Near the top of the list called Random Things That I LOVE LOVE LOVE But Nobody Understands How I Am Able To Muster That Much Passion For Said Things, jockeying for a spot alongside: Jeopardy (I love Jeopardy. LOVE WITH ENTIRE HEART. Am COMPLETELY enamored of the little blue BOXES OF KNOWLEDGE. I love Jeopardy so much I tend to speak in excited upper case letters when I discuss it, and also answer ALL trivia in QUESTIONS ala Jeopardy. For example the question "What is the capital of Finland?" Would receive the answer "WHAT IS COPENHAGEN!!!" from me); tempeh goreng and ikan bilis and feta cheese (just writing about them at the same time makes me want to cry tears of happiness); popped collars (I know, I know... they're passe and an accurate indicator of douchiness. But like a moth to a flame, I just can't help myself); dispensible pop music (current favourite song being My Life! Would Suck! Without! You!... you stay eloquent, Kelly Clarkson); heated debates (I like yelling out my opinion in a forceful manner and I do not apologize for it); Arsenal FC (my love runs a deep dark, Arsenal-home-jersey-coloured red and is, obviously, unaffected by the fact that they have disappointed me and every other Gooner miserably this season); libraries and the smell of old books (it's like an unhealthy but academic fetish), is: Southern style biscuits.
I LOVE BISCUITS. Despite the fact that the rest of the world uses the word "biscuit" to refer to a cookie and in America biscuits are, perplexingly, baked bread. Biscuits melt in your mouth. Biscuits are a beautifully light shade of golden. Biscuits are hard on the outside, but soft and buttery on the inside. Biscuits are like the embodiment of HUMANITY: however hardened the exterior, it is still just a cover for the warm, rich, fuzzy goodness of the interior (why yes I AM an idealist, why do you ask).
I haven't eaten biscuits since KFC at Cornell (I used to request to be taken there on date nights, no joke) so when Popeyes opened in Taman Tun and I heard they were serving biscuits I was understandably over the moon. And then I ate Popeye's biscuits. And they were weird and salty and not soft enough or warm enough or EDIBLE ENOUGH. And now I'm just pissed off. I am never going to Popeyes again and I stand by my word on this. You don't just play with a woman's emotions, serve it to her, let her eat it, and then let her down, Popeye. You just don't. I intensely dislike you, Popeyes of Taman Tun. INTENSELY dislike you.
