Mood: total funk. My cool friend Amy knows about my gray mood, so she made chocolate chip cookies, Brodi Style.

I love chocolate chip cookies, but I prefer a ratio of one chocolate chip per cookie. Of course, this does not happen randomly.

Amy made me a whole batch of "Uno Chip
Cookies". Then she told me to step away from my computer, which I will do right after this post. In fact, I'm on a post-sabbatical until Monday. I'm thinking I'll do one of those safaris in Africa, or clean my house, or something.


Before I start my sabbatical, I feel prompted to share a story. (Not, like, spiritually prompted, or "from the great beyond" prompted, by the way).

The other day, I happened upon a blog whose author wondered if drinking a gallon of whole milk is REALLY impossible.

Happily, I can shed some light on this. (I also know one of my readers can attest to this as well, but I won't name names unless she wants to be known.)

One night when I was in college (I know, I did all my stupid stuff post-high school), a bunch of guys and girls were hanging out in the middle of the street. I'm a little vague on the reasons why, but anyway.

These "friends" bet me I couldn't drink an entire gallon of whole milk in an hour.

Being comprised of a subtle blend of stupidity and ego, I couldn't say no. Despite the fact that I hate milk. It makes me sick.

I know what you're all thinking: Game On! Right?

Well, I was about halfway through the gallon, when I felt a buildup of pressure in my gut.

And then it happened. The dairy firehose.

I had always thought the phrase "projectile vomiting" was an exaggeration, until this night. Seriously, my head started spinning around.

So, what would you do if this happened to you?

Probably the same thing I did... rope in another couple of suckers to fall for it.

So, my friend and I went on a double date a couple weeks later, and challenged our dates (Bob and Phil) to drink the milk.

One of them ("Bob") took the challenge. Only, he didn't puke. He just got really sick.

So, my friend and I were looking at each other, worried, like, "Should we tell him what's supposed to happen?"

Of course not. Never in a million years. We just went home.

Well, the next day, I get this phone call at work from Phil.

me: "Hey, Phil. How's Bob?"

Phiil: "Not good. We had to take him to the emergency room last night."

Well I freaked out for a good five minutes on the phone, and fessed up to what was supposed to happen.

Then Phil says: "I'm totally kidding. Bob's fine."

When I finally picked my jaw off the ground, I let loose with a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush. The air was blue.

Here's the kicker.

Phil says: "Um, Brodi? You're on speaker. With my family." And I hear them all laughing in the background. Like, uncomfortable laughter.

You know how the story ends, don't you? Phil and I have been happily married for ten years.

JK. Neither of them ever spoke to me again.

See y'all on Monday!