It’s not delivery, it’s… deliverance

When I was growing up, we never got pizza delivered. I’m still not sure why. Does Little Caesar’s not do delivery? It’s possible. Or maybe it was our household’s overall “do it yourself” ethic. Either way, I didn’t get pizza delivered until I went to college and learned about Pokey Stix from Gumby’s (even though Gumby’s totally sicks me out now, I still sometimes think of Tuesday as “Stix it to me Tuesday!” based on the sheer number of hours I spent staring at the Gumby’s menu tacked up behind my freshman dorm room desk). Then I learned about good delivery pizza, like Amante.

And then I moved to Kansas.

No, really, I’m not one of those people who complains all the time that we don’t have any good restaurants in town, because I enjoy cooking and feel relatively confident in my own ability to make most things I might want. Pizza is different. I’ve never tried to make it, but I’ve seen it done on the TV. It looks hard. So I was immensely happy to discover Lemmy’s Pizzaria (yes, I know, they don’t spell it properly) when I interviewed here. It’s decent pizza, pretty cheap, and doesn’t have that college kid grease all over it. Also, they offer gluten-free pizza AND beer, which I haven’t tried, but you know. Dietary mutants need pizza and beer, too.

Matt and I usually go and eat there because we like the atmosphere (read: big TVs with basketball on them). But tonight, he was working and I had a guest, so I went for delivery. There’s really nothing that makes me feel more luxurious and middle-class than hearing the doorbell ring, opening it, and finding a big pizza box waiting for me. And today, I needed that, because I had a busy day in which I learned:

1. I really can connect with undergrads. I just have to mention something vaguely dirty and they like me. Seriously. They clapped for me at the end of class. Their teachers started it, but still. I almost cried.

2. How to fill out a workplace injury report (Mom – don’t worry. I’m fine). While I was still glowing from the beautiful connection/clapping class, I was ripping giant-sized post-it notes from the wall and some pieces of it fell on my face. And I went to report it to building services, you know, “the building is falling apart – ON MY FACE” kind of thing, and it turns out I had to fill out a form.

My face is fine, especially now that I have medicated it with:


Mmmm. Cheesy. I shared this, so don’t jump to any conclusions, okay? I also made this super healthy and delightful salad:


Notice the shiny salad tongs. We did not have them for years, because I thought they would be really expensive and fancy (I also felt this way about my apple slicer, which I was shocked to learn that you can purchase for less than 3 dollars). Turns out, they’re not. They’re normal. So, I bought some. And now we don’t have to use the pasta claw from the dollar store to very carefully serve salad.

I’m actually really proud of myself that I don’t feel guilty about this meal. I didn’t make it to the gym today (I actually drove halfway there, drove back because I forgot my ipod, drove all the way there, sat in my car, said “no, I can’t do it” and drove back home again, where I had to sit in my car and wait to go inside until I was sure the opossum that I saw had completely slithered down the storm drain across from our apartment. True story). There was a time when no gym + pizza would have sent me into a shame spiral, but not today. I think that’s a good sign.


One Response to It’s not delivery, it’s… deliverance

  1. Kiala says:

    OMG. Shame Spiral.

    Dane and I were both having one because last night we soaked up our booze with The Fourth Meal.

    Oh well. Shit happens.

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