I had a date night with my sister recently and towards the end of the evening I got hit on. She went to the bathroom and a man who looked about 70 years old (I'll admit he couldn't have been 70, but he looked a lot older than my dad, who is 64) took her seat.
Me: (Practically throwing myself on her chair before he can) Oh, sorry, this seat is taken.
Old Man: (As he sits in the chair) It's okay, don't panic.
Me: (With a slightly annoyed smile) My sister is sitting there, see - this is her stuff, she's just in the bathroom.
Old Man: (Not deterred) I know, I saw her go to the bathroom. That's why I came over here to talk to you. I had to tell you, I think you're beautiful.
Me: I think you look like my grandpa!
Old Man: (laughing) I probably do!
Me: And you smell like him, too! What is it about old dudes that they all smell the same?
Old Man: Well, if you can smell it, that's a good thing!
Me: (What the fuck does that mean?) Uh, ha ha ha.
Old Man: Don't worry, I'm harmless.
Me: (laughing) Oh, I'm pretty sure I could take you down like that (snap my fingers)!
Old Man: (returned laughter) My 83 year old mother could take me down like that!
Me: (courtesy laughter while hoping we're finally done) Oh, there's my sister! Nice meeting you.
He could've walked by, tapped me on the shoulder, said, "Hey, you're beautiful" and then went on his way like sweet old men do, but he actually waited for my sister to leave and then sat down and made himself comfortable! A behavior more suited to creepy old men. He had balls, though. Gotta give him that.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Grandmas say the darndest things
So, my grandma has officially lost her marbles. She has left the building. Literally, in fact, because she now requires 24 hour care. She poops almost uncontrollably, talks to people who aren't there (and some who don't actually exist) and has been diagnosed with the big D - Dementia. Being the kind of person who would rather look for the funny than dwell on the sad, I'd like to highlight some of her more humorous rantings.
Here are some of the ideas Grandma has gotten into her head lately:
1. My sisters are having a double wedding (one sister is engaged, one is single - Grandma didn't tell us who the single sister is marrying and I'm sure said sister would like to know).
2. My older sister is pregnant (she's not so much pregnant as she is NOT pregnant).
3. My dad died. He had heart surgery and didn't make it (he's alive and kicking so, naturally, now we tease him about his tiny dried up little heart).
4. (And this is the best one) The Ex died and I needed to make money so I moved to LA and became a prostitute (To semi-quote Chelsea Handler: I'm not a prostitute - I don't charge people!). And as if that wasn't enough?
4a. I brought my sister's ex-boyfriend with me to LA because he needed to make money, too.
4b. I am trying to steal her boyfriend. She's been talking a lot about her first love (one day my uncle found her with a packed suitcase and when he asked where she was going, she said, "Laurie is coming to pick me up. We're going to Vegas." Did I mention that she's 92 years old?) so once, when I was visiting her, I asked for his last name and suggested we look him up and find him (the Nicholas Sparks romantic in me wanted to see her reunited with her first love 70 or so years later), to which she responded, "Oh, he's here. He could be under this table right now, but no one will bring him to me." Then, after I left, she told my aunt, "That Jennifer Liotta, she's after Laurie." (Well, I am in the market for a man in his 90s.)
I read something somewhere that said, statistically, a husband will die six to 18 months after his wife dies. I couldn't find anything that said how long a wife would survive after the death of her husband, but my Grandpa died 10 years ago and Grams is still kicking and screaming. Literally. She told one of the nurses (who she thinks is her maid/butler/cook), "I'm going to tell my son to fire you! I don't need you here and if you don't leave me alone I'm gonna punch you in the face!" Can you blame her? It's so hard to find good help to wipe your ass these days.
Here are some of the ideas Grandma has gotten into her head lately:
1. My sisters are having a double wedding (one sister is engaged, one is single - Grandma didn't tell us who the single sister is marrying and I'm sure said sister would like to know).
2. My older sister is pregnant (she's not so much pregnant as she is NOT pregnant).
3. My dad died. He had heart surgery and didn't make it (he's alive and kicking so, naturally, now we tease him about his tiny dried up little heart).
4. (And this is the best one) The Ex died and I needed to make money so I moved to LA and became a prostitute (To semi-quote Chelsea Handler: I'm not a prostitute - I don't charge people!). And as if that wasn't enough?
4a. I brought my sister's ex-boyfriend with me to LA because he needed to make money, too.
4b. I am trying to steal her boyfriend. She's been talking a lot about her first love (one day my uncle found her with a packed suitcase and when he asked where she was going, she said, "Laurie is coming to pick me up. We're going to Vegas." Did I mention that she's 92 years old?) so once, when I was visiting her, I asked for his last name and suggested we look him up and find him (the Nicholas Sparks romantic in me wanted to see her reunited with her first love 70 or so years later), to which she responded, "Oh, he's here. He could be under this table right now, but no one will bring him to me." Then, after I left, she told my aunt, "That Jennifer Liotta, she's after Laurie." (Well, I am in the market for a man in his 90s.)
I read something somewhere that said, statistically, a husband will die six to 18 months after his wife dies. I couldn't find anything that said how long a wife would survive after the death of her husband, but my Grandpa died 10 years ago and Grams is still kicking and screaming. Literally. She told one of the nurses (who she thinks is her maid/butler/cook), "I'm going to tell my son to fire you! I don't need you here and if you don't leave me alone I'm gonna punch you in the face!" Can you blame her? It's so hard to find good help to wipe your ass these days.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Dumb Detox, Day 28!
I did it! 28 days no refined sugar, no gluten, no red meat, no dairy, no ALCOHOL!
At work today, people kept asking me what I'm going to do now. As if I just won the Superbowl. I don't plan on changing much dietary-wise. But come Friday night, I am retoxing cocktail-wise.
With the exception of Parmesan withdrawals the first couple times I ate rice pasta and the high probability of eating my own arm if I hadn't gotten to eat chicken when I did, I really didn't have any cravings. I put all my forbidden foods on the top shelf of my refrigerator with the intent to take them to my parent's house. Of course, my lazy ass never ended up doing that, so it all just sat there. Eggs, four different kinds of cheese, 9 grain sourdough bread, turkey bacon...and I never even noticed them! Never got tempted. My hippie sister says it's because eating the foods causes the cravings - so if you don't eat them, your brain no longer thinks it wants them.
I was told a long time ago (by one of those emails my mom forwarded to me) that if you're craving chocolate it means your body needs Magnesium, so you should eat an apple instead. I was like, yeah, my body may want magnesium, but my mouth wants chocolate. And you know what doesn't taste like chocolate? A fucking apple! My hippie sister laughed at me when I told her that I haven't craved chocolate at all during this 28 day process and, coincidentally, I have been eating apples on the regular.
I ate quite often, filled up fast, found I wasn't as hungry as usual and lost 9 pounds total. Hippie sister was like, "Isn't it amazing how different your body reacts when you give it food it can actually digest?" Alright, I think I've rebelled long enough. There might be something to this healthy eating business.
Here are some dumb lessons I learned on this dumb detox:
1. You do have to drink to have fun - if you go to a bar.
2. You'd be surprised the things you can do - or not do - when you're afraid your hippie sister is going to get even more skinny than you.
3. Detoxing makes you poop a lot. And I already poop a lot.
4. After being miserably bloated, you do get that burst of energy that people talk about - and it turns you into an asshole who says the kind of annoying, positive, motivational shit you used to enjoy making fun of.
5. Rice bread tastes like cake...if cake tastes like cardboard.
28 down, 0 to go!
Thanks for taking this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed a few cocktails while reading.
At work today, people kept asking me what I'm going to do now. As if I just won the Superbowl. I don't plan on changing much dietary-wise. But come Friday night, I am retoxing cocktail-wise.
With the exception of Parmesan withdrawals the first couple times I ate rice pasta and the high probability of eating my own arm if I hadn't gotten to eat chicken when I did, I really didn't have any cravings. I put all my forbidden foods on the top shelf of my refrigerator with the intent to take them to my parent's house. Of course, my lazy ass never ended up doing that, so it all just sat there. Eggs, four different kinds of cheese, 9 grain sourdough bread, turkey bacon...and I never even noticed them! Never got tempted. My hippie sister says it's because eating the foods causes the cravings - so if you don't eat them, your brain no longer thinks it wants them.
I was told a long time ago (by one of those emails my mom forwarded to me) that if you're craving chocolate it means your body needs Magnesium, so you should eat an apple instead. I was like, yeah, my body may want magnesium, but my mouth wants chocolate. And you know what doesn't taste like chocolate? A fucking apple! My hippie sister laughed at me when I told her that I haven't craved chocolate at all during this 28 day process and, coincidentally, I have been eating apples on the regular.
I ate quite often, filled up fast, found I wasn't as hungry as usual and lost 9 pounds total. Hippie sister was like, "Isn't it amazing how different your body reacts when you give it food it can actually digest?" Alright, I think I've rebelled long enough. There might be something to this healthy eating business.
Here are some dumb lessons I learned on this dumb detox:
1. You do have to drink to have fun - if you go to a bar.
2. You'd be surprised the things you can do - or not do - when you're afraid your hippie sister is going to get even more skinny than you.
3. Detoxing makes you poop a lot. And I already poop a lot.
4. After being miserably bloated, you do get that burst of energy that people talk about - and it turns you into an asshole who says the kind of annoying, positive, motivational shit you used to enjoy making fun of.
5. Rice bread tastes like cake...if cake tastes like cardboard.
28 down, 0 to go!
Thanks for taking this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed a few cocktails while reading.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Dumb Detox, Days 25-27
On the eve of the final day of this dumb detox, I can't help but think that in about 27 hours...I can have WINE again! I want to pour wine in my food and in my mouth. (I may not even take the time to use a glass.) I want to take a wine shower and wash my hair with drinkable wine shampoo. I want to sit in a bathtub full of wine while sipping a glass of wine. I would have wine for breakfast on Thursday morning if I didn't have to go to work. Hmm, maybe I should call in sick.
27 down, 1 to go!
27 down, 1 to go!
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Dumb Detox, Days 22-24
This weekend I met some friends at the local piano bar. I couldn't eat (or drink) there, so I had to plan ahead.
Since I can't have beef yet and I'm not sure if bison (Buffalo...Buff...Tatonka) counts as a game meat, I thought I would be clever and make a meat loaf out of ground chicken. It was not clever. I couldn't put eggs, bread crumbs or wine in it, and chicken is not very fatty, so it ended up tasting mostly like cardboard with a hint of garlic. Note to self: don't try to be clever with ground chicken. And don't buy ground chicken.
Anyway, when my friend asked if I'd like to go I was like, sure! I can't drink, but I can still be awesome! The thing is, a bar is a very different place when you don't get to drink. I mean, even when you're the designated driver you can have a drink or two early in the night and be fine to drive home by the time 2am rolls around; and you have something to hold and sip throughout the night. When you can't drink you just sit there, disdainfully watching all the drunk idiots, wishing you were a drunk idiot, too.
The one thing that doesn't change is the people watching. Drunk or sober, it is always entertaining to watch cougars pretend they are not dancing that way (you know what way I mean - hips shifting slowly side to side, one arm up, the other holding a drink, head gently nodding to the music and busting out a WOO! every now and again) for the male twenty-something audience. The sad thing is, there's a strong possibility that will be me in the not too distant future. I mean, let's face it, I'm not getting any less single. Here's what I've learned about how to be a cougar:
1. Your face doesn't have to be all that pretty, you just have to wear enough make up that it looks pretty from across the bar (I believe this is know as the full on Monet, the 50 yard fake out, and/or the butterface).
2. You must have a rockin' 25 year old bod that doesn't go with your obviously 45 year old face.
3. You must dress like a 25 year old to go with your rockin' 25 year old bod that doesn't go with your obviously 45 year old face.
4. You must dance like you're in a sorority.
I'm working on the healthy rockin' bod first. 24 down, 4 to go!
Since I can't have beef yet and I'm not sure if bison (Buffalo...Buff...Tatonka) counts as a game meat, I thought I would be clever and make a meat loaf out of ground chicken. It was not clever. I couldn't put eggs, bread crumbs or wine in it, and chicken is not very fatty, so it ended up tasting mostly like cardboard with a hint of garlic. Note to self: don't try to be clever with ground chicken. And don't buy ground chicken.
Anyway, when my friend asked if I'd like to go I was like, sure! I can't drink, but I can still be awesome! The thing is, a bar is a very different place when you don't get to drink. I mean, even when you're the designated driver you can have a drink or two early in the night and be fine to drive home by the time 2am rolls around; and you have something to hold and sip throughout the night. When you can't drink you just sit there, disdainfully watching all the drunk idiots, wishing you were a drunk idiot, too.
The one thing that doesn't change is the people watching. Drunk or sober, it is always entertaining to watch cougars pretend they are not dancing that way (you know what way I mean - hips shifting slowly side to side, one arm up, the other holding a drink, head gently nodding to the music and busting out a WOO! every now and again) for the male twenty-something audience. The sad thing is, there's a strong possibility that will be me in the not too distant future. I mean, let's face it, I'm not getting any less single. Here's what I've learned about how to be a cougar:
1. Your face doesn't have to be all that pretty, you just have to wear enough make up that it looks pretty from across the bar (I believe this is know as the full on Monet, the 50 yard fake out, and/or the butterface).
2. You must have a rockin' 25 year old bod that doesn't go with your obviously 45 year old face.
3. You must dress like a 25 year old to go with your rockin' 25 year old bod that doesn't go with your obviously 45 year old face.
4. You must dance like you're in a sorority.
I'm working on the healthy rockin' bod first. 24 down, 4 to go!
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Dumb Detox, Days 19-21
I've been so excited about getting to add meat back into my diet that for the last 3 days I've been maybe - possibly - deliriously - happy.
Dude, seriously? I think chicken gives me gas! I put 3oz in my salad and I'm tootin' like a MoFo! Hoping they're residual vegetable toots. Don't want to give up chicken! But ya know, where's the logic in that, anyway? No one would ever say, "Vegetables give you rich, stinky gas and turn your shit green? You should probably stop eating those!" Although, I wish someone would. Oh, le foof.
21 down, 7 to go!
Happy Meatday! Chicken in my salad! Chick, chick, chick chicken in my salad! Ground turkey in my marinara! Ground turk, turk, turkey in my marinara! It's a B-E-A-Utiful day, isn't?
Is Bison considered a game meat? Or does it not count because it's red? Although, lamb is red and it counts.
(sister) Excellent question, you can eat lamb and really how different are lamb and bison?! ha!
I know, lamb and buffalo are practically synonymous! Well, and it says all "game meats," doesn't that mean all the weird shit like lamb? Maybe I'll wait, just in case. They have lamb shanks and lamb loins...I wouldn't know what to do with either of those. How cute, you can buy AH loin! I don't even own AH loin, let alone many loins that would necessitate an entire lamb. What am I gonna do with a lamb loin?
Hey, let's go to Sprouts to get the ingredients for the chick pea - sweet potato hippie burgers. Then I can get some gluten free hippie bread and taste free hippie snacks!
21 down, 7 to go!
Monday, August 20, 2012
Dumb Detox, Days 16-18
We got to add back nuts* and beans (or legumes - if you're feeling fancy). This weekend was all about nuts* for me. And because I have the sense of humor of a 12 year old boy, every time I say the word 'nuts'* I think of male genitalia. And I laugh like Beavis and Butthead.
I brought apples, celery and almond butter with me to work on Friday for my snacks and then carried on the tradition Saturday and Sunday. I didn't really explore the bean department - not when I had so many delicious nuts* around!
When I eat the almond butter, I have to keep a tablespoon on hand (I even brought one to work) so I am sure to measure my servings. I need that kind of control. Otherwise, my apple wedges and celery stalks become edible spoons for to shovel almond butter into my face hole.
So far, I'm not having any bad reactions. I don't think I'm allergic to nuts*. Unless we are talking about male genitalia, in which case I will definitely say I'm allergic to nuts* if it means I have to keep my face far away from them.
18 down, 10 to go!
*hehe, nuts
I brought apples, celery and almond butter with me to work on Friday for my snacks and then carried on the tradition Saturday and Sunday. I didn't really explore the bean department - not when I had so many delicious nuts* around!
When I eat the almond butter, I have to keep a tablespoon on hand (I even brought one to work) so I am sure to measure my servings. I need that kind of control. Otherwise, my apple wedges and celery stalks become edible spoons for to shovel almond butter into my face hole.
So far, I'm not having any bad reactions. I don't think I'm allergic to nuts*. Unless we are talking about male genitalia, in which case I will definitely say I'm allergic to nuts* if it means I have to keep my face far away from them.
18 down, 10 to go!
*hehe, nuts
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