Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Ahhhh Chew

Well, things got a little REAL at the end of the month of no chewing.  I started to get desperate and crabby and began to have dreams about lovingly chewing a BLT.  One afternoon I went to the grocery store and bought a bunch of crap I wouldn't normally eat just because it looked delicious.  Once it left the blender, it really wasn't as appetizing.

This is blender Cap'n Crunch.  Like I said, things got intense for a few days.

Yesterday I had an appointment with the oral surgeon to find out if I needed yet another surgery and another month with no chewing.  If that had happened, I would have changed the name of this blog to "Random Pictures of Me Punching People."  But good news, I can chew and I don't need to have a fifth surgery.  In three weeks, the fake tooth will finally be in!  That's right, Kate!  I won't be your embarrassingly hillbilly-esque roommate at BlogHer!  (Well, appearance-wise anyway). 

So last night I ate steak fajitas.

And I chewed them with great gusto and life was happy again.  And that's the last time I mention the word chew in this blog.  Thanks for bearing with me for 28 miserable days.  Excuse me while I go throw my blender down the garbage chute. 

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Cold Hearted

It's summer and I am currently sitting at work, wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, big fluffy socks and a throw blanket.  I do have gloves in the closet here and don't think I haven't considered putting them on my hands as I slowly ruin the economy with my reckless speculation trading (you're welcome, everyone!  Enjoy your Hooverville box).  This is typical attire for me when it's 100 degrees out and the air conditioning everywhere is set at sixty.  Sometimes I walk into grocery stores and wonder why I can't see my breath.  If I were a complainer, I'd moan about this daily, but thankfully I am perfect so I suffer in silence with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.  It's a gift.

I HATE being cold.  When I had my mouth surgery this month, I complained to my friend about pain and swelling in my cheeks.  He asked if I had put ice on it.  Ice?  On my face?  I wouldn't do that even if it swelled up so much I needed a special face sling to support the massive weight of the swelling.  (By the way, I have an appointment with the surgeon this morning and if all goes well, I can start eating normally again.  Watch out, Chicago.  None of your solid food is safe today).

So I found this column by Esther Cepeda in the Chicago Sun-Times to be laughably ridiculous.  Ms. Cepeda and I are kindred spirits in that we both wear sweatshirts in the summer and bring throw blankets to movies.  I blame my cold aversion on thin skin and the fact that I'm an extra sensitive little snowflake, but Ms. Cepeda has a different idea.  She thinks that the temperatures are set to arctic levels indoors because so many darn obese people demand it to help with their disgusting sweating and the heat that just radiates off their massive bodies.

I'm not one to get offended very often by people who rally against the fat people of the world.  Life is short and I have better things to do than get worked up about people who might hate me just based on the number on the tag on my dress.  However, I find this column offensive and not because of Ms. Cepeda's bias against the fat.  It's offensive that someone who is this crappy of a writer is being paid to write a column in one of the nation's biggest newspapers.  I mean, really.  This thing reads like my thirteen-year-old cousin wrote it at the last minute for debate class.  I have so many friends from college who majored in journalism and who can't find jobs.  They are supremely talented and do not litter columns with bizarrely flawed logic, refute their own arguments and end with the powerful rallying cry of "Skinny Grumblers unite!"  Please, Chicago Sun-Times, hire some of them and maybe we wouldn't be hearing so much about the death of the newspaper industry.

Haters of Crap Writing unite!

Friday, June 25, 2010

An Awkward Period

In fifth grade at Christ the King elementary school, we learned sex education with a curriculum called "Gifts and Promises."  I think it was a two week program and the first twelve days were spent learning about how Jesus loves us so much and the very nicest thing we could do for Him would be to wait for marriage to even smooch and how if we ignored this advice, we'd burn in Hell.  This was par for the course in Catholic school, but everyone held on to our seats because we knew from older friends and relatives that the last two days of "Gifts and Promises" included graphic details about puberty, sex and childbirth.  What ten-year-old wouldn't be excited about that?

On one of the last days, they separated the girls from the boys and told us all about how our bodies were temples of the Holy Spirit and, oh, by the way, enjoy bleeding out the vagina once a month for forty years, ladies.  This was the first I had heard of this period thing, and I was absolutely devastated.  I ran home after school and very dramatically told my mom I hated being a girl and that this whole thing was unfair and nothing I would ever sign up for.  She patted me on the head and told me that boys go through puberty too.

"Yeah, but what happens to them?  We have to have PERIODS.  What happens to boys in puberty, Mom?"  I thought of my boy cousins, five of whom lived directly across the street from me.  I tried to remember if any of them had experienced dramatic transformations like Michael Jackson in the "Thriller" video or if they had whispered about secret once-a-month penis bleeding or anything like that.  My mom was (and is) shy about talking about sex, so all she told me was, "You'll learn all about it in 'Gifts and Promises."

The next day my mom was sitting on the front porch with a couple of our neighbors.  I came around our corner coming home from school, looking like a Catholic Laura Ingalls Wilder with two braids in my hair and a perfectly ironed uniform.  I was walking slightly ahead of a big group of kids from our block, and I was very very excited.  As soon as I saw my mom, I screamed out, "MOM!!  GUESS WHAT??  BOYS HAVE WET DREAMS!!!"

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The Butterfly Effect

I was walking Cooper on Saturday afternoon when a little old lady crossing the street yelled, "Yoo hoo!  Excuse me, Miss?" She wanted to know if there was a bakery nearby.  I told her about one that specializes in cupcakes that was four or five blocks away, and that was the one she meant.  After trying to give her directions for several minutes, I asked her if she wanted me to just drive her.  She agreed.

I ran upstairs to drop off Coop and grab my car keys.  The lady got in the car and immediately asked me if I knew the owner of the bakery.  When I said that I did not, she told me that the woman had recently committed suicide.  I expressed condolences and the lady told me she knew her "from Starbucks."  She changed the subject immediately and started to ask me about my job and my neighborhood and my car, and I figured this would be a quick drop off and the lady would buy some cupcakes and I'd get on with my life. 

We arrived at the bakery and the lady, who told me she was 86 years old and that her name was Mildred, asked me to go in with her.  She walked up to the woman who was working behind the counter and said, very matter-of-factly, "Excuse me, I know one of the co-owners of this place.  Could you tell me why she killed herself?"  The woman paused, looked at me then said, "Hold on, ma'am, I'll get a manager." I wanted to sink into the floor.  Suddenly I realized this wasn't a cupcake-buying excursion at all but rather a "Harold and Maude"-esque information-gathering mission by an octogenarian looky-loo.  I pretended to be interested in the cupcakes and hoped people wouldn't think Mildred and I were together. 

The manager told the woman she didn't know why her boss had committed suicide.  Mildred told her that she had heard she jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.  The manager nodded sadly.  There wasn't much else to say so we expressed our condolences and headed back out to my car.

Mildred sat down in my passenger seat and immediately burst into tears.  I had no idea what to do.  "Mildred, I'm really sorry, but I think if she was in that much pain that she decided to do that, you have to concentrate on the fact that she isn't suffering anymore," I said, grasping at straws.

It turns out that Mildred lived all by herself, having lost her husband and daughter years before.  Margot, the owner of the bakery, had struck up a friendship with her at Starbucks.  When Mildred was in the hospital, Margot visited and brought her cupcakes.  She had just seen her a few days before her death and Margot told her she was going to California.  Mildred told me she had to stop thinking about it but she just couldn't.  She replayed what Margot had said in their last conversation and couldn't figure out how someone that seemed happy and care-free would jump from a bridge a few days later.

It got me thinking about suicide.  I would imagine that someone at the end of her rope starts to doubt that there are people out there who care about her.  She starts thinking that no one would miss her if she died and that the world would be a better place without her.  I am sure that when this poor woman went over the railing of the bridge, she felt alone in the world.  That has to be a terrible feeling.

But really we don't know what impact we have had in the lives of people around us.  Here this little old lady  boarded a bus on an afternoon when the temperature outside reached ninety degrees and came to an unfamiliar neighborhood just to find out answers about the death of her friend.  Mildred was just devastated about this loss; I can't even imagine the pain that the closer friends and relatives of the bakery owner must be experiencing.

No man is an island, and no woman is either.  We all have lives that stretch further than we can even imagine, and when we're gone, people will mourn and remember us, even people that we would never expect would care.  We're never alone, even when we think we're at our most friendless.  To me, that's something to grasp onto if I feel like I'm at the end of my rope.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Non-Chomping Chump

One more week until the Great Non-Solid Food Month of 2010 is finally over.  I have decided to spare you from pictures because not everyone is as fascinated by gross stuff as me, but here are a few examples of things I have put in the blender and consumed in the last three weeks.
  • Steak, potatoes and corn at a Father's Day BBQ. Topped off with a bowl of whipped cream.
  • Chicken Fried Rice
  • Potstickers (note:  not a good idea.  May never be able to eat these again)
  • Gnocchi and tomato sauce
  • Macaroni and cheese
Everything came out basically looking grey and unappetizing.  The good news is that eating real food instead of just pudding and chicken soup has made me a lot less hungry and therefore less homicidally cranky, but still.  I am looking forward to real food.  I have been fantasizing about fajitas and chips and salads for three weeks now.  I'm ready to move on with my life and chuck the immersion blender out the window.

Weight wise, I'm down about eight lbs, but again, I wouldn't recommend this diet plan to anyone unless you like feeling like you would kill someone for a bag of popcorn.  

Father of the Pride

This is how my family spent Father's Day yesterday.

Yes, we watched the US Open with my dad and pretended we all cared about the result of a televised game of golf.  It was the least we could do for our patriarch, the man who cut off his toes with a lawnmower and who once blew up our front lawn with dynamite in an attempt to get rid of a beehive.  Oh, and there were gifts.  Boy howdy were there gifts.

My sister Annie presented a wrapped present to my dad, saying that it might be the last Father's Day gift he would ever get from her.  Inside was a DNA Paternity Kit, a la Maury Povich.  Wishful thinking, Annie.  You have his stubby little hands and love of boring books about wars and stuff.  I'm afraid you're stuck with him.

I also discovered this 80's era picture of my dad.  The hair is just incredible.  He looks like he should be doing ads for the Men's Wearhouse.

So Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there, as well as the father figures and the single moms and the Fathers of Rock and Roll and creepy older dudes who call themselves Sugar Daddy.  I hope your daughters are a lot nicer to you than we are to my dad.  His self-esteem has deflated in volume more than his hair in the last twenty years.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

My Frienemy, Summer

I have written before about how much I hate winter and cold weather and snow.  Chicago is not a happy place four or five months out of the year, and every time autumn rolls around I start questioning my sanity in living here.  However, summer in Chicago is just about perfect.  It's gorgeous outside, there is lots to do and I don't have to trudge through six inches of dirty snow in order to walk my dog three or four times a day.  I wake up in the summer feeling happy and ready to go, a stark contrast from winter where I wake up and immediately check my countdown to spring.  Summer truly is my favorite time of year.  Well, for the most part.

My problem with summer is that although I love it with all my heart, it is my natural enemy.

For one thing, I have Vitiligo.  A few years ago, some of my preschool students pointed out that my eyelashes were turning white.  I chalked it up to some weird spoke in the aging process and ignored it.  Then I noticed splotchy white marks on my stomach and arms and immediately consulted my personal physician, Dr. Google.  I diagnosed myself and called my mom.

ME:  "Mom, I think I have that Michael Jackson disease."
MOM:  (Long pause) "... You're a pedophile?"

No, no I am not.  I went into the doctor and was diagnosed with Vitiligo.  Let me tell you, if you have to have an autoimmune disorder, Vitiligo is the one to get.  There are no symptoms other than white splotches and white eyelashes, plus it's kind of cool to watch it slowly spread across your body.  It's kind of like having a tattoo you can't control.  I know, I'm weird.  I also like to put Chicken Fried Rice in the blender and blog about it, what can I tell you?

Anyway, in the summer, I have to be really careful in the sun because my spots have no pigment and burn easily.  This has lead to my mom buying me honest to goodness safari clothing for me to wear in the urban jungle of Chicago.  She also suggested a sun umbrella.  I am not dainty or cute enough to pull that off, so I turn to my old friend, sunscreen.

Aside from my sun issues, I also am deathly allergic to bees.  Those little buggers can kill me in one sting, which lead to  interesting childhood memories of being rushed to the ER by my friend's mother, who was not wearing any shoes.  I think if I am ever a parent, I will bar my children from befriending kids with life-threatening issues.  It's just too much to worry about.  Anyway, I carry this little number around with me constantly as soon as the temperatures around here hit fifty or so:

Once, in college, I was flying a kite on the quad (because I am a grown up) and I had the shot in my pocket.  I sat down and accidentally injected myself in the hip with epinephrine.  I went to the ER and had a heartbeat of over 220 beats a minute.  Since then, I carry a purse and am a little more careful with a fully loaded syringe filled with adrenaline.  It only took one ER visit, which I'd say is an improvement on collateral damage from my normal embrace of life's lessons.  

So anyway, I love summer but it hates me.  I am willing to forgive it, though, in exchange for long sunny days, outdoor concerts, the smell of grass, sitting on the beach (in an iron lung, don't flip out, Mom) and sleeping with the windows open.  It may be an abusive relationship, but I wouldn't trade it for anything, and every year I mourn it with great gusto when it leaves me.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Letters from the Homefront

My college years were not an easy time for me.  I have never dealt with change very well and that combined with homesickness and some depression issues made the experience not exactly worthy of a "Saved By the Bell" type spin-off series.  Every once in a while I revisit those years by reading the letters I got from my family while I was two hours away in the grand ole state of Indiana.  These are a couple of my absolute favorites.


My goddaughter and her twin brother were just starting preschool when I left for college. Now they just graduated from high school.  Holy heck I am old.  Also, I am sad to report that their penmanship never did get any better. Public schools fail another pair of sad sacks.


Looking at that one, you'd never guess that my sister Kerry would one day be an art major. She could write for Hallmark, though, with clever lines like "How is college treating you? SNOW is fine for me!" GENIUS!


I'm thankful that Jamie used her personalized stationary on this one. I would have definitely thought this really did come from some random dog.


Johnny's always been a man of few words. Also all that writing tuckered him out and he couldn't actually finish writing his name. That Y is always a time-killer.

Finally, here are some quotes from letters from my baby sister Kerry. She was in fifth grade when I left for school. These are too good not to share.

  • I wish I had a horse to ride up anytime I want to you college.
  • I was thinking that I send a ribbon and I sign it and I send it to you. You sign it and when we can keep doing that.
  • I didn't mean that I hated you. I just got frustrated. I should have held my tongue and counted to 3 but I didn't. That's the past. The future matters. And in the future and present I will try my hardest to be Christian.
Kerry, I hope you're still working on that last issue!

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Adventures in Baby Food

First of all, the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup last night! What a year for Chicago. We have the winners of the Stanley Cup, "American Idol" and "The Biggest Loser" all hailing from our fair city, and it's been over a year since any of our governors have been arrested and impeached. That's huge for us.

Also, I know I promised not to do too many posts on blending food,  but I just finished eating a blended Chipotle Carnitas Burrito Bowl.  It was delightfully gross looking and had the consistency of pre-made salmon salad. Yummmm.

Yes, sour cream and all.  Eat your heart out all you food bloggers whose pictures I drool over.  Anyway, it was delicious.  I think I am getting over my aversion to the texture of baby food.  I have been surviving mostly on milkshakes and chili, so this felt like Thanksgiving to me this afternoon.  Incidentally, I've lost 6 lbs in the ten days since my surgery, but I certainly would never recommend this as a weight loss plan.  It's kind of sort of miserable, although the Vicodin really isn't the worse thing in the world.

Oh, and I have to add this picture from my friend Sarah.  I'm crossing my fingers so hard that it actually hurts.  Go Bears!

Wednesday, June 9, 2010


I do not understand people who aren't sports fans.  I think it's human nature to celebrate when a fellow person works hard to become the best and actually achieves their goals.  This holds true in every career and aspect of society, but most of these paths, unfortunately, do not award trophies for a job well done.  I'm thinking of changing that in my industry, though.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Anyway, for me it's easy to get swept up in the drama of the playoffs for any sport.  I can tune into ESPN #73, watch four minutes of professional monkey wrestling and emerge with a clear favorite and cry when the other monkey loses.  I especially love Chicago sports teams and enjoy the rising excitement that is practically visible in the air when a championship becomes a possibility.  Whether it's the Bears, the White Sox, the Bulls or the Blackhawks, any kind of championship series takes top billing in my life when it involves a hometown team.  (Where are the Chicago Cubs in my list?  I'm a native south sider and therefore can't root for the Cubs without fear of being disowned by my family.  Sorry, Cubs fans).  

The Blackhawks are in the Stanley Cup Finals right now.  This has been especially exciting because I admit before two or three years ago, I really had no idea the Blackhawks existed.  Yes, I'm a total bandwagon fan, although due to the old owner of the team, it was difficult to follow them on television before 2007 so I somewhat have an excuse.  I've watched every game of the playoffs and I'm amazed at the toughness of these players.  Duncan Keith lost seven teeth in a game.  Can you even IMAGINE that???  Oh, and he went back in and finished the game.  After losing seven teeth.  Give that man some sort of medal right now.  He wins.

My beloved sister Kerry is not a sports fan.  She has taken to Facebook to protest the many Blackhawks-themed status updates on her feed.  She doesn't understand why sports take a priority in a world where children are getting shot, people are suffering from diseases and random women are getting attacked on the way home from bars at night.  Kerry would rather use her Facebook to talk about Snoop Dog and the fact that Ellen and Kate Gosselin have the same voice- you know, the important issues in life. (Kidding, Ker!  Put down that chainsaw!)

There's a place for working for social justice and a place for volunteering to help our society and a place for expressing outrage about BP.  However, there's a lot to be said for mindless joy and watching a group of men try to achieve a goal they've been dreaming about since they were kids.  I like to close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to be able to move effortlessly across the ice and knock the holy crap out of someone else, all in the race for a win.  I'll always be a sports fan, and I'm thrilled to be a bandwagon Blackhawks fan.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Loser Patrol

Look who I saw last weekend!  That's right, Bob Harper from "The Biggest Loser."  I do not hide my great love for Bob.  I even asked my mom if we have long-lost Harper relatives in the Tennessee area because my dream come true would be finding out Bob Harper is a secret cousin of mine.  (For the record, he's not.  Sorry to disappoint you, Bob).  

Bob was speaking at the Chicago Healthy Living Challenge at Navy Pier on Sunday.  He also brought along a friend, recent "Biggest Loser" winner Michael Ventrella.

This is Michael before he went on the show and lost 264 lbs:

So that was pretty inspiring to see, as was Michael's beautiful mother Maria, who also looked incredible.

So it was neat to see all three, but the Healthy Living Challenge itself was a bit of a bust.  There were a whole lot of companies advertising a whole lot of garbage, most of which didn't really mesh with my personal vision of healthy living.  Sea weed wraps, quick-fix surgical procedures, and magic vitamin weight-loss supplements do not, in my mind, a healthy life make.  The whole thing felt like one big infomercial, and that was disappointing.

My vision could have been clouded by the fact that I was still not feeling well.  My friend went up to a booth to talk to a woman about races in Chicago.  The woman seriously looked me up and down and said, "Now when are YOU going to get active?"  Normally I would have laughed this off or made some funny remark, but I was in pain and hungry and not having it that morning.  "I'm active. Not everyone is a runner."  The woman felt bad and started stammering and all in all it was uncomfortable.  I didn't handle it in the most graceful way, but then again neither did she, so I don't feel 100% awful about it. 

By the way, this entry could have been SO MUCH MORE EXCITING if I didn't skip out on a lunch date last Friday.  My cousin invited me to come meet Alex from "Real Housewives of New York" but I had to cancel because I felt like crap.  For the record, my cousin says she was ridiculously nice and Kelly Bensimon did not lurk in the bushes with a sniper rifle, so I am sorry I missed that.

Sunday, June 6, 2010


Observe the Cooking Light La Bamba Casserole.  It's been in the freezer for three months but comes out of the oven looking delicious.  Well, a little like vomit, but still, pretty darn good.  

It was too solid-foody for me to eat.  However, after five days I have already tired of ice cream (gasp!  This is shocking!), so desperate measures are needed.  I shoved casserole into the blender and pureed away.  

Somehow, making the food look appealing does not seem as important when you're creating nursing home- style gruel.  Anyway, it was delicious and a welcome relief from the milk-based diet of milkshakes, pudding and Carnation Instant Breakfast (thanks, Jess!) that I've been enjoying for the last week.

PS:  I promise I won't do many of these photo journeys this month.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Blah Blah Blogs

I'd love for you guys to share some of the blogs that you read daily and love.  As I get ready for another exciting day on the couch, it'd be nice to find some new favorites.

And Then I Was a Mom- written by my friend and soon-to-be BlogHer buddy Kate. Yes, she's a brave soul.
Amalah- I've been reading this one for years and I feel like I know Amy, which is going to be creepy if we ever meet in person.
Poor Lucky Me- written by my friend Heather, who is an incredible writer.
Stacy Grows Healthy- my friend is getting fit by going organic, growing her own produce and working out.  Very inspiring for me.
Exactly Paradise- my high school friend now lives in Hawaii.  I am jealous.
Everyday Revelry- my old Weight Watchers buddy Lauren, who is becoming a yoga teacher.  Another inspiring one.
Is This All There Is?- Kim is dealing with her mother's dementia and she's also hilarious.  Nice combo.
Never Trust a Big Butt and a Smile- yet another Kim who's getting fit and planning her wedding.  She's lucky enough to live in Chicago too.
Organic Motherhood with Cool Whip: another hilarious blog from a very funny mom.  Plus she has nice veins ;)
No Need for Things:  My friend Davin has a neat brain.
It's a Beautiful Life: Becca is a former lawyer who now stays home with her adorable little guy Jacob Henry.  He makes my ovaries hurt a little.

So typically I either read well-written and funny blogs or total train wreck blogs that make me feel good about my life.  The ones above are the good ones.  I'm not "Mean Girls" enough to link to the bad ones, but I certainly wouldn't complain if any of you did.

In other news, I drank a smoothie this morning made out of berries and spinach.  It was delicious!  I still would probably kill my dog for a cheeseburger at this point though.  I'm sure 25 days will just fly by though, right?  RIGHT???  Heavy sigh.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

A Billion Skinny People in China Can't Be Wrong

During my freshman year of college, I decided I needed to lose some weight.  My roommate Anne jumped on the bandwagon to support me.

Anne was my very first friend.  We moved in across the street from her family when I was five years old and bonded instantly, running naked through the sprinkler on the first afternoon we met.  This is a requirement I have for all my friends.

We roomed together in college and for the first semester, we spent hours wondering why we were having so much trouble making friends.  Well, let's see.  We had pictures of monster trucks all over our dorm room because we thought they were funny, we grew mold in an old pretzel container as a science experiment and we rarely went to class, preferring instead to sit around in our pajamas all day watching "Hangin' With Mr. Cooper" reruns.  Oh, and once we put a hat on my head, sprayed it with hairspray and went down the hall and knocked on someone's door.  Right before they answered it, Anne very quickly lit the hat on fire.  The poor girl answered her door to find someone standing outside with her head ablaze.  We honestly should have written a book about making friends in college.

So how did I decide to lose weight?  Diet and exercise?  Maybe stop drinking Coke and eating a pound of Reese's Pieces every evening?  No no.  Way too complicated.  We started eating exclusively with chopsticks.  The science behind this diet plan was that the cumbersome task of using chopsticks as utensils would slow the pace of me shoveling food into my mouth, therefore reducing the number of calories I would eat.  Genius, right?  I thought so, and imagined myself going on Oprah, svelte and fit, rich enough to eat exclusively with diamond-covered chopsticks.  A lady can dream, can't she?

It worked, for about a day.  Then we got really great at eating with chopsticks. We were eating pizza with chopsticks, M&Ms with chopsticks, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with chopsticks... you name it and I learned how to pick it up with chopsticks.  My butt did not get any smaller, but my fingers became well-exercised and slim.  If I wanted to be a hand model back in the day, that career door was wide open for me.

Now, fourteen years later (holy crap, how is THAT possible??  I just ruined my own day by figuring that out.  I am old) I can eat Chinese food like a champ.  It is always impressive on a date when I show him how I can pick up a single grain of rice with chopsticks.  That's a great conversation starter.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Sinking Subway

So this woman, who is a size 4 or so, will suffer from regret, remorse, loss of self-esteem and lose her boyfriend if she eats a value meal at a fast food place?  That's a healthy message to send to the people of the world.

I realize that it's a joke but honestly, when we live in a world where half of the six-year-old girls in Britain want to be thinner, I don't know how a company can put this out into the world and feel good about itself.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Oh Hey Vicodin

Of course that jerk Lindsay Lohan had to steal my thunder by having mouth related surgery the same day as me.  STOP TRYING TO STEAL MY LIFE, LOHAN!

Everything went well, so well that I might not have to have the final surgery in August after all.  Please keep your fingers crossed for me.  That works every time. 

I am holed up on the couch with chocolate pudding and whipped cream and I am watching "Harold and Maude," so life could definitely be worse.

Tuesday Tidbits

The other day, my sisters and I got locked out of our parents' house between a wedding and a reception.  None of us have keys to the front door and someone had locked the garage entrance.  Quick as a wink, I pulled out a credit card and picked the lock.  Seriously, it took about ten seconds.  My sisters have a new-found respect for me and I am grateful to all of the Nancy Drew books I read as a child.  If the stock gig fails, I now know I can always be a cat burglar.

Lyme Disease Awareness Month is now over but I'm happy to have walked 64 miles and will be making a donation to the Lyme Disease Foundation.  I would have liked to have done more, but just over two miles a day isn't awful.  I'm happy to have stuck with it.  Lyme Disease is a terrible illness and I hope to see it eradicated in the next couple of years.

I am having my stupid mouth surgery in two hours.  It's another bone graft in my face to replace bone that had to be removed due to an infection.  Hopefully at some point in the near future, I will no longer be missing a tooth.  Sigh.  It's not too bad now because Blackhawks fever is sweeping Chicago and I look like I fought the good fight against a flying puck.  Look for the positive, right?

Anyway, I just ate a Chipotle burrito, my last solid food for four weeks.  I went away for the weekend and referred to it as The Official Memorial Day Celebration of Chewing 2010.  It was glorious and not at all drama queeny.

Now the fun begins.  I took a lot of your suggestions and I feel like I'm ready.

I also bought a blender to make smoothies out of soy milk, fruit and protein powder.  I think I'll be okay, but if posting is sparse over here, know that it's because I don't feel comfortable writing post after post after post about being hungry and cranky.  I'm doing it for you, people.  I'm doing it for you.

Oh, and as far as entertainment goes, I'm definitely okay in that department:

Thanks, Target and Ted Turner!