Introducing The List, a new semi-regular feature in which Julie Klausner enumerates pretty much whatever.

1. Sunday morning 11/11 at home: Grits, a sweet italian sausage, a poached egg and some raspberries


First, hungry, then unbearably psyched that I was in possession of the best breakfast of all time. Come on! When you do grits with eggs, you have mushy porridge AND salty breakfast meats! I basically went to food church. Amen.

2. November 12, Monday afternoon during a movie: Melon/Mint Gum

Bored. Self-conscious about my breath. Confused by the flavors. A little upset.

3. November 12, Monday night at home: A pint of white rice from the Chinese place

Really tired. Sleepy. Exhausted. Willing, apparently, to substitute the sensation of being under the covers with the feeling of tablespoons full of warm white rice in my mouth. Then, I felt bad. Would this constipate me? Is eating a pint of rice moments before going to sleep really the best thing to do for one's body? Waaaah, I'm a baby. Why do I have to......Then I was asleep.

4. November 17, Saturday night on a train: Apple

Terrified that the apple would not be a sufficient snack to tide me over before dinner; relieved that it was not mealy.


5. November 14, Wednesday afternoon at home: Kale salad

INCREDIBLY SELF-CONGRATULATORY. Eager to tell the world I was eating a KALE SALAD. Health-conscious, balanced, womanly! So proud of myself I nearly fell over onto my face. A little bummed that the salad wasn't tastier. A little frustrated with myself for never being able to make a salad that really works. Happy whenever I bit into a raisin. Skeptical about whether store-bought dressing can ever be truly good. Secretly hopeful that the salad would turn me into a happier, better, more balanced and spiritual person. A little bloated when I was done.


6. November 16, Friday afternoon at Whole Foods, on line at the checkout: Shrimp Tempura Whole Foods sushi

Hungry, rushed, annoyed, unsure if it was a meal or a snack, disappointed that it was not room temperature or warmer. Still reasonably stoked about the flavor of tasty fried shrimp.


7. November 13, Tuesday night at Joe's Pub, during a Henry Rollins Spoken Word Show: Cheeseburger

Distracted from the food and more absorbed with how much energy Henry Rollins has and has always had. Curious about Henry Rollins's sexuality. Optimistic about the direction our country since the election. In awe of Rollins's never-diminishing intensity and ability to stand onstage and talk with passion for two hours straight without shifting position or talking a drink of water. Eager to watch videos of him on YouTube. Disappointed the burger did't come with a side of salad or fries.


8. November 16, Friday night at a bar with friends: Guacamole

Happy. A little drunk. Relieved the avocado wasn't murky or sour. Playful! Safe. Sleepy.


9. November 18, Sunday afternoon at home: Microwave popcorn and a Dannon Coffee Yogurt

A little hungry, mostly bored and extremely snack-happy. Antsy. THRILLED that the yogurt was as good as I remember it being from when I was a kid; disappointed that it was gone so quickly. I was excited about making the popcorn, then confused and grossed out that the smell it made while popping — I used a brand I don't usually get and won't in the future — really resembled a man's balls. I mean, it smelled like nuts, and not Planters, sister. Still — not disgusted enough to not eat the popcorn; surprised at how the smell and taste of things can still be different. Slightly sad.


10. November 15, Thursday morning at home: Oat bran hot cereal with 2% milk and half a banana

Psyched for porridge. Tired and wary of the bad dreams I had the night before about relay races? Relay races! Can you imagine? CAMP IS OVER, DREAM BRAIN! Eventually full and content. Optimistic about my regularity. Ready to put on eye makeup and start the day.


Julie Klausner is the host of the podcast How Was Your Week and the author of I Don't Care About Your Band. She lives in New York City with a tuxedo cat.


Image via Brian A. Jackson/Shutterstock.