Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Dieting: Day Three Of Hell

Diet Log, Day Three.  I woke up angry.  Irritable.

I've spent the day equaling cursing my doctor and my love of food.  Oh why can't I learn to not swallow the food after chewing?

There's a faint whispering coming from the pantry.  I think there is a pack of Milanos I missed.  Damn you, Pepperidge Farm!

The Lean Cuisine was all box.  Such a tease.  I think the container is made of lead to falsely lure me down the road of choosing meals by weight.  

I contemplated eating the package again.  Surely there can't be that many calories and it's probably tastier than what was inside.  I ate the faux-Chinese dish with toothpicks because the chopsticks wouldn't fit inside the tiny Barbie-sized compartments.

The cat's had tuna for lunch.  I've never wanted tuna more in my life.  I don't even like tuna, really.  Damn you, cats!

The linoleum in the laundry room reminds me of cheese.   Mmmm, cheese.

Spent an hour searching for the food scale.  Measured the chicken for dinner.  Measured again.  Beat the scale on the counter and measured again.  Damn you, scale!

The dog was licking something off the floor.  I contemplated wrestling him out of the way for whatever it was, but thought better of it.  I've seen him in the litter box a time or two.

My oldest came home from school and baked a frozen pizza.  I stared at the other half on the counter without blinking for an eternity.  I hate frozen pizzas, but it smelled like Heaven on a cardboard crust.  Damn you, Red Baron!

I feel weak, people keep posting photos of delicious dishes on Facebook.  Taunting me from afar.  I licked my monitor, ever so slowly, in an attempt to trick my brain into believing I was having some of that caramel gooey pineapple upside-down cake.  It didn't work and I had to brush my teeth.  Damn you, Facebook!

I must avoid Pinterest for a while.

Day three, only 362 more to reach my goal.  The voices have started needling me.  They told me to give up, but I refuse.  We argued for an hour.  I won.

For now.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Are You Kidding Me?!?

Let me start with this rant will not be G, PG, or PG-13 rated.

What the Holy Fuck is wrong with people?  What has me up in arms this time?  I found this today:

Yep.  That's right.  A window in your lower lip.  A porthole to your teeth.  A skylight to your gingivitis.  A Pyrex plug in your face...

Did your mother not hug you enough?  Were you not given enough attention in this age of bury-your-head-in-your-smart-phone?  Have you simply lost you fucking mind?  What kind of attention whore does something like this?  Let me tell you two things:  First, that is outright disgusting.  Second, do you have any idea how many restaurants will ban you?

Some people are claiming this is photoshopped.  Nope, it's real.  Yes if your lower lip is pushed upward to insert a clear salad plate, your teeth will indeed look distorted and lower.

Was the tattoo parlor closed?  Did you mom refuse to sign the waiver to fork your tongue?  Did green snot through your nose piercing when you had the flu not gross enough people out?

I simply cannot fathom what goes through your head when you decide to do this or what the purpose is.  What the fuck happened to you as a child that makes you say, "Hmmm, I'm tired of opening my lips to see if something's I need to brush.  It's so much work....  I know!  I'll make it easier for myself!!"

I hope I'm not the first to say this:  You're a fucking moron.  Your parents must be so proud.  Or is your mom looking for the lid to her wrinkle cream?

And what the Hell is this guy doing?  Is that an empty toilet paper roll in his nose?  

He's in a bubble bath.  I have to re-process that.          He's.  In.  A.  Bubble.  Bath.

Are you fucking kidding me?  Seriously?  Is this your profile pic on  I just found the definition of "fucktard".  I don't have anything against piercings.  My ears are done twice.  For those that need more, whatever, go for it.  The idea of piercing my tongue makes my fillings spark.  I even thought of doing my belly button once, but then, I never show my waist so what's the point?

I don't have anything against tatoos, I have one.  It's small and it's hidden, but sure, I find them sexy like most people...that is, if they're spelled correctly.

I don't even have a problem with freaks.  I've paid to see them at the fair.

But these fucking idiots need to be rounded up and put inside a very high-walled park where they can be properly gawked at by those who want to look at this sort of shit.  If this is what the world is becoming, someone please shoot me now.

Hey....   You have something in your teeth.

Friday, March 14, 2014

Don't Be A Joghole

I'm just sitting here today, enjoying the delights of Spring.

Tulips are pushing up through the mulch, spring colors are emerging.  A bluebird alights on the feeder.  (Welcome back old friend.)  Buntings are chasing each other in a battle over mailboxes for nests.  The sun is warming my feet in a slash of distorted light through the window.  The sky seems bluer as warmer weather finally approaches.

My coffee is tall and iced, not hot.  My legs are shaved, not covered in sweats.  Then suddenly, my serene moment is ruined as I watch a jogger run by.

Several seconds pass.  There is no pack of wild rabid dogs in pursuit.  There is no trail of blood.  Maury is still on so it's not a zombie apocalypse.  That can only mean one thing...

Jogging for the fun of it.

Look you health nut, buy a treadmill!  You're ruining the comfort of my Snuggie.  Now my chips taste bad and I don't care if it is nine in the morning.  It's people like you that are making my life Hell.

I don't want a bran muffin from Dunkin Donuts and God help the kid behind the counter if my sugary snack touches such an abomination!

I don't want my choice of grains, fruits, and nutty oils at the grocery.  What happened to my Captain Crunch?  It's on a bottom shelf because the eye-level boxes are covered in antioxidants, vitamins, and healthy ingredient claims.  Soy milk and soy ice cream.  WTF?

BAH!  Go away!  

They have specialty stores for peope like you.  They only sell healthy stuff, the patrons mock people not wearing neon skin when they enter, customers ride bikes there, they use recycled paper bags for losers like me that don't bring my own reusable ones.  Stop infiltrating my sanctuaries!

Google jogger images.  They're all smiling.

Don't you believe it!  It's a lie!  It's a conspiracy to get me to put down my spray cheese.

Nobody is smiling as they pass my house.  They are all red-faced and sweating, wheezing like they smoke and we all know they don't smoke or they wouldn't be jogging!  Stop ruining my day with your ridiculous desire to be fit.  Go to the park or the gym, that's why they exist, so people like you won't be mocked by people like me.

You aren't going to influence me.  I'm not going to dust off my hightop Reeboks.  I will not climb in the attic and look for my silver astronaut jumper.  I certainly will not remove my ankle weights from the bottoms of my saplings, protecting them from the weed whacker.  There will be no resurrection of the head band and leg warmers.  Much less a second skin of neon reflective gear!

Leave me to enjoy my chocolate mornings in peace and stop being such a joghole!

My Zimbio
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