Archive for the ‘gross’ Category

Day 72: Wipe down your equipment

wipe-down-your-equipment.jpgI’ve started counting calories…reluctantly.

The working out has been steady but I’ve been under the delusion that I’ve been eating the right portions of everything. Wrong. Of course wrong! I’ve been counting calories for a little more than a week and have already lost enough inches for the owner of this cafe across the street from my job to ask, “Have you lost weight?”

I didn’t just jump on this calorie thing. I did it kicking and screaming until my mother bought and gave me several books to help me along. And some notebooks to keep track. I’m staying at no more than 2,000 calories and I’ve done quite well. It doesn’t even annoy me that much anymore and I’ve lost a few of my hard and fast cravings: burgers, pizza…Sonic slushes. Wait. Now that I’ve typed that I need to find the calorie count for one because a slush suddenly sounds good…

Anyway, my mother has noted my progress. She is concerned for me because I’ve been so concerned. Because of medication and a thyroid disorder, she has trouble with her weight. In fact she is very good at managing food intake and now I’m in training. I’m only a pound away from dropping under the dreaded weight I am now which, no matter how disclosing I am here, I will never share. At least not until I am well below it.

Because of overdoing the reception on Saturday and dancing all night, I haven’t hit the gym. I am only just now nearly 100 percent from having all that nausea. I don’t think a hangover lasts that long and I’m now convinced I got food poisoning from the all of six bites of Chinese food I had that night after the club. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t been doing that kind of food and my body went into shock. Don’t know.

The last time I went to the gym my favorite treadmill was covered in snot and spit. No lie! It was like someone was so determined to finish their miles that they didn’t care they had an upper-respiratory infection or other funky health issue in the process. It was so sick I almost didn’t work out. But instead I grabbed on to the very dry elliptical machine and tried not to heave. I don’t know why I shared that except to give warning to all of you who work out and like to grab onto those heart-rate bars like I do. Never again.

Reaching a new low: Celebrity media must die

Period.

I’m all for certain magazines that don’t drip celebrity on every page but can be deemed almost as cheesy lethal (more than 100 pages and high gloss) that I won’t mention here for fear of being pigeon-holed into a Sex in the City cookie cutter category. Everyone has their guilty pleasures. OK. OK. I’ll admit to one. Marie Claire. I’ve lost any cool points I’m sure that I never really had at this blog I’m sure.

In this same vein, I am beginning to loathe just about every celebrity blog on the planet. It all just used to be kind of funny, mostly light-hearted and pretty much an escape from having to mentally check in everyday at work. I am not going to name every single one out there, but you know the key players. Even if you don’t read them, you know basically which ones everyone seems to keep coming back to. Except Best Week Ever. If you don’t like that blog/show, I don’t care. It keeps me in a rare good mood.

But knowing that there is Anna Nicole photo floating around on these sites, allegedly taken just after she passed, is just sick. Please. Before you label me one of those crazed celebrity fanatics, I’m sickened for humanity. It could have been anyone and I would have felt the same. OK, I will admit that I was watching Entertainment Tonight when I found out. But cut me some slack because it was my folks who had that show on when I was visiting.

ET was “discussing” this photo of Anna (really they just kept zooming in and out of it and showing it before EVERY commercial break) that was circulating the Web on many prominent celeb blogs. I won’t be plugging them here. I’m sure you have heard about this and if not, you are now Googling for it. But if you do, have the courtesy to open another window. For those of you curious but don’t want to look, I’ll just say she was sitting up in bed, looked like she was in mid vomit and topless. Even if the photo isn’t real, they are circulating it like it is and THAT is what sickens me. Gross. 

And if it is real, I know Anna was a mess. A big old, sometimes skinny old, crazy mess. However, no one deserves that. And we don’t need to see it at our 6 p.m. dinnertime either. Why the hell would ANYONE be interested in seeing such morbid shit? What kind of people are we? I’m not some kind of moral compass guru but the behavior of people (namely a coke-snorting-off-the-stomach-of-her-baby-while-breat-feeding hooker) is really starting to make me want to have a Michael Douglas moment. But not enough to have a Sean Penn moment.

And being that I’m in the media field, I want to see the death of celebrity bullshit reporting. It’s not reporting and is just as useful as cat fecal matter. Wait. Cat fecal matter can at least go in the garden and grow shit…

Again, even if that nasty photo wasn’t real, someone who thinks it is a wonderful (yet we all know profitable) idea to shoot a snapshot of a possibly dead, overdosed woman deserves a bed of pen of needles in hell while their fingernails get ripped off and they are forced to watch Jennifer Lopez movies over and over (but not Selena.)

Update: “Official”  folks are officially saying the pic is in fact not real.  Just the crazy bitch goofing off with chicken and tarter sauce. But can we please just let this train wreck rest already?And I still stand firm. Just think if it was … What am I saying? You would still Google it.

I lost my wiener at the State Fair.

I just stood there with the stick still in my hand as the fluff of buttery batter goodness stared up at me, all naked. I looked down and the rest of my wiener just laid there on the ground, cold and jilted. Oh well, I made up for it with a frozen lemonade later.

Hey, Big Tex!Yes folks. It’s fair time again and I will have to admit that this is only the second year I’ve been to the fair. My folks weren’t that into it when I was a young J. My father just claims he wanted to see the livestock but apparently I wasn’t excited at the idea of smelling pig shit. I’m finally braving the fair because having a media pass makes it a little easier and gives you a reason to go being that it’s kinda work-related. And of course the corny dogs are another motivation. But you can’t just go to any corny dog pagoda. No. No. It’s gotta be the one that has the word FAMOUS emblazoned on it. And little ketchup and mustard kiosks all around. It’s like a little wiener heaven.

Right out of the gate I have to tell you that the carnies that greet you and direct you where to park are sheer caricatures of themselves — people you would think of in a comedy sketch or something. Each with personalities topping one another. One older gentleman kept calling me baby as we drove though the credentials line. And one lady with no teeth flagged down my car as we were leaving, yelling at me “DON’T GO THAT WAY. HEY! DON’T GO THAT WAY!” We shivered in fear.

Anywho, back to the food. Don’t try anything called “fried cookie dough.” If you don’t believe me, here’s a picture of it. That stuff will turn your stomach. Luckily I just tasted my coworker’s batch. And that small bite was enough. You just can’t FRY everything. Why do YUCK!!!fairs think they can fry everything? I mean I saw fried queso, fried guacamole, fried coke (which I tried as well and nearly ralphed at the picnic table. It swims in syrup at the bottom! How gross is that?) and at one point I was expecting to see fried chitterlings  (not impossible) or fried beer (hum, that wouldn’t be so bad.) Every year I think the fair tries to top itself on the yuck factor.

But my old standard turkey leg and funnel cake can never go wrong so this week I’m partaking — if anything just to erase last weekend’s food disasters from my brain. But damn this all gets expensive. For every dollar you spend on coupons you are losing like five. Wait. That’s not right. It just feels that way. I spent 10 coupons on a lousy margarita (not recommended if it comes out of one of those punch-type fountains) which really means I spent five bucks. What a waste. By the time I got on the Skyway I lost my 5-minute buzz. Just enough to half-way enjoy a mediocre car show where a NFL truck with a plasma, grill, and pigskin seats in the shape of footballs with little televisions in the headrests is what Texans call luxury.

Wait, back to food. Picture about 90 degrees out, sun blazing, and a parking lot full of steaming, spicy chili. Not really the best time of year for it but did I ever sample. I’m usually funny about eating a stranger’s food but for some reason free in the midst of State Fair highway robbery just appeals to me. By the time we waddled to my car, I was just thinking about the gut busting that would possibly follow that night. Hasn’t hit me yet. But hopefully if it does, it will wait until after work.

 

Can’t a girl just get a pedicure anymore?

A long time ago someone called me a JAP: Jewish American Princess, which I’m still wondering if this word is considered offensive. Anyway, I’m not Jewish. That is unless I’m related to Sammy Davis, Jr. I think the person felt as if I kept up an image conscious routine which is a nice way for me to just say “high maintenance.” I’m really not though. Really! I just like to take care of myself and many moons ago I used to do the whole thing: acrylic nails, pedicures, weekly eyebrow wax…

I’ve since been more frugal and practical by doing my own nails. They never were bad to begin with but acrylics were so much easier to take care of. The eyebrow stuff I still do but now I take things into my own hands more often so I don’t have to shell out the dough for someone to put me through that pain. But ah. Pedicures. This has been a hard one. First of all I would have never stopped pedicures if it wasn’t for the local news. Beware, this picture is gross.

EWWWWWWWWW!

 

You see because many local nail shops can’t seem to NOT be nasty, refuse to disinfect regularly and aren’t so great about keeping things up to health code standards, the above infection could happen to me — so I’ve told myself. And it just so happens that my FAVORITE shop was dinged for not being up to code so that stopped me in my tracks. Now I go on “recommendations.” My latest stop at a recommended nail salon proved to be an ironic fruitful failure. They did do their share of keeping up the code as far as using plastic lined basins instead of the spa chairs for pedicures — notorious for their breeding ground for infection.

However I couldn’t get past the other stuff: the floor looked kinda like it hadn’t been mopped in several days, the worn lazy boy chairs looked like someone’s grandmother’s house, they reused paraffin wax  and my manicure was less than “clean.” But the pedicure seemed kosher and my toes were somewhat happy. However they didn’t do as good of a job as my OLD place. So now it’s time for another one and as of late I just resort to doing it myself and ignore the recommendations. I am too afraid for what can result from going to a local spa for a pedicure on the fly. But damn I hate doing it myself.

You may bet thinking that this is all superficial. And some of you may say why should any of this matter to your readers who aren’t women? Well because we all know how you guys like a put together woman and with summer not quite yet over, I’m sure you would like to see more feet in good condition as oppose to this:

Did someone say pumice stone, please?!

Feet of Crafty McGee. Sorry girl but I gotta give you credit for the honesty.