Season 2, Episode 7
The event:
Would you F*ck him?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Wrestlemania Weekend Part 2
Season 2, Episodes 5-6
Found our seats:
This is how close we were.
Show Open.
Found our seats:
This is how close we were.
Show Open.
Wrestlemania Weekend Part 1
Season 2, Episodes 3-4
These are the moments leading up to finding our seats:
We were leaving the hotel here.
Our new fellow gay wrestling fans, Mark and Norm.
These are the moments leading up to finding our seats:
We were leaving the hotel here.
Our new fellow gay wrestling fans, Mark and Norm.
The Perfect Body
I love looking at beautiful bodies in pictures. Who doesn't? I think it starts when we are little kids and see Cinderella and He-Man, these beautiful expressions of kindness and honor, charm and morality, and they always belong to the strapping, defined, broad-shouldered man, with a perfect square of a jaw. The damsel in distress that steals his heart is petite but busty and has long, glowing healthy hair and loves the animals, takes care of her sisters and the dwarves and she's good.
As a kid we're taught what the perfect body is because it matches the good guy. How often do you see a cartoon of a fat, bald, rich prince trying to climb a wall of Rapunzel's hair? Where's the Rosie O' Donnell She-Ra? When we're older, we seek these bodies in the people we want to marry, the people we want to fuck, and the people we want to be. It's as thought the 6 pack becomes the icon for virtue, and that this virtue stands ultimately for promise, for hope, for security, for happily ever after.
And after years of being bullied by the football quarterback and the cheerleaders, the perfection among the 11th grade population, we start to get a glimpse of how ugly "beauty" really can be. Still, we take the Dexatrim, the Hydroxycut, we buy the ab rocket, we read Skinny Bitch and we fast after 7 PM hoping and sometimes praying to have it all, like Alladin and Princess Jasmine.
In our 20's maybe we've found this hot body inside ourselves. Maybe we've found it in a partner. And it's confusing for some. Because by now we've come to see the catch involved in being around physical perfection--moral defection, sexual boredom (they just lay there, seriously), fleeting tightness of the skin, stupidity, insecurity, shattered dreams.
But we keep coming back for more, because the perfect bodies always get to step ahead in line. The guys with the pecs get the looks at the gym. The girl with the steel cut ass gets the whistle, and we want to be around that, even just as a spectator, regardless of the mediocrity she radiates.
So here we stand, or sit, or most likely, where we lie just hoping for an extra layer of depth, the kind we imagined the first time we watched Beauty and The Beast--and maybe, just maybe, we're finally on to something.
But we're confused, because Sleeping Beauty never had these problems, except the boring sex issue, maybe.
As a kid we're taught what the perfect body is because it matches the good guy. How often do you see a cartoon of a fat, bald, rich prince trying to climb a wall of Rapunzel's hair? Where's the Rosie O' Donnell She-Ra? When we're older, we seek these bodies in the people we want to marry, the people we want to fuck, and the people we want to be. It's as thought the 6 pack becomes the icon for virtue, and that this virtue stands ultimately for promise, for hope, for security, for happily ever after.
And after years of being bullied by the football quarterback and the cheerleaders, the perfection among the 11th grade population, we start to get a glimpse of how ugly "beauty" really can be. Still, we take the Dexatrim, the Hydroxycut, we buy the ab rocket, we read Skinny Bitch and we fast after 7 PM hoping and sometimes praying to have it all, like Alladin and Princess Jasmine.
In our 20's maybe we've found this hot body inside ourselves. Maybe we've found it in a partner. And it's confusing for some. Because by now we've come to see the catch involved in being around physical perfection--moral defection, sexual boredom (they just lay there, seriously), fleeting tightness of the skin, stupidity, insecurity, shattered dreams.
But we keep coming back for more, because the perfect bodies always get to step ahead in line. The guys with the pecs get the looks at the gym. The girl with the steel cut ass gets the whistle, and we want to be around that, even just as a spectator, regardless of the mediocrity she radiates.
So here we stand, or sit, or most likely, where we lie just hoping for an extra layer of depth, the kind we imagined the first time we watched Beauty and The Beast--and maybe, just maybe, we're finally on to something.
But we're confused, because Sleeping Beauty never had these problems, except the boring sex issue, maybe.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Weekend Running
Weekend Running is the worst. First, you wake up and want pancakes. I don't want to run. I want flapjacks. I want boysenberry syrup and room temp butter. I want eggs with cheese, sausage and bacon. I want hash browns and I want HGTV, David Bromstad in a tank top putting a teal sheen on crown molding in HD and surround sound. I want Sirius Spa radio and I want my laundry done.
My breath on Saturday usually had a hint of last night's Jack until more recently, and that made me want coffee before those pancakes and a douche or a colonic to clear myself of all the heavy, fruity, sterile liquid I consumed to unleash my horniness onto the masses last night. That makes it hard to tie my shoes, because when I sit down to lace my sneakers, I just wanted to go back to sleep, especially since I just made my bed.
You start running, and it's 4:30 PM. It's taken all day to digest the iHop, reorganize your shelves, paint or draw, just generally detoxify the nasty things you did last night, the angst of what you didn't accomplish Monday thru Friday, and put your Mom's voice away for long enough to say, "I can do more than two things at once." You load that new Carrie Underwood onto the Nano, you potty the dogs, and you set off.
After 55 minutes you realize something amazing. All the enemas in the world don't make you feel as clean as knowing you accomplished the weekly run, the thing you've been putting off since last Sunday--that you've finally done tonight. You deserve a reward.
Thank Jose, it's margarita night at Chevy's!
My breath on Saturday usually had a hint of last night's Jack until more recently, and that made me want coffee before those pancakes and a douche or a colonic to clear myself of all the heavy, fruity, sterile liquid I consumed to unleash my horniness onto the masses last night. That makes it hard to tie my shoes, because when I sit down to lace my sneakers, I just wanted to go back to sleep, especially since I just made my bed.
You start running, and it's 4:30 PM. It's taken all day to digest the iHop, reorganize your shelves, paint or draw, just generally detoxify the nasty things you did last night, the angst of what you didn't accomplish Monday thru Friday, and put your Mom's voice away for long enough to say, "I can do more than two things at once." You load that new Carrie Underwood onto the Nano, you potty the dogs, and you set off.
After 55 minutes you realize something amazing. All the enemas in the world don't make you feel as clean as knowing you accomplished the weekly run, the thing you've been putting off since last Sunday--that you've finally done tonight. You deserve a reward.
Thank Jose, it's margarita night at Chevy's!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Setting Boundaries
You can't stay skinny unless you do it--set a boundary, that is.
Fried Monterey Jack Cheese Sticks taste like video games at Black Angus while my parents laughed at the bar.
No one loves you as much as you have to love yourself.
You will not die from the discomfort of setting a limit.
We have to say no.
Meat-Lover Pizza tastes like just after soccer practice.
Put your air mask on before the child next to you.
Cut the people who fuck with you a break.
Grudges get boring.
Being the victim has it's limits.
Nacho Cheesier Doritos with Ranch taste like after-school watching Ricki Lake.
You can smell a pushover from a mile away.
You can hear a predator from a kilometer away.
Pecan Praline Dream Ice Cream, melting in a bowl tastes like late-night guilt about boners for the guy who played Hunter.
When we say no, it doesn't need explanation.
If you have been hurt, saying so doesn't make you weak.
It helps you move past it.
If the answer is no, the answer is no.
Otter Pops taste like being the weirdo in summer camp.
If I don't believe in myself I won't say no. If I don't believe I deserve the best, I'll keep saying yes when I mean no. When I feel fat I surround myself with people who make me feel fat. When I feel poor I put myself with people who want me to have a different job, a better job--more esteemed job. I can't win. I sink. They sink, too, but they feel like they're swimming. We're drowning in a bed of urine, and I have to take a shower before I suffocate from the smell I couldn't breathe until now.
When I hated myself, no one could love me enough.
Fried Monterey Jack Cheese Sticks taste like video games at Black Angus while my parents laughed at the bar.
No one loves you as much as you have to love yourself.
You will not die from the discomfort of setting a limit.
We have to say no.
Meat-Lover Pizza tastes like just after soccer practice.
Put your air mask on before the child next to you.
Cut the people who fuck with you a break.
Grudges get boring.
Being the victim has it's limits.
Nacho Cheesier Doritos with Ranch taste like after-school watching Ricki Lake.
You can smell a pushover from a mile away.
You can hear a predator from a kilometer away.
Pecan Praline Dream Ice Cream, melting in a bowl tastes like late-night guilt about boners for the guy who played Hunter.
When we say no, it doesn't need explanation.
If you have been hurt, saying so doesn't make you weak.
It helps you move past it.
If the answer is no, the answer is no.
Otter Pops taste like being the weirdo in summer camp.
If I don't believe in myself I won't say no. If I don't believe I deserve the best, I'll keep saying yes when I mean no. When I feel fat I surround myself with people who make me feel fat. When I feel poor I put myself with people who want me to have a different job, a better job--more esteemed job. I can't win. I sink. They sink, too, but they feel like they're swimming. We're drowning in a bed of urine, and I have to take a shower before I suffocate from the smell I couldn't breathe until now.
When I hated myself, no one could love me enough.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Mom email
To: Seanny
From: Mom
Date: Tue, Mar 16, 2010 8:47 pm
Sean,
The Glee dvd came today. We just watched the first 2 episodes. I really enjoyed it and I think that your Dad did too. That guys wife is very annoying. I like the rest of the cast though. I'm looking forward to watching more of it tomorrow night. Thank you again for thinking of us and knowing what we like. Not only are your hot, but, you're also the best!
Love,
Mom
From: Mom
Date: Tue, Mar 16, 2010 8:47 pm
Sean,
The Glee dvd came today. We just watched the first 2 episodes. I really enjoyed it and I think that your Dad did too. That guys wife is very annoying. I like the rest of the cast though. I'm looking forward to watching more of it tomorrow night. Thank you again for thinking of us and knowing what we like. Not only are your hot, but, you're also the best!
Love,
Mom
iPod update
here's a newsflash for running novices and experts alike: if you stop updating your iPod you WILL STOP RUNNING.
For the first time in six months I updated mine, and here is my current 10K playlist (Spare me your judgement):
"Sex on Fire" Kings of Leon
"Haven't Met You Yet" Michael Buble
"Hey, Daddy" Usher
"Big Time" Peter Gabriel
"Drop it Low" Esther Dean and Chris Brown
"She Got Her Own" Ne-Yo
"The Game" Motorhead
"Telephone" Lady Gaga and Beyonce
"Video Phone" Beyonce and Lady Gaga
"Cowboy Cassanova" Carrie Underwood
"Sweet Caroline" Glee Cast
"Oh L'mour" Erasure
For the first time in six months I updated mine, and here is my current 10K playlist (Spare me your judgement):
"Sex on Fire" Kings of Leon
"Haven't Met You Yet" Michael Buble
"Hey, Daddy" Usher
"Big Time" Peter Gabriel
"Drop it Low" Esther Dean and Chris Brown
"She Got Her Own" Ne-Yo
"The Game" Motorhead
"Telephone" Lady Gaga and Beyonce
"Video Phone" Beyonce and Lady Gaga
"Cowboy Cassanova" Carrie Underwood
"Sweet Caroline" Glee Cast
"Oh L'mour" Erasure
Sunday, March 14, 2010
50 Pounds by now?
We have to change the way we think about the weight loss mechanism, and we have to do it now. As a person who lost 100 pounds and has since lost another 100 pounds (10 pounds ten times), I can tell you that the reason so many people struggle is because their brains are so fucked up. Get it together, America.
1) Stop setting long term weight loss goals.
"In 5 years, I want to be 110 pounds. Today, I'm 400. That's just 290 pounds over 5 years."
You might be dead in 5 years (especially if you're 300 pounds). You have to take it day-by-day. And losing 50 pounds by October is too long term also. What about tomorrow? Are you signing off on being overweight for next week, too? You will start right after Passover? You just have to get through the Fourth of July Rib Cook Off.
Stop thinking about the world in the distance. It's a fantasy that keeps you in the shower too long in the morning. Start thinking about now. What can you do today, right this second to get healthier, not thinner...OK fine...thinner. What can you do right now to get thinner? How about this: while you're reading this, bounce a little in your seat. Put on the Glee Cast Version of "Jump" and sway in your seat a little. Once you're done reading, walk your dog for just 10 minutes. No dog? Go get one. They are a great reason to smell LA smog twice daily for the next 14 years. When you come back drink a big glass of water and empty your kitchen of Starburst Easter Jelly Beans. Then revisit my blog and see my transformation. Use it to inspire yourself until you need a hit of Perez Hilton.
2) Stop reading Internet blogs that call Jessica Simpson fat.
She's not fat. She's a size 6. She'll live a long life. She'll continue to get laid by hot guys. She has a ton of money. She sings that song "Public Affair" which is a great song to listen to when you're getting ready for a night out on the town. And she's not emaciated. And neither will/are you. Weight loss is not the key to unlocking your inner celebrity. Weight loss is just the first step in saying, "I don't hate myself."
3) Stop hating yourself.
Think of everything you do to lose weight as an unexpected gift from a lover, a note left on your car is no different than taking your vitamins, really. When you take care of your body, you're giving yourself a gift that your boyfriend can't, because if he told you that you should go for a run to lose some weight you'd stab him in the dick with a pair of left-handed scissors. I'd hand them to you, orange handles first.
You deserve this. Why should your next door neighbor get all the tail? He's queeny and dumb, walks like Queen Elizabeth's retarded brother, and has secrets of his own, like his alcoholism and weird testicle wart that shows up on his lovers six months after they bone.
You on the other hand, have been fat, so you know what it is to be invisible. Being fat has made you intuitive to people's pain. You see beauty in the strangest places, like the botannical garden at the Bellagio in Vegas. Think of the positive havoc you'll wreak when you're thin, like the active sex you'll have--or the social movements you'll start. You have scruples. You'll always tell the truth because you know that lies and secrets make you fat. You'll make it on your own, cause you always have. You'll cry at movies, unashamed that it's a 3-D cartoon with several talking dogs. People who've been fat and make it out alive are The Good Witch. We are heroes because we have rebuilt our bodies from the ground up and it's inspiring.
3) The fascination with cheese never goes away.
Getting thin is like winning the lottery. Mo Money Mo problems, a great philosopher once said. He was fat actually. More invitations for dinner and drinks will come your way post weight loss. You'll eat more. You'll need to exercise more. There is no top of the mountain in weight loss maintenance. There are still push-ups to do. You'll still get dumped at least once post goal weight. Someone will still not want to fuck you. Your mother will still talk about how you've destroyed her retirement years. You can still sprain your ankle. And most of all, at some point, everyone will stop noticing you've lost weight. And all of a sudden, you'll have to be OK with being who you are without an audience. That's the worst part about maintenance, so go into weight loss knowing that the scale isn't the end result. The enlightened perspective you get from watching the scale shift is.
4) Your TV is an electronic bowl of ice cream.
If you can't just have a scoop, stop having ice cream.
5) You will fuck up and that is no excuse to stop.
I hate when people call it "Cheat Day." Weight loss is not about some magical invisible junior high school vice principal watching your every bite, every drive through order, every lazy Sunday. Weight loss is about living life, picking up a little love for yourself every day.
So you ate peanut M & M's for the first time in eight months. So what? At least they were dark chocolate. You overslept your personal trainer? Boo hoo. Tomorrow you'll bike from here to Paris.
In AA they say it's not about the drinking, it's the thinking. Same here. When your mind gets negative, when your words become toxic, when your self-image coincides with hatred, you can't lose weight, or keep it off, or stay away from the fridge.
Stop feeding your pain. Let's all start over, right fucking now.
1) Stop setting long term weight loss goals.
"In 5 years, I want to be 110 pounds. Today, I'm 400. That's just 290 pounds over 5 years."
You might be dead in 5 years (especially if you're 300 pounds). You have to take it day-by-day. And losing 50 pounds by October is too long term also. What about tomorrow? Are you signing off on being overweight for next week, too? You will start right after Passover? You just have to get through the Fourth of July Rib Cook Off.
Stop thinking about the world in the distance. It's a fantasy that keeps you in the shower too long in the morning. Start thinking about now. What can you do today, right this second to get healthier, not thinner...OK fine...thinner. What can you do right now to get thinner? How about this: while you're reading this, bounce a little in your seat. Put on the Glee Cast Version of "Jump" and sway in your seat a little. Once you're done reading, walk your dog for just 10 minutes. No dog? Go get one. They are a great reason to smell LA smog twice daily for the next 14 years. When you come back drink a big glass of water and empty your kitchen of Starburst Easter Jelly Beans. Then revisit my blog and see my transformation. Use it to inspire yourself until you need a hit of Perez Hilton.
2) Stop reading Internet blogs that call Jessica Simpson fat.
She's not fat. She's a size 6. She'll live a long life. She'll continue to get laid by hot guys. She has a ton of money. She sings that song "Public Affair" which is a great song to listen to when you're getting ready for a night out on the town. And she's not emaciated. And neither will/are you. Weight loss is not the key to unlocking your inner celebrity. Weight loss is just the first step in saying, "I don't hate myself."
3) Stop hating yourself.
Think of everything you do to lose weight as an unexpected gift from a lover, a note left on your car is no different than taking your vitamins, really. When you take care of your body, you're giving yourself a gift that your boyfriend can't, because if he told you that you should go for a run to lose some weight you'd stab him in the dick with a pair of left-handed scissors. I'd hand them to you, orange handles first.
You deserve this. Why should your next door neighbor get all the tail? He's queeny and dumb, walks like Queen Elizabeth's retarded brother, and has secrets of his own, like his alcoholism and weird testicle wart that shows up on his lovers six months after they bone.
You on the other hand, have been fat, so you know what it is to be invisible. Being fat has made you intuitive to people's pain. You see beauty in the strangest places, like the botannical garden at the Bellagio in Vegas. Think of the positive havoc you'll wreak when you're thin, like the active sex you'll have--or the social movements you'll start. You have scruples. You'll always tell the truth because you know that lies and secrets make you fat. You'll make it on your own, cause you always have. You'll cry at movies, unashamed that it's a 3-D cartoon with several talking dogs. People who've been fat and make it out alive are The Good Witch. We are heroes because we have rebuilt our bodies from the ground up and it's inspiring.
3) The fascination with cheese never goes away.
Getting thin is like winning the lottery. Mo Money Mo problems, a great philosopher once said. He was fat actually. More invitations for dinner and drinks will come your way post weight loss. You'll eat more. You'll need to exercise more. There is no top of the mountain in weight loss maintenance. There are still push-ups to do. You'll still get dumped at least once post goal weight. Someone will still not want to fuck you. Your mother will still talk about how you've destroyed her retirement years. You can still sprain your ankle. And most of all, at some point, everyone will stop noticing you've lost weight. And all of a sudden, you'll have to be OK with being who you are without an audience. That's the worst part about maintenance, so go into weight loss knowing that the scale isn't the end result. The enlightened perspective you get from watching the scale shift is.
4) Your TV is an electronic bowl of ice cream.
If you can't just have a scoop, stop having ice cream.
5) You will fuck up and that is no excuse to stop.
I hate when people call it "Cheat Day." Weight loss is not about some magical invisible junior high school vice principal watching your every bite, every drive through order, every lazy Sunday. Weight loss is about living life, picking up a little love for yourself every day.
So you ate peanut M & M's for the first time in eight months. So what? At least they were dark chocolate. You overslept your personal trainer? Boo hoo. Tomorrow you'll bike from here to Paris.
In AA they say it's not about the drinking, it's the thinking. Same here. When your mind gets negative, when your words become toxic, when your self-image coincides with hatred, you can't lose weight, or keep it off, or stay away from the fridge.
Stop feeding your pain. Let's all start over, right fucking now.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
6:30AM
I spent most of the winter setting my alarm for 5:30AM, rolling over angry, huffing, puffing, and going right back to sleep. At 6:30 I'd wake up having to pee, thinking, "Oh, I should get up and pee and walk the dogs. Then I should have some iced coffee. Then I should write. Then I should go to the gym. Then I should eat breakfast and put on a tie. The New York Times on my Kindle, the front page section and the arts section, if I have time the business section--if not I'll read it at work. Then I should go to work where I'll change TV with the stroke of my inspirational and feminine genius."
Then I'd go right back to sleep, without peeing. An angry sleep. Dreams that I'm a nuclear power plant bubbling over.
At 7:30, with a bladder scowling at me like Mon'Ique winning an Oscar, I'd push the dogs off the bed, listen to them fight with each other, run to the bathroom, pee, weigh myself, roll my eyes and go get coffee. I'd make a mental list of what I had time for. A short dog walk. A short shower (I like 20 minute showers, minimum, calms me, makes me feel pretty yet prepared). A Diet Amp with the healing powers of Taurine and Guarana. A Kashi Bar (I prefer cup-measured cereal, iced coffee, iced tea, a banana, and a teaspoon of frozen flaxseeds, and cup-measured fat free lactaid). I run the dogs to their day care lesbians as fast as I can. I go to work. I feel lame. I feel unaccomplished. I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel sleepy. I resolve tomorrow to get up at 5:30.
And it went on and on. January. Then February. Then March...then today I thought, "What if I just get up at 6:30. What if I just do that, with a nice long dog walk and cut out everything else? Won't that be nice and Zen. Just relax my to-do list a little. Cut myself some slack. Won't I be so adult? I'll get to work early, I'll put on sunscreen, I'll hum at the cartoon birds...
It was so nice. Then, I locked my keys inside the house.
So adult. So responsible. So thin-like. So effective...So pretty, yet prepared, right? Wrong. What a mess I am.
When I got in (thank you Lesbians!) I had a brief breakdown. How can I be 31 and still lose my keys? Why can't i just get my shit together? Why can't I get up at a reasonable hour and not have drama? Why is Meredith Viera wearing that? Why is Ralph barfing one of my earplugs?
And then, I looked down at my night stand. It was O, The Oprah magazine. And there she was, smiling, shimmering, so peaceful, so powerful, so Zen in all Pink and hoop jewelry, and it hit me. This magazine of living effectively has ruined my life because it's un-atainable to be that good. I threw it at my mirror. I ripped the pages out. I fed them to Ralph and Cricket. I lit the binding with a match. My eyes grew beady. The dogs cackled. I deleted my Oprah Show Tivos. I didn't even save the post Oscar special. I ran around the house with scissors cutting up my vision board and The Secret DVD cover. I unbookmarked the "Would You Like to Be on The Oprah Show" link from my mozilla firefox and I played The color purple musical soundtrack backwards on slow motion while reciting ACDC lyrics forwards. I wrote a simple note to Dr Oz that said FUCK U and put it in an envelope with a stamp, my return address and just his name on it. I dropped it in the bin, kissed the dogs and went to work.
I'm going to try 6:30AM again tomorrow. Wish me luck.
Then I'd go right back to sleep, without peeing. An angry sleep. Dreams that I'm a nuclear power plant bubbling over.
At 7:30, with a bladder scowling at me like Mon'Ique winning an Oscar, I'd push the dogs off the bed, listen to them fight with each other, run to the bathroom, pee, weigh myself, roll my eyes and go get coffee. I'd make a mental list of what I had time for. A short dog walk. A short shower (I like 20 minute showers, minimum, calms me, makes me feel pretty yet prepared). A Diet Amp with the healing powers of Taurine and Guarana. A Kashi Bar (I prefer cup-measured cereal, iced coffee, iced tea, a banana, and a teaspoon of frozen flaxseeds, and cup-measured fat free lactaid). I run the dogs to their day care lesbians as fast as I can. I go to work. I feel lame. I feel unaccomplished. I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel sleepy. I resolve tomorrow to get up at 5:30.
And it went on and on. January. Then February. Then March...then today I thought, "What if I just get up at 6:30. What if I just do that, with a nice long dog walk and cut out everything else? Won't that be nice and Zen. Just relax my to-do list a little. Cut myself some slack. Won't I be so adult? I'll get to work early, I'll put on sunscreen, I'll hum at the cartoon birds...
It was so nice. Then, I locked my keys inside the house.
So adult. So responsible. So thin-like. So effective...So pretty, yet prepared, right? Wrong. What a mess I am.
When I got in (thank you Lesbians!) I had a brief breakdown. How can I be 31 and still lose my keys? Why can't i just get my shit together? Why can't I get up at a reasonable hour and not have drama? Why is Meredith Viera wearing that? Why is Ralph barfing one of my earplugs?
And then, I looked down at my night stand. It was O, The Oprah magazine. And there she was, smiling, shimmering, so peaceful, so powerful, so Zen in all Pink and hoop jewelry, and it hit me. This magazine of living effectively has ruined my life because it's un-atainable to be that good. I threw it at my mirror. I ripped the pages out. I fed them to Ralph and Cricket. I lit the binding with a match. My eyes grew beady. The dogs cackled. I deleted my Oprah Show Tivos. I didn't even save the post Oscar special. I ran around the house with scissors cutting up my vision board and The Secret DVD cover. I unbookmarked the "Would You Like to Be on The Oprah Show" link from my mozilla firefox and I played The color purple musical soundtrack backwards on slow motion while reciting ACDC lyrics forwards. I wrote a simple note to Dr Oz that said FUCK U and put it in an envelope with a stamp, my return address and just his name on it. I dropped it in the bin, kissed the dogs and went to work.
I'm going to try 6:30AM again tomorrow. Wish me luck.
Monday, March 8, 2010
How do you know when to stop eating?
When do you stop eating?
Is it when you're full? What is full to you? Is full the same as happy? Does being full make you happy? How do you avoid being stuffed? What if stuffed is all I know, especially at night time. When my dad tells my mom he's so stuffed he can't move, is that a compliment to her? Will it keep her from crying? How come when I tell people that I'm stuffed they're concerned for me?
When do I stop eating?
When there's only enough cereal for 1 and a half more bowls, do I save the half and blend it with the next box? Do I combine it all...all of the fruit and yogurt Special K, and just let the milk get even that much more pink? I keep wheat thins below the sink for when I'm on the toilet (instead of magazines), do I stop eating when other people can hear the crunching? When I'm eating sushi while driving, and there are three pieces left, but I've already hit a car while backing out of a parking space, do I stop eating? Should I leave a note?
When do we stop eating?
Is it when the food get's cold? Is it when there's only one chip, one slice of pizza, one bite of cake left? I don't want to be rude. Do I stop eating ever? If I leave leftovers, am I a dick? When we're sad, and it's a funeral, and there's powdered donut jelly balls, are six enough? When we're on a date, at a movie, and there's junior mints, and it's the first month, is 2 enough? At six months, are four ok? At two years, can we each just get our own box?
Answer:
You stop eating when you die.
Is it when you're full? What is full to you? Is full the same as happy? Does being full make you happy? How do you avoid being stuffed? What if stuffed is all I know, especially at night time. When my dad tells my mom he's so stuffed he can't move, is that a compliment to her? Will it keep her from crying? How come when I tell people that I'm stuffed they're concerned for me?
When do I stop eating?
When there's only enough cereal for 1 and a half more bowls, do I save the half and blend it with the next box? Do I combine it all...all of the fruit and yogurt Special K, and just let the milk get even that much more pink? I keep wheat thins below the sink for when I'm on the toilet (instead of magazines), do I stop eating when other people can hear the crunching? When I'm eating sushi while driving, and there are three pieces left, but I've already hit a car while backing out of a parking space, do I stop eating? Should I leave a note?
When do we stop eating?
Is it when the food get's cold? Is it when there's only one chip, one slice of pizza, one bite of cake left? I don't want to be rude. Do I stop eating ever? If I leave leftovers, am I a dick? When we're sad, and it's a funeral, and there's powdered donut jelly balls, are six enough? When we're on a date, at a movie, and there's junior mints, and it's the first month, is 2 enough? At six months, are four ok? At two years, can we each just get our own box?
Answer:
You stop eating when you die.
Friday, March 5, 2010
I'll be there!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
More GOLD
My Mom tonight:
Did you see today's Oprah Show? The Chinese are all getting plastic surgery on their eyes so they're not so slanted!
Did you see today's Oprah Show? The Chinese are all getting plastic surgery on their eyes so they're not so slanted!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Purple
My favorite color is purple. I love the book The Color Purple. I think it's my favorite book. Sometimes I feel like Celie. Sometimes I feel like Harpo. I used to feel like Mister. Most of the time I'm Sofia, though. I like the smell of lavender. That's purple. My iPod is purple. My favorite button down shirts are purple. One is electric purple and one is light purple. I want to have an eggplant colored room one day. My favorite Otter Pop was Alexander the Grape. That's purple, too.
If I were a king I'd have a traditional purple cape. I'd probably do a yellow pattern on it, but I' be more concerned that it be the color of a stuffed Barney factory. When I was a kid, I wore purple t-shirts, but I wa sfat and all my friends called me Grimace, because McDonalds had that big fat purple sidekick to Ronald McDonald. I didn't care though. Purple can be slimming--especially if it's dark. Janet Jackson wears big purple jackets sometimes that are long and cover her ass. She wears those when shes having a fat day.
Bruises are purple sometimes. When they're purple that's when they are the most painful, especially if they are dark purple. When the shade gets lighter it's healing. When it's green, it's almost gone, but it had to be purple to get there. You can't be hurt without going through some deep boysenberry pie-colored skin. So when you're going through that pain, go stick the end of a whip cream bottle in your mouth. You've earned it. You have an ow-ie.
A lot of sex can be purple, too. When you're really turned on, sometimes the ends of your ding-a-ling can turn purplish. Wouldn't it be such a turn-off to announce to your partner, "Wanna get purp-ly?" Yeah. It'd be a turn off to most. I'd say, "Sure!" Because I have purple Condoms. I use Durex!
Purple is feminine and I kinda dig that. It's not pink, which to me is the color that is all wrong. Pink is for fruity lamps with fur on the end. Barbies wear pink. Even Richard Simmons doesn't wear pink anymore. Pink has taken on a cutesy, helpless quality. It's the color "Juicy" is written in on the back of sweatpants. Ick. I wanna barf.
Good thing I drank way to many purple hooter shooters tonight. They'll look great in my toilet bowl!
(See Lewis Carroll, anyone can write nonsense)
If I were a king I'd have a traditional purple cape. I'd probably do a yellow pattern on it, but I' be more concerned that it be the color of a stuffed Barney factory. When I was a kid, I wore purple t-shirts, but I wa sfat and all my friends called me Grimace, because McDonalds had that big fat purple sidekick to Ronald McDonald. I didn't care though. Purple can be slimming--especially if it's dark. Janet Jackson wears big purple jackets sometimes that are long and cover her ass. She wears those when shes having a fat day.
Bruises are purple sometimes. When they're purple that's when they are the most painful, especially if they are dark purple. When the shade gets lighter it's healing. When it's green, it's almost gone, but it had to be purple to get there. You can't be hurt without going through some deep boysenberry pie-colored skin. So when you're going through that pain, go stick the end of a whip cream bottle in your mouth. You've earned it. You have an ow-ie.
A lot of sex can be purple, too. When you're really turned on, sometimes the ends of your ding-a-ling can turn purplish. Wouldn't it be such a turn-off to announce to your partner, "Wanna get purp-ly?" Yeah. It'd be a turn off to most. I'd say, "Sure!" Because I have purple Condoms. I use Durex!
Purple is feminine and I kinda dig that. It's not pink, which to me is the color that is all wrong. Pink is for fruity lamps with fur on the end. Barbies wear pink. Even Richard Simmons doesn't wear pink anymore. Pink has taken on a cutesy, helpless quality. It's the color "Juicy" is written in on the back of sweatpants. Ick. I wanna barf.
Good thing I drank way to many purple hooter shooters tonight. They'll look great in my toilet bowl!
(See Lewis Carroll, anyone can write nonsense)
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