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Catch up with Ketchup

5 Aug

First of all, it’s a good idea to stay away from Catsup and always go with Ketchup.

Second, Ketchup only belongs on certain foods.  Let’s review, shall we?

  • Hot dogs
  • Burgers
  • French fries

Yeah, think that list pretty much sums it up.  There are some of you who will freak the fuck out about the fact that there are so few things on the list.  Let’s be clear here, tomato candy syrup is only right in some places.  It does not belong, nor should every appear anywhere near the following:

  • Rice
  • Eggs
  • Steak
  • Chicken
  • Cereal
  • Sandwiches
  • Mashed potatoes (what the hell is wrong with you?)

Quite possibly the most disgusting combination and biggest violation of the ketchup rule is mixing ketchup with eggs.  Is there no order in this world?  Why?  Why would you do that?  That’s like adding salsa to eggs – also very disgusting.

You’re being gross.  Stop it.

And why would you ruin a perfectly good steak with ketchup?  It’s embarrassing to go to a fancy steak restaurant and have someone order a $50+ steak and then immediately ruin their fanciness by ordering ketchup on the side.  Yuck.  And also, not fancy.  We are at a fancy restaurant, unless you’re getting a burger or fries (which why the hell are you doing that if we’re at a fancy restaurant?) we should not have ketchup at the table.

The Truth About Getting Older

28 Apr

Let’s take a moment to talk some truths on what it’s really like to get older.  Not talking here about how wrinkles suddenly begin appearing on your forehead, or your neck.  The neck wrinkles are what really throw me.  I have a girlfriend who is six years younger than I am but she’s got the neck of a 70 year-old.  How does that happen?  At 39, I’m proud to have the neck of a 32 year old.  But do dudes really notice that?  Don’t think I’ve ever heard a dude say, “She was hot, but her neck wrinkles were a total turnoff.”

But I digress.

Let’s talk about the important stuff: how fucking terrible hangovers are when you’re older.

It’s cute when I hear my young friends say shit about how they were hungover.  How they had a tinge of a headache, took an hour nap, and then felt so much better.  I remember those days – about 20 years ago.  A hangover in college was nothing – it literally felt like I was about to get a bit of a headache.  All it took was a glass of water, a 15 minute nap, and I was golden.  Fast forward two decades and it almost feels like I need to call 911, have a full blood transfusion, a new liver, and a lobotomy to feel better.  Fucking worst.

The really stupid part is that they’re so easily avoidable, I mean, how hard is it to just say no to that one last drink?  That delicious drink that is heaven in a glass?  My limit is four – I know it is – and yet there are times when I think to myself that as long as I drink another glass of water that I’ll be fine.  Then 3 hours later I’m laying in my bed having a panic attack because I know the hangover is going to get me.  A legitimate panic attack – not awesome.

For those of you who are still young, here are all the awesome things you have to look forward to:

  • Headaches: headaches that feel like your brain will explode out of your forehead causing your eyes to pop out, and then your brain to ooze out of your eye sockets.
  • Dry mouth: the Mojave dessert will reside in your mouth.  No amount of lip smacking, tongue tapping, or water will be able to quench the dryness that settles in your mouth.  You could take a match and strike it on the roof of your mouth.
  • Queasiness and vomiting: you will want to vomit the world.  Your stomach will rumble, and you probably won’t be able to hold down the water that would actually help you get rid of the hangover.  There will even come a moment in the middle of the night where you might think, “I should probably just make myself get sick and I’ll feel better.”  Then while you’re vomiting last night’s half digested pepperoni pizza you come to the realization that no, vomiting is going to make you feel better.  Only God striking you dead on the bathroom floor will make you feel better.
  • [And now the part that no one ever wants to talk about] Stomach cramps and the big D: get ready for (I’m struggling to actually write the word because I hate talking about it so much that I’m just procrastinating and trying to avoid it but I feel like I need to tell you how it really is so I’m talking myself into it and trying to avoid it all at the same time so I just am trying to figure out how to just write it and it’s making me nervous and grossed out at the same time but here we go so get ready…) explosive diarrhea.  It’s going to happen.  You, my friend, are going to get to a moment when you say to yourself, “I am rotting from the inside.”  It’s going to happen, and you might cry while it happens because it’s so incredibly disgusting, and you should cry.  Because you did that to yourself.  You did that – you made your body do that and it’s your fault.

Typical recovery time can be anywhere from 24 to 48 hours.  No joke.  And I’ll tell you what?  They morning you wake up after having fought off the hangover is like being totally reborn.  You could conquer the world you feel so fucking amazing.  And three days later when you’re at Happy Hour and you’re still apprehensive about whether or not you should have one more drink, I hope you remember when you were sobbing on the toilet because your insides were coming out your backside.

And that, young friends, is what you have to look forward to.

Proof He Wants Me

8 Mar

At least he does in my mind…

So yesterday my boss and I were off to a meeting together, the following conversation ensued.

  • Hot Boss with Dreamy Blue Eyes: I have to go stop in the bathroom.  Can you wait for me?
  • Me: Sure.  Do you want me to hold your stuff?
  • HBwDBE: Great! [Hands me his coffee and folder] I have to take a dump.  KIDDING!
  • Me: Good luck!  If you’re not out in five minutes I’ll send help.

That totally happened.  He said that to me.  I’d still totally make out with him.

There’s a first time for everything

7 Feb

I don’t remember my first steps or my first words, but I remember my first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first love.  I remember my first job, and my first heartbreak.  My first Hurricane in New Orleans – no, not Katrina, rather the DELICIOUS drink from Pat O’Brien’s.  And I clearly remember the dude who I made out with all night, and how fucking hungover I was the next day.

Speaking of which, I also clearly remember my first hangover.  I was 19 years old and my parents threw a HUGE Christmas party.  We had about 100 people in the house, and my mother had put me in charge of the margaritas.  Since I was responsible for making them, I figured I might as well help myself to a few.  So I did – to 6 of them.  At which point I figured I might as well go ahead and help myself to half of a beer and a shot of tequila.  Was that enough?  Not even close.  I drank a 1/4 of a bottle of Absolute straight out of the bottle.  This led to my first blackout.  Which led to my first hangover.

But this isn’t about that – no, it’s about a new first, one I truly never imagined would ever happen to me.

Typically weekday night, I’m on the couch shoving food down my throat while watching something terrible on my DVR.  On this evening an apple is the choice of food.  Just took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed.  15 seconds later I burped and the entire bite came back up my throat.  All my chewed and swallowed food right back into my mouth.  I disgust myself.

You’re welcome for sharing this with you.

Taste the stink

30 Jan

You know what’s horrible? I mean truly horrible? When you walk into the restroom and someone dropped a deuce so stinky that it forces you to mouth breathe. Only it’s even worse when it’s so stinky that you can taste it when you mouth breathe.

I’m traumatized!! Can’t get the taste out of my mouth!! Nor the smell from my nose. It’s like I’m drowning in the smell.

On top of it all I feel like the stink has attached to me and I smell like poo.

Two Girls One Cup – Or One Girl Two Sofa Cushions

25 Jan

Apparently I’m doing drugs at some point during the day because my dreams this week have gone into an entirely new realm of weird.  We’re talking Georgio A Tsoukalas from “Ancient Aliens” weird.

His hair is a perfect visual representation of the craziness of my dreams.  One minute I’m playing baseball in a hotel room – only there’s no baseball, we’re using a spaghetti squash.  Then the next minute I’m having a perfectly nice afternoon at my sister’s house, surrounded by my family, and I’m pooping in between her couch cushions.  Yeah, that’s right – we’re in the middle of the conversation and I just pooed in her living room.  And know what?  No one noticed.  Meanwhile, I’m left with the decision of what to do with all that remains.  I couldn’t just leave it there!!  That would be wrong, but apparently taking a dump in her couch in the middle of a conversation wasn’t?  So what did I do?  I reached behind me, scooped it up and kind of hid it in the folds of my very beautiful blue skirt.  After that we’re off for a walk in the dessert and I’m throwing my poop behind me.

Um, what?

Why can’t I have some amazing dream where there’s a naked Bradley Cooper, or where Ryan Gosling’s penis appears?  Or maybe I’m dating royalty and I have access to seeing Prince Harry’s naked ass when ever I want to?  NOOOOOO!  Instead I’m dreaming of pooping between couch cushions.

Can’t even begin to imagine what that possibly means.

(Not) Bringing Sexy Back

24 May

Justin Timberlake would be so very disappointed right now.

You know what’s super sexy?  Just a hint of cleavage.

You know what totally ruins it?  A giant pimple visible in the hint of cleavage.

Hurray!  Just in time for the holiday weekend my body has decided it would be best for a disgusting white head to appear on the top of my right boob.  What the hell is that about?

I’ve been fortunate in my life.  Yes, there were breakouts when I was a teenager.  No, I never had bacne.  Sure, I’ll admit to rogue pimple from time to time on Vangelina Jolie (which makes me cry and want to freak out and break things).  Do you have any idea how difficult it is to hide that from someone who’s all up in your junk?  That’s a story for another day.  This story is about the giant pimple, who will henceforth be known as “The Situation.”

The Situation, aptly named after the douche bag jack ass from The Jersey Shore, has decided the holiday weekend is the perfect time to make an appearance.  YES!  Totally stocked that my own body is acting as a cock blocker.

Best week ever.  Take that, Vh1!