

-- I secretly enjoy Flavor of Love, and even less secretly enjoy Rock of Love, but I think that I Love Money is too awful even for me. It seems almost worse than the Real World/Road Rules challenge, because these people are actual grown-ups (although at this point many of the RWRR alum are, too). As much as I love Heather and will be rooting for her from afar, I don't think I can stand to watch.

-- The Smelmooo and I watched about a hundred movies this weekend, and I actually enjoyed Definitely, Maybe, which I did not expect. I still don't get what the big deal is about Ryan Reynolds, but I liked him better in this movie than in any other. I'm still skeptical that he and Scarlett will make it, maybe moreso after seeing her in The Other Boleyn Girl. I read one review that suggested Scarlett would've been better cast as Anne, and Natalie Portman as Mary, an idea that made watching the movie more interesting -- I kept thinking how each actress would have approached the other's scene if the roles had been reversed -- but I'm not sure that it would've been a better movie if they'd swapped. It was so icky and preposterous by the end, I wouldn't have enjoyed it regardless of who was playing whom.

-- I just saw a commercial for Starburst Gummi Bursts. Please, please, stop the madness with the unexpected liquid inside of candy and gum. I inadvertently took a piece of Chewles-like gum from Minnams's gum basket the other day, and I was so startled that I yelped and spit it out like a six-year-old. Which I did not do when I was served scallop ceviche at one of the ice-cream-sundae bar dinner parties. I decided I needed to be a grown-up and eat at least some of it, although I briefly debated feigning an allergy or even a pregnancy when I overheard one of the other guests apologizing to our host that, although she loooooooves ceviche, it's a no-no given that she's expecting. But I wanted to be a good guest, so I dug in, even though I hate scallops, and I sort of needed to chase each bite with a big sip of beer to tamp down my gag reflex. Which I thought was stealthy and slick of me, but which the Smelmooo told me was completely obvious, which it probably was, particularly coupled with him taking half of the scallops off my plate. But I get points for trying, right? And I did gobble up my ice cream sundae.