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@jcruz in New England, one does not admit to being a Red Sox fan, but is just known to be one (as it should be).

I say this as a kid from Connecticut whose father supports every New York team (not Giants and not Mets, obviously, because WHY), even the Rangers for Christ's sake.

I hate when people order half-and-half pizzas, because I am so bad at making them. I once got anxious about making a half-vegetarian half-meat pizza, because what if one side got more, and a fight broke out? What if I did not make it perfectly half-and-half and the vegetarians had meat on their pizza and couldn't eat it? Also, is the vegetarian half of a pie with meat on it even vegetarian?

In other news, I have anxiety issues.

I made zucchini muffins today, and forgot the baking soda (also the baking powder, but we don't own any and I never remember at the grocery store because I get distracted in the cereal aisle) and the results could be described as fudge-like.

Well, my dad has been sober for 17 years, so sadly I will have to buy myself booze for father's day.

I have frozen pizza dough after 24 hours in the fridge without negative consequences (of course, I always store my yeast in the freezer so I don't understand the whole "freezing kills some yeast" thing). Just defrost it overnight and let it come to room temperature for about an hour before you do anything to it.

Considering my nutritionist says that all fats are fine in moderation, I don't worry pay attention to studies that tell me that I can't eat this or that.

I make a flat $6 rate whether delivering or in the store. The one time I got a $13 tip, I wanted to say, "Thanks for bringing my pay up to minimum wage for the day!" It became a story of legendary proportions when I would tell it to someone. "Did I ever tell you about the time I made a $13 tip? It was in the spring, and it was a hot day, the first nice weather in a long time..."

In high school, you could make yourself a chip sandwich for a dollar. Crushed chips on a buttered bun. I don't care for room-temp butter, so I just had the chips and bun. My arteries are still kind of mad.

I have a cat named Walt Whitman, half-named after Whitman's Samplers because he was a dark chocolate brown when we got him.

And now that his coat got darker with age, I just call him Wally Lamb, which is not food related unless Wally Lamb makes you hungry. He just makes me cry.

Look, if some guy comes up to me and calls me a "foxy young chick," I am going to be grossed out and not want to talk to him, especially if his reason why I should be concerned about eating french fries is that they'll make me fat. If you focus on the fact that french fries are energy-dense but nutrient-poor, I am more likely to listen.

If there is less than a head of garlic in the house, I start to get panicked. Because God knows I'll use all that garlic in one meal.

Someone needs to tell me what that white thing on top is, because I have no idea.

Asparagus, strawberries. And Easter ham!