add it up

Although I am pursuing an advanced degree in something I shall refer to today as the “quantitative arts”, I will admit that I have a difficult time wrapping me head around numbers that are intended to quantify things. Hey. I accidentally typed me instead of my. It also seems that the me of the typed word has a difficult time refraining from sounding like a pirate. Arrrr. But wait. I was saying something about numbers – specifically those that are intended to quantify things – being problem for me. That’s no good. I mean, really, aren’t all numbers generally expected to act in a quantifying capacity?

Anyway. Take, for example, the distance from the earth to the sun. I can’t recall the exact number, but I can assure you that is a very large number of miles away. Wait. The Brain Scientist just happened by and informed me that it’s 93,000,000 miles. That’s NINETY THREE MILLION. Thank you, Brain Scientist. I DON’T REMEMBER ASKING YOU A GODDAMN THING. But thank you. That’s a lot of miles.

Another example:

The number 5.

Five. That is the number of Peeps that constitutes an entire serving of Peeps. I read this on the side of the Peeps packaging last Spring, when I was at my absolute most pregnant and desiring sugar coated marshmallows in vast quantities. Even in this rotund, marshmallowy-ravenous state, I was only able to choke down two-thirds of a bunny-shaped Peep. When I bit off its ears I was in heaven, and was concerned that a single package was not going to be enough to satisfy my Peep needs. Despite my initial exuberance, however, by the time I had consumed its midsection, down to the area where its marshmallowy bunny genitals might reside, I thought I might throw up on myself. Yet the good people at Peeps informed me via the nutritional information that I could have FIVE ENTIRE PEEPS and still feel like I was well within the normal range of Peep consumption. That’s a whole four and one-thirds Peeps more than I was able to consume at the pinnacle of my Peeps jones. That’s a lot of Peeps.


Also mind-boggling:

The number 4.

Four. That’s the number of quadruple vodkas John Bonham drank the morning of the day he died. I will walk you through this. That’s four times four shots of vodka, at breakfast. That’s SIXTEEN shots of vodka. SIXTEEN. With ham. Or maybe eggs. And then he went and played the drums. After having sixteen shots of vodka. And HAM. Or perhaps EGGS. And then he drank some more. Now, I have, in my day, consumed some vodka. I have also had some ham, as well as some eggs. And outside of the morning-after hair of the dog bloody mary, rarely have I had them all at the same time in a fashion that was designed to satisfy both my need for an omelet and my need to get drunk. And on those rare occasions that I have indulged in such a fashion? Never have I done anything beyond spending the better part of my day – or perhaps the next day – in a puddle of regret. I certainly haven’t done anything like play the drums. It’s no wonder things ended badly for John. Four quadruple shots. That’s a lot of vodka.


So close:

The number 3.

Three. That’s the number of brothers Gibb that comprise the Bee Gees. I understand that this is also the number of brothers that make up the Jonas Brothers. I have two sons! I just need a third, and I will have the makings of a boy band. As both of the above mentioned bands have demonstrated, it is only necessary that ONE of the band members be vaguely good-looking. I can probably do that! I just need to gestate one more son, and when they reach adolescence I can drape them with medallions or promise rings (promise rings! They just scream Abstinence! And also Unprotected Anal Sex! Hey. Read the research!) and other trappings of boy bandiness and then I will no longer need to worry about my success in the quantitative arts. Hooray!


Perplexing:

The number 2.

Two. That is the number of items that have gone missing from my refrigerator in the last 24 hours. First on the AWOL list is a container of cream cheese, used this morning during the preparation of a sandwich. Second on the list is a bunch of spinach. A box, actually, half of which was used in last night’s salad. WHERE HAVE THEY GONE? Dr. BS denied having any information about their whereabouts. I suggested that he had perhaps absconded with them and used them to create a make-shift vagina for times when he’s lonely (although I didn’t actually call it “a make-shift vagina”. I won’t say what I did actually call it, because, you know, search engines and irrational paranoia and all.) He laughed at this suggestion. Yes, laughed – a little too hard, if you ask me.


Alarming:

The number 1:

One. This is the number of warnings that have been issued to me with regard to the safe deployment of pepper. DO NOT GRIND OVER STEAMING POTS. It is printed on the side of my pepper grinder. I would also like it printed on a tee shirt. Note to all: Do not grind qwanty over steaming pots.