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‘Merica

30 Apr

This. This right here is why we’re all fat in America and why the world hates us. 


What the double fuck? And why do we need this? And who is going to want to eat this? Other than stoners, drunk college students, people who lose bets, and a handful of people obsessed with Funyons. 

Seriously. Who thought that up? Listen, I like processed food too, but there’s got to be a limit at some point. We can’t be turning EVERYTHING into a taco shell and filling it with crap. And when you decide to alter the taco, there are rules. First and foremost let’s talk about taco shells. Real Mexicans don’t eat taco shells. We, the inventors of the taco, know the real way to eat tacos involves a corn or flour tortilla (one that is NEVER heated in a microwave)

I mean really, let’s deconstruct this. You are shoving a hamburger patty into a funyon taco shell and smothering it ketchup. No. No, you can’t do that. That is a crime against tacos. It is against all things that are good and holy to put ketchup in a taco. You might as well put ketchup on cereal.  No. YOU CAN’T DO THAT!!

I’m ashamed to be American right now. 

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Don’t squeeze me in the middle

21 Aug

The terms “diet” and “vacation” do not go together.  People who travel rarely worry about dieting.  Rather it’s more of a “fuck it.  I’m on vacation, I can eat an entire pie if I want to,” mentality.  You know it’s true.  When was the last time you were away and you turned down the extra drink or said no to dessert?  Of all of the places I’ve ever traveled, Australia is the place that has the most delicious food.  Living there for six months gave me the time to eat like the world was coming to an end, so it’s no wonder that I gained 20 pounds.  None of the clothes that I took with me fit when I brought them home, I even had to buy legitimate fat pants – from a fat pants store.  Not a proud moment.

You know what seriously sucks about getting fatter?  Seeing the number/letter on the tag in your clothes go up a size or two.  Just knowing that I have to buy an XL instead of an L, or a 14 instead of a 12 (and that’s still a tight squeeze) makes me want to cry.  My initial reaction was just to cry into a glass of wine and help myself to another cupcake – not helpful.  New strategy in place: back to weight watchers, and back to investing in Spanx and other shapers.  On the bright side it’s not like anyone is going to catch me wearing them because it’s been about a half a century since anyone has seen me naked.

For those of you who don’t know what a slimmer is, it’s basically an item of clothing that sucks all of your fat in.  There are all kinds you can buy, and the one I chose was kind of like a tank top, a super tight tank top.  The beauty of using something like a slimmer is that it evens out all those lumps and bumps and you’re able to fit into clothes without looking like a giant sausage.  But it’s important to make a smart choice with the slimmer you buy, because if it doesn’t fit right it will do nothing nice for your fat rolls.  Instead it will squeeze you in all of the wrong places and make your fat pop out in even more unsexy ways than if you weren’t wearing it at all.

Two nights ago I went shopping and was psyched to find a Tory Burch dress I could pretty much squeeze into.  Yes it accentuated my lumps and bumps, but with a shaper/slimmer that sucker looked gooooood!  Found a slimmer tried the dress back on, and bought both.   Yesterday morning I put on my new slimmer, wrapped myself in my hot new dress, and rolled out the door knowing that if I ran into any of my secret boyfriends they’d notice my total hotness.

One tiny little problem…about 10 minutes after sitting down the bottom of the slimmer would begin to roll up towards my middle thereby making my stomach squeeze out of them bottom and making it look like I had been cut and half.  Not a cute look.  Know what I found this out?  Half way to work.  Did I go back and change?  Nope.  Instead I thought, “if I just pull the bottom down lower, it won’t roll back up.”

Did that work?

It sure as shit did not.

As long as I just stood and did not move, the outfit worked.  The second I started walking, sat down, took a deep breath, or blinked the fucking thing would roll up and shameful things happened to my body.  Each time I’d have to find a way to get to the bathroom and pray to god that I wouldn’t see anyone I knew on my way.  No joke, I went to the bathroom 10 times yesterday.  10 freaking times.

So you know what I did?  I went to my friends’ house for dinner and confessed my dirty little secret with the slimmer and how horrible the whole entire day had been.  And I told them this while I was eating three scoops of ice cream.

Perhaps I need a different strategy to hide and lose my fat rolls…

Meeting? What meeting?

19 Aug

You know who should be punched in the mouth?  People who schedule 5:00 PM meetings on a Tuesday afternoon.  People who make you drive to an entirely different location so you can meet them, and then cancel the meeting 10 minutes after you have arrived only they’ve neglected to tell you or the three other people who have shown up to the meeting.  In fact, they decide to only tell one person that instead they’ll push it back to September.

Such people should be punched in their mouths.

Fuck you, I say.  Fuck you in your stupid face.

On the bright side, this was the first meeting in my new capacity and I had zero fucking clue what I was doing.  Met a few new dudes, one of them who has been immediately added to the secret boyfriend list, the other who is very funny and is now telling people I’ve served a small prison sentence.  Good times, good times.

But still, fuck that other person in her stupid face.

I P Freely

6 Aug

What has happened to this society?  It’s no wonder the rest of the world hates America.  Perhaps if we spent more time looking for solutions to problems like world hunger, Cancer, childhood mortality, and global warming than inventing stuff like this we’d live in a better world.

I mean, really?  REALLY?  I don’t know if it’s worse that someone invented something like this, marketed the product, or that someone bought it.

Is it that hard to look for a bathroom and pee?  Or perhaps you could just pee by a tree?  Or maybe, just maybe, you can squat to pee like generations of women before us have done.  Call me crazy, but carrying around something that allows me to pee into it or through it doesn’t really fill me with glee and joy.  How are you going to clean that up?  And you know that you’re going to have to.

On a side note: the production value of the P Mate commercial is exceptionally shitty.  Pretty sure Alanis Morisette and Cyndi Lauper did not give rights to their music so someone could write “P Mate” in urine in the snow.

What the hell kind of spam is that??

23 Jan

I get the Rolex watches, and the phishing for money, and the Viagra, and even some of the other drugs.  But what the hell kind of spam message is this??

You can buy the mixes and the muffins on line at their website. I buy them by the case because I make them a lot.

Really?  Does someone fall for this?  Is there really a market for buying muffin mix and muffins on line?

It’s moments like this – and the ones where I’m watching “Toddlers and Tiaras” – when I question what the hell is happening to humanity.

The Devil Lives on Earth

8 Jan

It’s been awhile since I mentioned what a fucking asshole my uncle is.  He’s like Pol Pot without all the killing – and without the amazing pant suit.  There is no one who can enrage me quite like him.  He’s so awful, in fact, that my niece and nephew can’t stand him.  When Lucy(fer) was still 4 and he had been visiting, she made my sister call my mom so my mom could tell him to leave her alone because she hated him.

Yes he cheated on all of his wives.  And yes he was an ass to his children.  And yes he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.  And the most amazing writer ever.  And the smartest man on earth.  And the center of the universe.  And yes he told a dying woman that he never loved her and their marriage had meant nothing to him.  And he told one of his grandchildren that he hated him.  Oh, and there was also the time that he told my sister, who was a grad student at the time, that graduate school didn’t matter unless it was at Harvard.  And did I mention how the only reason his son went to business school at Harvard because my sister wrote all his admissions essays?  Yeah, it happened.

Low and behold this miserable man is now aging and his kids want to wash their hands of him.  He has Parkinsons and refuses to take his medication so ends up having seizures, which make him lose his balance, which make him fall, which make him end up with a concussion, which make him end up in the hospital.  His daughters, who are bitches in their own right, want to put him in a nursing home because they don’t want to bother with him.  One of them lives a block away from him and sees him less than once a week.  The other one is too busy with her eating disorder, failed relationships, and pretending to run a business than to do anything other than call once a week.  There’s a maid who ends up babysitting and playing nurse – mainly because he fired the most recent nurse because she told him to take his medicine.  Oh, and he also fired the chauffeur suggested he not walk the dog anymore because he wasn’t strong enough.

Mind you, he doesn’t pay for any of this.  One of my cousins and my mom sends him money because his last wife left him high and dry.  And does he save this money to plan for the future?  No he does not.  He spends it on inviting friends out to dinner and buying new suits.  What does a 77 year old man need with new suits when he’s staying home to watch TV?  It’s a mystery…

His behavior is getting worse, and he’s starting to lose his balance more and more.  His daughters have suggested a nursing home (frankly, I think they should drop him off in the dessert with a canteen of water and see what happens).  They set him up in a home and they can go back to their busy lives of manicures, flamenco dancing, and plastic surgery.

Meanwhile, my poor mom is a mess.  She feels totally helpless and obligated and has decided maybe the best option is to have him move in with her.  She trades in her feelings of guilt for a very high price.  Her life as she knows it is over.  He’d take over her house and all of her free time.  Because no one else will take care of him.  She gives up everything to save him from a him.  Who are we kidding here?  My mom is in her late 60’s.  How many more years does she have left?  I’m not saying she’s at death’s door, but I hate thinking about him hanging on and ruining her golden years.  She deserves so much more than that – and he doesn’t deserve her at all.  He deserves exactly what he’s getting.

You reap what you sow.

I hate him for not taking his meds.  I hate his kids for being such fucks ups and for manipulating my mom into taking responsibility for him.  And I hate this whole situation.

A question for all humanity

5 Jan

Riddle me this, Batman and Robin: why would anyone want to read a blog about running?

I don’t get it.  Having to run is bad enough.  But who the hell wants to read about it too??  That’s about as awful as watching fishing or bowling on TV.