I'm not one to brag, but... I f_cking know HOW to ruin a vacation.
Like a champ.
Like a motherf_ cking champ, you guys.
Like, I can hear the throngs of readers gasping at my mad skills. Practically.
Here, in no particular order, are the top 13 (lucky, right?) ways to ruin your vacation:
Spend the 15 preceding days putting in 17-hour days with little-to-no sleep, eating one meal a day, living with severe nausea.
Be absolutely too fatigued to be excited/sleep properly/eat/enjoy yourself on the way or once you arrive at your vacation destination.
Bring a laptop and Wifi (wireless internet) device.
Discover that from ANYWHERE in the resort, you can and DO access internet for free (in your typical-at-home-unhealthy-addiction-to-the-internet fashion). Get sand in your Wifi device.
Decide to wash your only pair of pants and hang them outside to dry. See #6.
Leave your hometown when it is experiencing a sunny heat wave. While gone, experience constant cloudy skies and thundershowers at your destination. Ensure you pay too much for the trip AND experience the full rain and humidity.
Discover that the 5-star (hahahah! FIVE stars?!? In your dreams, Breezes Grand Negril!) resort is incapable of meeting your allergy/food dietary restriction needs. Discover they expected you to bring your own gluten-free pasta/food. Commence 6 days of hunger pangs between bouts of crippling nausea.
Realize that a working telephone is necessary. Then realize your room phone is 97% static, and 3% sassy Jamaican attitude. Refer back to #4, and Skype the shit out of people.
Be too sick to your stomach to drink alcohol. At an all inclusive resort. That you paid too much for. While it's raining and you can't lay on the beach. And you are pissed at your travelling companion because they crushed your ego and spirit in a disastrous game of Scrabble a few hours before.
Be wholly and completely constipated. I mean 100%. Until the day of departure. Then go to the opposite extreme. EXTREME.
Discover far too late that you actually despise rum.
Have a long, relaxing, hot shower and unknowingly flood the entire hallway and part of the bedroom floor of your room. Try to call housekeeping, then refer to #8. Following this realization, spend 85 minutes trying to flush out the water into the outdoor hallway with your feet, your travelling companion's feet, one semi-dry towel and one small plastic cup. Fail at this.
Oh, and have your house up for sale the whole time. While you are in another country. (Does wonders for the nerves/soul/general feeling of helplessness and detachment). Also replace "people" in #8 with "Realtor".
If you need any additional tips on how to ruin your vacation, ruining a vacation to Jamaica, how to waste a lot of money on vacation, or general stupidity when planning something that should be relaxing and fun - you know who to talk to.
And if you want an even MORE painful version, talk to my husband.
Like, to the point of mashing them on my gluten free toast every morning, even though they pack about 25grams of fat into one little bastard. And even if they are not even remotely ripe. I just rip the sh*t out of the bread and still try to mash away.
Anyway.
They keep getting more and more expensive at the grocery store, but I needed my fix, so I bought a bunch at full price.
I opened one of those babies up... to see this:
Perhaps it's the universe telling me to STOP EATING SO MANY GODDAMNED AVOCADOS?
Now, I know you probably don't give a rat's ass, but that is a pretty crappy pit-to-actual-edible-avocado ratio.
Seriously.
Really.
I feel so ripped off. I guess I should be glad there was less fat in my belly?
For any of you who aren't cheapskates who like to avoid the hassles and bullshit that accompany trying to sell anything on eBay, I'd like to introduce Kijiji. The cheap bastard's way of posting classifieds.
I sold my old car on there once. It seems like an easy option. I mean - who reads the real newspaper anymore? I don't. (Then again I avoid all news for that matter, so maybe lots of folks read the paper and I am just incredibly out of touch...)
I just tried to post a wanted ad, and lo and behold the f_ckers deleted my ad. And it wasn't even because I was seeking this:
Never underestimate the power of punctuation. And my crazy, overtired imagination. (Anyone else picturing zombie babies? No? Just me?)
Kijiji and eBay just piss me off.
Oh, happy easter bunny crucifixion day, too. Don't want to be rude and overlook that.
And not loaded off of Skinny Girl Sangria. No, my dear friends, not THAT good kind of loaded.
I mean, I clearly must make huge bank. Be rolling in dough. I think I should be wiping my butt with twoonies. Hell, twenties.
Why, you ask?
Because I can afford THIS:
My sexy thumb, for scale. And I think that is mothereffing barley which has gluten.
What's that you say?
"What's the big deal?"
Well... in my foolish attempt to secure a low-cost meal option at the grocery store, I decided to get the medium size of bean salad. Thinking it was sold by the size (like the horrendous greasy potato wedges I ALSO ate), I picked the middle of the road.
AND WAS HORRIFIED when I saw the label right before I was rung through the cash.
BEANS ARE HEAVY.
I am sure your bowels can agree with me on this one. So when sold by the weight...
What, is there Grey Poupon in there or something? WTF?
Seriously? REALLY? For bean salad (with or without a fancy name label)? SERIOUSLY?
F_ck.
All I could think of was this:
Talk about brilliant marketing. Add some vinegar, olive oil, and salad counter leftovers, and mark the price up TEN TIMES. I assumed once it was scooped and labelled it was mine, so I didn't ask her to put it back.
I even had all the f_cking ingredients at home.You know, except for the effort part.
So don't hate.
Also? Don't order the large unless you are having Cristal champagne and having your driver take you home in your Rolls Royce/Hummer limousine hybrid.
Drink half a 1.5 Litre bottle of Riesling wine all by yourself while your better half goes and plays Ultimate Frisbee. (Dad, I blame you for the leftover wine. Next time, it goes home with you!!)
Then challenge him to a trash-talking board game, upon his return.
Good things can never come of such events.
Consider yourself warned, and no, you get no photographic evidence.
Though, I may have pissed a few friends off on Facebook.
Just wanted to share with my American readers the kind of shit we get for Black Friday in Canada. The sales here are just mind boggling.
You can get an iPad2 in the U.S. for $12.78 if you are first in line, cut a bitch, and stalk the store like a maniac.
Here in chilly Canada, we just sit back at our computers and await our wicked tech deals from stores like Futureshop.ca at the stroke of midnight (or 4am if you awake due to horrific nightmares and decide that a glass of cranberry juice and some internet surfing will make it all better, like me).
I found this, early this morning. Instead of sleeping, I started searching the live sales.
I just ironically ripped off Jeff at Content Unrelated with COMPLETELY RELATED (read: near identical, odd) CONTENT.
Back Story:
I have been less active because my computer crashed on me after some updates, and I have been maniacally trying to save my data from the dead computer.
I`ve been using the New Husband`s Molasses 1.0 speed computer to keep getting my hits of internet (so as not to go into complete shock from withdrawal).
Anyway, I found that stupid picture below of my melted chocolate bar (from JUNE) when I was recovering data, and forgot about how much I wanted to bitch about it... so I did.
NOW:
I went over to Content Unrelated tonight to read his most recent post about contaminated lolly pops. Then read his older post below... about chocolate... with bubbles... and what a rip off it is (or brilliant marketing??).
Seriously? I mean who thinks of that at the same fucking time and blogs about it?
Really? And then I write a post?
How often does that happen?
If I were Jeff, I would think I was a lying bitch (with a much less witty post). Damn you once again, Aero bar.
I did this once before with Inspiration strikes. In the Kneecaps... a related post only discovered after I had posted my own. It may have been Tragically Hip related, I can`t remember. (Oh don`t judge... I also can`t remember my sister`s birthday or my middle name).
What a douche.
Me, I mean.
Who does that? Seriously?
Also? My stupid apostrophies are not working correctly, and I have to copy and paste my question marks. I also think I pluralized that incorrectly. I think I should just give this shit up all together.
You seriously, REALLY, and I mean SERIOUSLY never know what you're going to get.
A friend of mine began her speech at the wedding with this line (which was awesome), but I tell ya.
Plan in advance. Double check, triple check, and have someone else do the same, and ultimately you may still end up with a tie-dyed pair of jeans, a crown made of twine and rabbit poop, and potato chips flavoured like "prawn cocktail" (that last one is real).
Anywho, I promise to post more narcissistic wedding photos shortly. Because you all care. I am sure of it.
Sears, why do you suck so much? You have shitty, overpriced stuff. Your clearance prices, return policies, and catalogue ordering all suck donkey balls.
Grandma, why a gift card to Sears? (see above) (just kidding Grandma, you got Winners, that rocks... but I mean it! Next year please just donate to the SPCA!)
Why is it that it doesn't matter how many times I check to make sure I turned on the correct stovetop burner before walking away from the stove, I manage to damage something/use the wrong burner/melt the cordless phone? Seriously!?
Why is sitting in a salon chair for hours SO BLOODY awkward? I guess that is why people tell their hairdresser their life story. What the hell else do you do for four-freakin'-hours?
Why do people with the nicest homes have the cheapest, easiest-to-tear, sandpaper-to-butt toilet paper?
Why is it that Shopper's Drug Mart always makes you wait a minimum of 30 minutes for a single prescription? I know you want store sales, but dude, can't you see I'M SICK?!?
Why does it feel somehow wrong to "poke" someone on Facebook? I reciprocate because it seems like the right thing to do... but I feel so dirty afterwards...
Pokity poke-poke. Either could result in blinding.
Oh yeah. Corn, dairy, gluten, wheat, and nuts be damned.
Nobody better lay a finger on my Butterfinger(s).
I tried one of these when was in the U.S.A. many years ago in my youth, (because who could resist Bart Simpson's marketing tactics? And skateboard?) and I fell in love. Hard. Not with him, with the mighty Butterfinger.
Well, I learned last year that my deeply detested, self-loathing-inducer beloved Walmart carries these bad boys in "mini" size at Halloween. Oooooooh Baby. I bought three bags. (Okay, and one bag BEFORE Halloween).
Aaaaah Butterfinger........ *shudder*
Okay, side note, I totally googled "orgasm face" and found this picture immediately. This girl LOOKS like me, appears to have a mark where a nose ring would be (where mine USED to be) and has similar ear piercings in the same spots (but my third lower one is now defunct). If I didn't know any better, I would seriously think this was me. But it is not. Seriously, really, seriously. I even have two yellow towels like that. Day-um.
That also reminds me - I found this naked-artsy picture once and told a friend it was me. It LOOKS like it could have been me. But again, it is not. If I find it, I will post it for you. Because I am sure that would interest you. You pervs.
The partial aftermath (this was bag #2 remnants). (No, this is not the artsy nude photo in my likeness. Though I see how you might confuse a that and a pretty pink trash bag).
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
I force fed BF perhaps 10 at best. I gave my dad one at a hockey game. I also gave my niece one. I bought three bags of 30 count. That means that approximately 78 of these bastards are making their way (albeit painfully) through my digestive tract, with a direct endgoal of my ass/saddlebaggage.
Stupid lack of self-control + 50% off candy + Bart Simpson + Mmmmmmm chocolate.
I am finally (supposedly) going back to blond(er) tomorrow. Wish me luck because we all know how well salon and spa experiences tend to work out for me.
I hope these babies don't decide to revolt or make some sort of statement while I am sitting in a salon chair with crazy ass foils all over the place at the mall. (Why ARE mall bathrooms always so far away, no matter where you are in the mall??!)
I digress. And by digress I mean "publish, go to bed, and don't look back."
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Wow me, two posts in one day (can you tell I am avoiding real work here?)
This is a trial run....
Stumbled upon this cool program and HAD to try it. It's just like taking you guys along to a specialist's doctor's appointment with me!!
This is ACTUAL FOOTAGE of me trying to advocate for myself at the doc's... in the middle of a park somewhere. With large eyes. In cartoon format. So, damn near completely accurate.
Okay, well there are lots of things. Maybe this should be titled "only a very few things that piss me off in order to fit in a sort of short post"....
I thought I would type some shizz now and perhaps elaborate more later. I wanted to take pictures of 1 and 2 but just didn't, because I am lazy.
By obstructing the view and making it unsafe to turn right, you, too will be convinced to vote for Smedley!
Political signs on people's front lawns, especially when the signs start to get larger and larger when their neighbour has one from a different political party
Obscenely oversized political signs on random city corners. Is the corner going to vote? And for all candidates?
Mother-effing yeast infections
Naturopaths who tell you to shove either a) raw garlic b) chamomile tea bags c) grapefruit seed extract d) plain yogurt with probiotics w/no sugar up your hoo-ha to stop said infection in #3 (PEOPLE, I know you are smart if you are reading my blog *har har* but don't EVARRR do ANY of those things)
Sugar. I love it, but it causes me.. uh... problems.... therefore it pisses me off.
People who put bagged dog poo in my empty recycling bin (located beside my garbage bin) before I have a chance to bring it in. Seriously??... Reeeally?..... Seriously? You think that is helpful?
People who force me to litter by violently throwing bagged dog poo down the road in a fit of rage after realizing recycling bin #1 punctured not visible bagged poo in recycling bin #2 (from list item #6).
Vets that lie and don't provide estimates and overcharge and play on your emotions (no, not Dr. Harkness at West Brant Animal Hospital... they are freakin' awesome and a breath of fresh air).
People who have call waiting but NEVER answer it. Why the hell do you have it then? WHY?!?
Doctors who don't give a crap about their patients. I understand you are busy, I understand our health care system is overwhelmed.... but, unfortunately, my quality of life matters to me, dammit.
Dietitians or nutritionists who whip out Canada's food guide when they have a gluten-free, soy-free vegan sitting in front of them, desperate for nutrition and intolerant of all the damn things on the food guide.
Not vegan friendly. At all. Ever.
OH! And BLOATING!
That is all.
p.s. My vote is always for Mayor West
And I don't own any of these photos....
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So, just wanted to let everyone know I am alive, but haven't been feeling too hot since my last post. Don't worry, I don't think I'm dying or anything dramatic. Though I *do* have a flair for the dramatic.
Found myself in hospital emerg. last night.
I had the pleasure of pushing a button, waiting for #106 to be "served" (what is it, the damn deli counter?), then sitting beside a young fellow with psychiatric issues who discussed his passion for saving others uncertain of a) the Afterlife b) Jesus Christ and/or c) some computer game. He also discussed his passion for his sister, and indicated he wished her "resolve was not quite so strong" to the gentleman beside him.
I wish I was making this shit up.
His sister appeared, and she split her time between praising Jesus/finding his light and letting the sick, elderly people in the room know, insulting her mentally ill brother, and talking trash about the hospital staff and how she would like to sue them.
It was truly heartwarming. I love me a well-rounded Evangelist.
As I clutched two little teal-coloured plastic bedpans (in case of vomiting), I just hoped a spot would open up for me.
The crazy went on and on and on.
I thought to myself... let's be positive! Then the true me starting thinking about how much it all sucked and all the bad things associated with being there.
I summarized my thoughts, left to right, in a chart just for YOU!
At the end of the day? Some unpleasant findings, and a (supposed?) referral to another doctor next week.
His name? Dr. Death Dath.
I shit.you.not. Can't wait for that appointment. Should be great. I'll let you guys know (presuming I live through the appointment to tell).
p.s. I am asking for my health for Christmas. I wonder if the girl with the line to Jesus could have gotten me into direct contact with Santa? Dammit, the pain clearly clouded my judgement.
UPDATE - OCTOBER 5, 2010: Dr. Dath was a very very nice man who took time to explain things to me and calm me the eff down, and I hope he doesn't Google himself, find this page, and think I am mocking him. I admit, his name sort of terrifies me, but to anyone who has happened upon this blog while looking him up - you will not be disappointed, I have every faith that he will be able to help you with your problems, or at least let you know where to go/who to talk to if he cannot help you himself. Just wanted to clarify that. He is a very good doctor.
And, interestingly enough, as Jody pointed out, I have the 4th spot on page 1 when you search him, even if my Gerard. J. Butler post failed miserably and never even made it into that stinkin' search engine.
Okay, I am supposed to be cleaning the house because I am a PigSlob who is:
messy
cluttered
mildly hoarding-like
easily distracted
what was I saying?
Oh yeah....
hey! something shiny! (focus, dammit, this is Wal-mart and the nose leash all over again)
painfully addicted to the internet
unable to throw perfectly good things out (see No. 3)
incapable of properly organizing donations of things (and I feel guilty asking those certain ones to come to my door - it costs them gas money so how is that helping?)
don't know where to send perfectly good toiletries I haven't opened or don't want any more (even women's shelters around here won't accept them) which sends me back to No. 9.
indecisive, often stopping myself before I start, especially with tasks like this
quick to get frustrated/impatient and want to give up
Okay, I'm done making that stupid list. It's depressing (see No. 13).
Anywho, I had a proud moment today. Thought I would share it with you all so you can once again say "I'm so happy I don't have her life".
I have still been losing weight (and hair) and now I am getting pain in my teeth. The latest (racist and incompetent) dietitian told me to try to ignore the 'BANNED' or 'CHEAT' list and start eating more foods because I am simply not getting proper nutrition.
SO you know what my wonderful idea was today? Why not lure a co-worker to come to the PIZZA.Freakin'.HUT.Lunch.BUFFET. And I lured. And we went. And I ATE beyotches. I ate like it was the last supper, or.. well... the first good lunch I have had in a loooooong time.
What? Not a good idea?
I ate 8 pieces of veggie pizza, and 2 pieces of dessert pizza. Oh, and 2 bread sticks for good measure.
I returned to work. The cramps worsened. The nausea bloomed. But I expected that. Tomorrow will be rough. But I signed up for it, so suck it up, right?
I pulled into the mall parking lot after successfully stopping and returning stuff at 2 stores. And I felt it. After 7 months of vomiting daily in 2009, there was no mistaking what was coming next.
I was in a freshly paved, non-porous asphalt parking lot. There was no storm drain nearby. Even if there was, I wouldn't have made it in time.
SO the vomiting commenced. Leaning out of my driver's side door, trying to simultaneously keep the door open enough to not puke IN the car, closed enough I had a shred of a veil/cover from the public in the lot, keep my damn sweater cowl neck from becoming a strainer, and hold my stupid brown/purple terrible-multi-length-cut-hair from becoming entangled in the drama in front of me.
In... uhhh.. unrelated news - Did you know that asphalt is really hard? That things can BOUNCE back upwards if shot downwards with enough force?
Yeah... my last post about the spa lost me two followers (that's 12%! How depressing is that?!). I figure this post should clear out at least 5 more.
But this is my life. This is the glory and the glamour. This is the frustration, the hunger, the lack of portion-control. This is my body telling me to eff.right.off. I still had to make returns to 3 more stores, on shaky legs. I popped an organic, all natural, sugar and sweetener-free mint, cleaned up with a napkin, and had to forge ahead.
"Hi..... I'm here to look legitimate and mature and make some returns. Mmmmkay? What? Something on my face?"
Maybe it was really just triggered because two of my co-workers were egging me on when Bublé came on the radio before I left. One even started singing. Then playing it on his computer. Loud enough to enrage me (so, simply audible I guess). I say it's Bublé's fault.
Too bad I couldn't explain that to the lady beside me in the line at Winners... who kept inching further and further away from me...
Gotta go clean. BF's folks are coming into town and I have to deal with Nos. 1 through 13 now.
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But I feel a burning need to do this, because I do this in my head mentally on a daily basis, and a lot of this isn't enough to make a post of, on its own. So here goes. Thank you for the idea, ladies, I hope you don't think I am a good-idea-thief.
Dear Noisy Comforter:
We bought you as a 'nice' addition to our room... to appear more grown up and coordinate with our brown and green scheme. You are fucking noisy as hell and I hate you. Washing in hot water and drying with fabric softener sheets have done nothing to muffle your incessant need to be heard whenever BF or I toss and/or turn in our sleep.
You are cloth. How the hell can you produce noises at the volume you do, betwixt two sleeping bodies? Seriously??... Reeeally?..... Seriously? You ruined my weekend sleep-in mornings and I hate you. Your expensive, noisy ass is being relegated to another room. We will happily go back to our ghetto-pilled-up-unmatchy comforter.
p.s. I am tired. Fuck you.
-S
Dear Driver Ahead of Me Who Drives Really Slow Until The Stoplight Turns Yellow, Then Guns It To Get Through The Light While Laughing at Me, Stuck At The Red Light:
Is there a congregation of you folk? Is it your life's purpose to drive around all day like this and just annoy the shit out of late people like myself who really really wanted to get through that light? Is your standard driving speed really somewhere between 35-45 km/hr? How is it that you seem to be able to consistently plant yourself in front of me on the days I am the most late for work?
You incite the most unhealthy levels of road rage in me. I want your licence revoked. Twice over. Bitch.
-S
Dear Puppy With Oversized Worm Belly, Razor Sharp Teeth, and Beloved Puppy Breath:
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
I love you. I wish I could eat you up in a vegan-appropriate way. You are so freakin' cute it hurts.
-S
Dear Fruit Flies In My Purse:
Listen, I have bad days and limited food options. I also like a good deal when I find one. If I buy local baskets of peaches (you know, to support local farmers, but mostly because they are yummy and on sale), I will undoubtedly toss one or two in my purse.
Now, fruit flies, I am also a forgetful person at times. I get this from THE MOTHER I think. When I either:
a) forget that I ALREADY placed two peaches in aforementioned purse or
b) believe I have eaten all peaches in my purse but turn out to be wrong
Please take some pity on me and do not find said peach(es) in an advanced state of decomposition in purse and feast like there is no tomorrow.
How can you even get into a sealed purse? You have skills beyond my earthly ones. (Like my impressive ability to ascertain whiplash consecutively). Please, please just stay in my purse until I make the awful discovery. Flying out, plumped up to nearly the size of a mosquito, in front of family and co-workers makes me look really gross(er). And by then, when I kill you, you actually have enough blood to splatter.
Please fruit flies. I promise to try to eat all fruit assigned to my purse. Should I slip, please just feast and remain in said purse until I can free you via purse contents emptied onto a patio table, letting you fly away happily and satisfied into the night.
-S
Dear Schultz:
Please do not head straight for people's crotches when they walk in our door [sidenote: Schultz is our dog, I am not referring to BF]. You never do this to mommy or daddy. Is it that we have uninteresting genitals? You already know us well enough? You think this is appropriate "getting to know you" behaviour with our human guests?
Criticize me? But... but MO-OM! I'm so cute... Don't make fun... *sad face*
Also, kindly refrain from enthusiastically "cleansing" both your penis and your anus for minutes on end. Especially in front of company. [sidenote: the poor boy does have something wrong with his bum, but we are scheduling him surgery and we are super-concerned.. but he has always 'enjoyed' this preening before problems arose.... I can only assume].
I know it's hard. I'm sure your flexibility and canine status make it practically expected of you, but still.
Finally - we love you very much, are worried about you, want you to be better, hope that you are happy here, but also request that you do not attempt to make contact with our faces/hands/surfaces immediately after you have "cleansed". At least get a drink of water or something. Please? I may be lying when I tell you that you have fresh breath. I just don't want to hurt your feelings, Schlutzy-pants.
-Love, Mom
Dear Winamp & All My MP3 Files:
When BF has (male, 30-45ish) poker company over and I offer to play music from my computer, please don't make me look like such a douche. I know, I know, I can make these things called "Play Lists" but I don't have itunes and shit isn't labelled properly by genre or year, making it really hard for me to scroll through ALL the songs and organize the way I should.
I promise to look into theses tech-savvy assistants to help streamline my choice of music, however until I master this, kindly cease selecting classic ditties such as:
"Bangles - Eternal Flame"
anything old Britney Spears
50s hits my father would enjoy (Pallisades Park, for example, including all other reminiscent-only downloads)
slow/folk-y Sarah Harmer songs
90s house music such as "A Little Bit of Ecstasy - Remix" or "Berri - Sunshine After The Rain (Thunderpuss 2000 Mix)" (even I don't like remixes)
anything from "The Bodyguard" soundtrack, or
"Hot Chocolate - You Sexy Thing".
There are more, but neither BF nor myself can remember (probably because the embarrassment has forced us to block out the memories).
Also, please get in touch with all of my empty CD cases with decent music inside the house, ask them to contact the CD booklet in my car, tell them to come inside and next time we can avoid this SNAFU altogether by circumventing digital with some classic Tragically Hip or Pearl Jam CDs.
Thanks.... for nothin'!
-S
Dear Vampire Bill on True Blood:
I love it when you say Sookie. Sookie Sookie Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse.
I will miss you until Season 4.
p.s. This video is wayyyy too long, but you'll get the idea after a minute or so...
The Disappearing Urge. I have to believe that we've all experienced it one time or another.
[DISCLAIMER #1 - THIS POST ONLY GETS CLASSIER THAN THE REST FROM HERE.]
You are out somewhere utterly, totally and completely inconvenient when the urge strikes. It can begin subtly (but often doesn't). A small sensation, and you know what needs to happen(Stops by 00:00:45).
Easy right?
Never!!!
You are most likely:
In the middle of your presentation.
You have a full grocery cart of frozen vegetables.
You are walking your dog and are at the furthest point from home.
You are in a mosh pit.
You are on a wilderness hike.
You are on a building inspection that is time sensitive, or worse yet, on a swing stage 23 floors up.
You are in your car stuck in rush hour traffic.
You are at a critical plot revelation during an intense movie in the theatre, in the centre of a long row.
You are in a communal jail holding cell with a single shared toilet, and lots of people checking out your body. (This scenario is the most likely, I think).
Now, personally speaking from a year of essential stomach/GI paralysis, where things only ever came out if I was throwing up, you would think this would be a welcome brain/body-physiological message to someone like me. But no, trust me, it's not. I just think "Seriously??... Reeeally?..... Seriously? Right now? But... but...."
So back in February my family doctor convinced me to attend a 'free' weekly nutritional information session in the Naturopathic clinic in the same building as her office. "It's free!" she said "It will be good for you!" she said "It can't hurt, you eat pretty badly" BF said (in front of her... damn, busted).
So I agreed and hoped to learn something.
After the month of lovely (read: nasty, but free!) herbal teas and VERY generic, top line nutritional information, we were encouraged to make an appointment with the naturopath.
Those of you who know me must realize at this point that cynical, skeptical me was on to their schemes from the beginning (I did say to BF that they will totally try to sell nutritional stuff). Also, you will know I fearlessly speak my mind and can't be pressured into uncomfortable situations by people I perceive to be smarter or in some type of position of power (you know, pretty much ANY combination of letters after their name). Stop laughing!!
SO I BOOKED ME AN APPOINTMENT! YAY! ER.... Read on. (See? Willpower of steel, bitches).
She was very skinny, trendy, well dressed, perfectly coiffed, intense. I was intimidated immediately. We then spent the next 6 hours reviewing my medical history and all the shizz that's wrong with me. (Again, I NEVER dramatize, but I still think it was just under 2 hours... I'm THAT special!). You can decide what kind of special.
Approximation of thinness and height of evil Naturopath
Her conclusion:
All kinds of problems that could only be solved by spending money on:
"liver cleansing" (because she could practically *SEE* how dirty my ole' liver was)
"candida eradication" (because that stuff normally occurs in every human being on earth, but it was likely the root of all my evil health stuff, so let's kill that shizz!) and
I don't even know what else. But there was more
But it wasn't the supplements that made her evil. Oh no. It was the following diabolical scheme between her and the nutritionist. She happened to mention that I could no longer eat the following:
dairy
wheat
soy/tofu
caffeine
eggs
nuts (other than cashew and macadamia) (side note, allergic to cashews, hate macadamias) (extra edit - didn't know I couldn't eat cashews until 4 months after this)
corn
ANYTHING with sugar. Including fruit.
Yes, that's right, no fruit
beans
nightshade vegetables (I'm not even sure what they all are, but I was told no peppers, eggplant, tomatoes, potatoes, too)
I think there's more, but if you pick up a container of anything around you, you will find at least two of these ingredients in there. I guarantee it. (Well maybe not hot, muscle-y abs, but the rest).
And that is how I started this horrible diet-change journey. It was necessary to stop the constant nausea and stomach pain and bloat.... but it's been soooooooooooooooo hard.
The skinny evil Naturopath mentioned this casually, then she floated back to her office, telling me to make a follow up visit.
Did I mention I was already vegetarian? Yeah, seriously.
I now have a love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with rice. 'Cause it is kinda all I can eat.
But you know what? I am SUCH a rebel, I eat some fruit, or watered down fruit juice, sometimes even DAILY now. I bet you all had no idea that I am such a badass.
Yup. Badass.
I'm going to make gluten-free crusted pizza.... WITH CHEESE~!
SO badass it hurts. No wait... that's my stomach that will be hurting tomorrow.....
So, on the day I was this.close to fainting before getting into my car, because my sugar was so low, I decided I needed another naturopath.
Damned if she didn't tell me the same things. And sell me more shizz. And I bought it. BUT - SHE said I could have chocolate occasionally!!! (therefore she is not evil).
[EDIT - November 2016] - I wrote this post years ago, and it still gets a surprising number of reads. I am an asshole, no doubt. This is mindless blather. I've just recently learned that Mr. Buble's son, Noah, an innocent and certainly wonderful little 3 year old boy has been diagnosed with cancer. I extend my actual real sincere heartfelt concern to him and his family at this time. I have a 3 year old, and I can't imagine the agony, fear, sadness and turmoil they must be experiencing. So, yes, I am obviously an asshole with my irrelevant post below, but I hope Noah can overcome this.... as quickly as possible. Make a full recovery and that he will flourish and the family can rest easy.
Yes, I said it. It's totally irrational, not at all logical, and unclear even to me. But it's true. The moment I even hear his name uttered, I can feel the hairs raise on the back of my neck (and not in a good way). I cannot change the radio station fast enough when his voice comes on. It makes me blind with rage, for some strange reason.
Exhibit A: MB causing inner rage right now. Probably will never be able to look at this post again. Thanks a lot.
In my mind, I overlap his face with John Mayer which automatically gives him about 90,000 points for douchey-ness. "But Stephanie," you say "he is NOT John Mayer so why punish poor Bublé?". You might also say "Stephanie, don't start sentences with the word BUT". Who knows, I can't read your minds, people.
Exhibit B: Douchebag Mayer (anyone who hurts Team Aniston is no friend of mine, kids)
See, not really similar. Except for the douchiness.
