Dear Diary,

I supermanned with salty nuts in my mouth.

Some textual vomit cannot be foreseen.

I tripped over a curb at State and flew triumphantly while chewing the remnants of some prematurely dis-enjoyed macadamia nuts. Both hands stretched towards the unforgiving heavens, the gods laughed as I pierced the air with my tense talons. While in the air, the words "I look like Superman" actually scrolled through my brain. I think on my feet…er…whatever.

Needless to say, the nuts really complicated things. The falsely sympathetic eyes of onlookers were begging for answers that I couldn’t dole out. I failed them as a communicator who communicates too much. I wanted to explain, "Wow, there was a curb there and I tripped!" or something clever to redeem myself like, "I should never have invented raised concrete slabs in the first place. Bring me my CHOPPA!" But no, fucking nuts. I couldn’t open my mouth because then in addition to parasailing I would be evenly distributing nuts throughout the crowd, even to those who had requested crackerjacks or cotton candy instead. If nuts could talk.

My brother and I sing "My Chocolate Salty Balls" a la Chef from South Park regularly, so I like to think that I’m well-versed in the many facets of nuts. In turn, I never thought nuts would betray me like that. So I ask…what went wrong?  Did you think there were other nuts? There weren’t. Was I going too fast? I could have slowed down but it wouldn’t have been beneficial for me. It’s not my fault you prematurely ejacu- evacuated…blame the curb. Take solace in knowing that you’re not alone, surely there are plenty of nuts that can sympathize.

So I recovered (mildly), yet filed this experience away under "suppressed childhood/young adult traumas." It was the later confession of my "supermanning with nuts in my mouth" to my family that did it for me. My mom’s probably been on Urbandict 6 times this week. . .and I bet she has learned nothing. That hoe.

Lovingly,

Carolina

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