Tag Archives: health

The Golden Age.

21 Oct


don’t let anger ruin your life

^ Another search term that someone used that landed them on my blog. Clearly they came to the wrong place. If anger didn’t consume my life, I would have very little to talk about. You’re welcome.

Drove by (okay, through) McDonald’s today. Looks like the McRib is back. When are they going to stop crying wolf about the McRib? Every time it comes out, it’s “out for a limited time ONLY!”  McDonald’s is to the McRib as Brett Favre is to football. Either retire it or don’t, McFavre.

We only have 3 more days to play McDonald’s Monopoly, boys and girls. This means that I have a legitimate excuse to go overboard with large fries and medium Dr. Peppers this weekend other than “I’m fat” or “I deserve it.” My amigo Alison, myself, and my cross-country friend Mr. Kocourek decided to join forces to increase our odds of winning.


I would like to win a million dollars. If that’s not possible, I’d like to win fifty-thousand dollars. If that’s not possible, I’d like to win a car so I can sell it for twenty-thousand dollars. If that’s not possible, I’d like to win free McDonald’s french fries for the rest of my life. If that’s not possible, then this isn’t America.



I am ghost-like. My tan is fading rapidly. I am beginning to resemble a person in hospice. All the colorful life draining out of my flesh, death slowly taking over. I need to start tanning. I am leery of sunless tanning lotion. A girl I know has been using it just on her face and neck, and she looks like a bronze goddess. The only problem is, I imagine that when she is not clothed, her tan head looks like a brown paper sack on a white ghost body. Then again, it’s not like I’m parading around in the nude for everyone to see my color progression. At least not on weekdays.

I recently dug through about a thousand old photo albums from my late high school/early college years. Boy are they something. I was fatter, drunker, and whiter, if you can believe it. I don’t understand how we all partied like we did back in those days. We were unstoppable binge drinking machines. Nothing could get us down. Not even a .34 blood alcohol content or the police.


In those days we would start drinking at 2 pm, doing beer bongs in the shower while we got ready, and taking shots well into the night. Somewhere in the midst of blacking out and doing keg stands, we would rally a gang to go tearing through Taco Bell in a loud, drunken stupor, barfing all over their single stall bathroom and stealing an unnecessary amount of mild sauce packets. We would scream with disbelief when bar-close came around, complaining with excessive foul language that the night was still young, returning to our respective dorms/apartments and continue to throw booze down our pie holes, blaring DMX at an ungodly decibel until 3 or 4 in the morning when we finally decided to go to bed.

Now I have two drinks, I’m hammered, and I sneak away and go to bed. I even get hung over. How did this happen? Next thing you know, we’ll be applying for social security. Olds.

WELL, time to go. Goodbye everyone.


“That’s the hot water, turn it off! TURN IT OFF!”

“I’m SORRY, I’m not used to using my foot as a HAND!”



20 Oct

Search terms this week:

naked lady covered milk

dog poop in britney spears mouth at night

elephantiasis of the vagina

….Who are you people?

Did 2% get sexy recently? I mean, who doesn’t like big jugs….but that’s not usually what we’re talking about.

Surprisingly, these elephantiasis searches are common. Elephantiasis of the face, the vag, the ball sac. I’m not sure how they lead people to my blog, but apparently there’s some correlation.

I don’t even really know how to comment on the weird Britney Spears’ search term involving dog shit.

Elephantiasis is one hell of a disease. There’s really no point to living if you are stricken with such an unfortunate deformity. I would end my life. I just would.


I’m not even sure where that man’s dick is.



That’s a real shame. That bum was okay to begin with.



That’s the worst case of cankles I’ve ever seen.



Just kidding about that last one. That’s just a morbidly obese man. His deformed body has empanadas to blame, not elephantiasis. He’s got no disease scapegoat to excuse his misshapen, disgusting carcass.

For more on elephantiasis-afflicted scrotums and hilarious ways to exploit the disease for humor, check out the hilarious Becky Delport’s most recent post: http://beckydelport.blogspot.com/2011/10/giant-testicals-strained-groin-muscles.html

I just stuffed so much Chinese food into my tummy. I am bursting at the seams. Today was one of those days that dragged on forever, and in my despair, I was afraid that the day would never come to an end, and even if it did, I had nothing to look forward to. Then I remembered it was Thursday. Fried rice was the light at the end of the tunnel. Now I am immobilized by my full gut. Hopefully I’ve digested enough by bedtime to at least leave the couch.

I’m tired of hanging up clothes. I don’t necessarily mind the act of doing laundry, and I really don’t even mind folding them. But hanging articles of clothing up on hangers? It grinds my gears. I don’t like doing it. I also hate that I am constantly running out of hangers. Where are they all going?

….maybe I just keep buying things.

The world series of baseball is really ruining my television agenda. No one gives a shit about baseball. Even people that give a shit about baseball don’t want to watch it on television. X Factor got F’ed, The Office is F’ed, Community is F’ed, EVERYTHING IS F’ed!!!!!!

Stupid baseball.





W:  What did you have for dinner? I’m starving.

B:   I hate tomato soup.


        I love tomato soup, just to clarify.

Buzz worthy.

12 Sep

Bath & Body Works needs to stop seducing me with their fall collection. I am defenseless. The aromatic candles, yummy soaps, and delicious shower gels and lotions? Are you kidding me? I can’t say no. Recently added to my collection are the following mouth-watering items:


"Autumn Apple."

"Salty Caramel."

"Apple Crumble."


These candles? Pass me a fork and knife. I’m going to need an intervention if they keep coming out with these irresistibly scented things, because I will start consuming them and consequently be nominated for the television show “Strange Addictions.”  These soaps will also make you weep:


"Creamy Pumpkin."

"Sweet Cinnamon Pumpkin."

"Caramel Apple."


These are just a spoon away from becoming ice cream toppings. I will drizzle these soaps over my meals and desserts. How can something smell so good and not be edible? Somebody explain. I want these in my mouth.

Moving forward.

I found a hummingbird laying in my neighbor’s grass this morning. Just fanned out on the lawn, unable to fly. I picked it up and held it for a moment to see if it had maybe just flown into a window and had stunned itself momentarily, but several minutes passed and it still couldn’t do bird things. I got my Dr. DooLittle on and brought it home. After placing it securely in a box, I headed to Petco and got myself a little hummingbird feeder with nectar in it and brought it home. Howard sucked down a great portion of it. He’ll be pooping everywhere in 45 minutes, I’m sure. That’s what happens when I drink too much anyway.


Between writing that last paragraph and now, I did some research on the hummingbird. Howard is a girl. Also, she most likely got attacked by a fellow hummingbird in competition for the sweet nectar of a feeder, as Ruby-throated hummingbirds fight over food during the months of August/September when they try to fatten up for their non-stop 525 mile flight south over the Gulf of Mexico. Poor thing. I hope it eats tons of this nectar and gets better so I can stop protecting it from my dog who wants to play with it. I don’t have time to be a parent.

Does anyone else feel like the subscription cards they stick into magazines procreate while inside the magazine so that they pour out of the pages endlessly, one after another? It is unbelievable. How many post cards do they put into these things? Just when you think there couldn’t possibly be another, out fall two more, nagging you to sign up for a 24-month subscription.

I really do need to sign up for those subscriptions though. I’m wasting a LOT of money buying these mags individually.

I guess 800 subscription ads weren’t enough.

WELL, time to nurse my new friend Howard. I hope I don’t become infested with microscopic mites from it. That would piss me off.


“Look, you can make it wet—you can fold it—-it’s still there. It’s paper towels!”


7 Sep

I need to eat more fruits and vegetables. But….I’d rather eat butter.

All day long while I am out and about doing roofing things, dealing with asshole Western Pennsylvanians, and working up an appetite, all I dream about and look forward to is the moment I get home and can sit down and binge eat. It’s what gets me through the day. At the beginning of each day, I have high hopes that today I will eat healthfully. Lots of veggies and liquids, I plan. Then the day goes on, and all I want to do is dive into a swimming pool full of macaroni and cheese and then eat my way out, because damnit, I deserve it.

By the time I finally get home at night, I tear into the kitchen in a carb-consuming rampage, shuffling around the kitchen with a Wheat Thins box clutched under my arm, up to my elbows in crackers as I boil water on the stove for my pending spaghetti. I storm the kitchen grazing aggressively, and by the time my pasta is actually done boiling, I’m nearly comatose from the carbohydrate overload I’ve forced up on myself.


Today I came home and boiled noodles. I ate plain old noodles with just butter on them. Carbohydrate desperation is what you call that. I have no shame.



Tropical storm “Lee” has brought on continuous rain for the rest of the week. I will be doing nothing this week in celebration. I wish to sleep, surf the ‘net, and snack myself half to death. Except tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to go buy a vacuum.

I need to befriend employees of shwaggy department stores so I can get and use their discount on various material goods. I guess I could always apply and get a job there for that reason, too. I’d work there for an hour, buy a bunch of shit, and then be like, “Peace out motherf-ckers.”  That seems like a lot of work though.

I wish to spend all of my money on denim and leather goods. I don’t think it is possible for me to get enough of these things. Won’t someone just give me six million dollars? I think that’s enough. I need a sugar daddy. I need to win the lottery. I need stuffs.

WELL, I’m going to watch fifteen episodes of Law & Order SVU. SVU really gets me through my evenings. I hope this series never ends. If they discover medicines or herbs that keep people alive forever, and there turns out to be an extremely limited amount of these elixirs, I am very okay with those rations being given to the Law & Order SVU cast so that they may stay alive and continue to make suspenseful, dramatic crime shows until the day that I die.

Ta ta.


B:   What do you call a black person who flies a plane?

J:   I don’t know, a terrorist?

B:   A pilot, you racist.

J:   Maybe where you’re from. This is America, and if you’re not white and you’re flying a plane, you’re probably up to no good.

All that glitters is old.

19 Jun

Is glitter really that inspiring of a material that pop singers worldwide feel irresistibly compelled to write songs about it? Are these girls pulling out their credit cards to snort lines of glitter off toilet seats in the bar bathrooms?

I feel like every song Ke$ha has ever released is about glitter. “Glitter and Glamour,”  “Glitter Puke.”  Her lyrics, if you can call them that, say,  “Where they go hardcore, and there’s glitter on the floor,” “Dirt and glitter cover the floor,” “Go insane, go insane, throw some glitter, make it rain.”  Pink is talking about “Glitter in the Air.”

Katy Perry is on board the glitter-train, “Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now,” Lady Gaga joined the club with “Glitter and Grease”—where does it end?

What happened to singing about love, lust, and loss?

…and rims, bitches, clubs, and cars?

………what happened to singing?

Cee Lo Green is apparently okay with the new glitter movement.


Looks like Christina Aguilera dipped herself in caramel ice cream topping and then rolled in the dirt before this week’s episode of The Voice. My, god. That self-tanning move was a fail. She just can’t quite nail those looks this year it seems. But damnit, can she ever sing.



How much Vicodin is safe/recommended to take at any given time? Christina is exceeding that amount. Just sloppy. Somebody needs to get that woman’s libido under control. Her inappropriate commentary about the contestants is getting out of hand. I think everyone was uncomfortable when she requested Patrick Thomas to remove his pants. Let’s try to stay on topic, Christina. Besides, the only person needing to remove their pants on NBC is Adam Levine.



I am just not on board with Nakia. His voice is okay, but mostly I feel like he is shouting 90% of the time. The man is not attractive. He looks like Sweetums from The Muppets.



Vicci Martinez has this tribal stomping move she does around the stage during every performance. The judges have referred to it as her “war dance,” but I have dubbed it the “squounce.” A squatting-bounce all over the place. It is too distracting for me to even notice her voice.

I love Casey Weston. She is just a doll with great pipes. If Adam Levine does not bed her, they are both passing up a golden opportunity.



Try as they might, physicians and health gurus worldwide cannot inspire fear of skin cancer in me. Ten times out of ten, I will choose bronziness over epidermal health. I am about as afraid of melanoma as I am afraid of the boogie man. Sorry, SPFers. Sunblock higher than SPF 12 will never touch my flesh. 12 is even stretching it. Normally you won’t find me in anything heavier than 4 or 8. I think the best defense against skin cancer is a good attitude, and I’ve got one. I have a theory that anything above an SPF 30 is a hoax. If I wear anything above an SPF 8, I get zero pigmentation whatsoever. Put me in an SPF 50, and I’d probably disappear. It’s going to be hard to convince me that there’s much of a difference between SPF 30 and SPF 100. It’s like, one glass of orange juice gives me 100% of the Vitamin C I need in one day, so drinking five glasses isn’t going to do me any more good than the single glass already did.

Marketing. It’s all marketing.

WELL, I gotta go. The sun had better show its face so that I may even out my polo tan lines today.

Your comrade,



“At least they styled him up a little bit. I mean they did the best they could with his ugly ass.”

“Yeah, he looks like Dom DeLouise.”

The skinny on fat.

20 May

I’m tired of these online ads claiming to have the secret to the “one magic food that cuts down on belly fat!”  There is no mysterious secret. Weight loss is very, very simple. Actually, it’s elementary math. Eat less, exercise more. That’s it. If there is any food that can actually magically cut down on belly fat, it’s Indian food. You barely finish your chicken tikka masala and out it goes, via the other end.  It doesn’t even have time to stick. So yeah, I guess if there’s one magical food that cuts down on belly fat, Indian food is it.

I would really love it if clicking on one of those online ads actually directed me straight to Taj Mahal Restaurant. Haha. Then I would applaud them. While we’re on the topic (of fat-burning, not Indian food), I’d like to clear something up for people: You cannot target fat loss on your body. Doing one million crunches every day will not burn your “belly fat.” It will build ab muscle, for sure.

…Under your gut where no one can see it.

You have to lose weight overall for your gut to shrink, kids. That means cardio. Lots of it. And calorie-control. Every day. There’s no secret. Stop searching for it. Use the ELF method: eat less food. (Copyright Rebecca Switzer).

I went shopping for some denim shorts this afternoon, seeing as the temperature is rapidly rising from mild springtime weather to molten lava exploding from the crust of the earth summer weather. My shopping results were…interesting. Shorts are only two years from no longer existing. And I don’t mean they’ll be obsolete as far as fashion is considered; I mean they’re going to be phased out entirely, because year by year, they get shorter and shorter.

They’re going to disappear. It won’t be long before “shorts” are just a piece of denim with a button and some belt loops with a price tag on them. The pockets on these shorts are hanging almost entirely out the bottom of the “legs.” I’ve seen longer inseams at a midget convention.

Does Skechers really think that marketing their Shape-Ups tennis shoes as the key to a fit, svelte body is accurate? “Step into YOUR new body with Skecher Shape Ups,” they say. Is Skechers trying to claim that wearing their tennis shoes will morph you into an Eva Mendes physique? Get real. Anyone in their right mind understands that donning a magical pair of shoes will not make you drop 6 dress sizes. ELF.

I am really in love with the Kia hamster commercial. They’re so gangster. I mean, they really made those hamsters bigger than hip, hop.

Their dancing? I love their dancing. Clearly Chris Brown coached these rodents.

“You can deal wit, DIS, or you can deal wit, DAT.”

Keep calm and ELF on, boys and girls.

Your amigo,



“Okay. That face is going to set us back in the bedroom.”

“I’m pumped! I can’t help it!”

“Yeah, I noticed that when you karate-kicked my makeup mirror.”


9 May

Number of deaths per year in the United States related to:

Smoking cigarettes:  444,000

Obesity:  400,000

Alcohol:  75,000

Automobile accidents:  40,000

Prescription drugs:  26,000

Tanning:  5,700

Lawn mower accidents:  406

Bee stings: 40

Marijuana:  0


Eating our weight seven days a week at China Buffet, smoking a pack of Marlboros daily, and slamming 11 Irish Car Bombs and then driving home are the leading causes of death annually. Smoking pot is about as harmful as reading the newspaper.

For a country and government that advocates abortion based on the slogan, “It’s your body, it’s your right,” it seems more than a little contradictory to disallow the use of a “drug” that not only doesn’t kill, but even harm a single human being every year under the same slogan.

Using tanning beds will Continue reading

Knuckle sandwich.

14 Feb

Yesterday was a bad day. While snowboarding at Beaver Creek, I got a little ambitious and went into the medium/large feature terrain park, completely unprepared for what lay ahead of me. The jumps I had been going off at this point had been more or less tall kickers with no transition gap in the middle, just a nice smooth decline to land on. Trent warned me that these jumps looked quite a bit larger than what I was expecting. I didn’t believe him, and brushed off his warning, strapped in, and gunned it for the first jump. I launched straight up in the air, made a nice grab, then looked down to spot my landing. Only I was nowhere even close to clearing the jump. Not. Even. Close.

I barely had time to think “OH SHIT!” before I plummeted directly down probably ten feet, knuckling the jump HARD. The impact of my landing jackhammered my knees up to my face, slamming them into my jaw. My teeth were smashed together and my mouth was taken over by excruciating pain. I quickly scrambled to the side of the jump as to avoid being nailed by the next rider, and hunched over in agony on the side, spitting out bloody saliva.

My knee had popped me with incredible force directly under the chin, slamming my jaws together, crushing my tongue and busting my teeth. My teeth on the lower left side of my mouth were loose and bleeding, and my tongue immediately started to swell. I don’t know if you have gathered this or not yet, but tooth damage is literally my worst nightmare. Trent rode up to me and stopped to see if I was okay. “My teeeeeeeth…Ohhhh nooooooo…” I wailed. My face hurt so bad. We rode down to the bottom and went home.

I got back to the house and went to the mirror to assess the damage. Thankfully no teeth were chippped or cracked, but three on the bottom were loose and bloody. My tongue had a nasty bite mark and was fat and swollen. Underneath my chin, my jaw had a purplish goose egg on it, swelling away. My neck was stiff and my left fibula was sore. Not only that, but I was nauseous from the pain and shock, and probably concussed.

My neighbor gave me Vicodin. Thank god.

I decided there is really no reason for me to ever have to clear a 15+ foot gap in my life. I’m very content on the baby jumps. I also bought a mouth guard. I love my teeth more than I love being awesome. Because after all, who is awesome without teeth?

I have no idea what that means.

Does anybody else out there watch Meerkat Manor? I’m addicted. I have watched every single episode of every season, and have even started doing some repeats. I feel like I’m watching reality television, but with meerkats instead of human beings. I get into it just like The Real World, too. Every episode, it’s like, who’s banging who? Who got kicked out of the house? Who’s in trouble? Who died? Who’s pregnant again? It keeps me on the edge of my seat. They’re like tiny humans covered in hair.

And fleas.

There are a lot of hairy humans with fleas though. That’s what I mean.

Trent and I recently ordered a canine DNA test from SkyMall. Our curiosity about what breeds of dogs make up our mutt Raleigh has reached its peak. We were told he was a rottweiler/lab mix, which he is clearly not. Then we decided he was a Greater Swiss Mountain dog mix, but he has plateaued at just below 50 pounds, and is a bit of a dwarf. Now we’re just confused. So for $75, we swabbed his cheeks and mailed the cells off to have his lineage determined. I can’t wait to find out.

I hope the results don’t come back all stupid though, like “Boston terrier,  lhasa apso, Irish wolfhound, cat.”  I’d be pissed. I’m on YELP, you know. I can complain. The internet is a dangerous place.

Well, I forgot everything else I was going to talk about. Sorry. Bye.


“My sister had a bunny. She stopped providing for it and it sat in a cage in our backyard.  My dad released it one day and told my sister it got out on its own.  It proceeded to live in our backyard for 2 years before disappearing.”

Walking dead.

18 Jan

I am so ill. My darling husband passed along a vicious bug to me this week. Yesterday I spent the day curled up in a ball of agony, aching from head to toe, pain all the way down to my bones, coughing like a madman, mucus all up in my business, and a fever. Eight teaspoons of Tussin, 5 ibuprofen, a Vitamin C tablet (for good measure), and six bowls of cereal later, and I am still on my deathbed.

Cough syrup is so gross. I haven’t had to drink any cough syrup since I was literally four years old. I remember having to sit on the kitchen counter while my parents spoon fed it to me, resisting all the while. That shit tastes like gasoline and flavored lip gloss. Ugh. I have no choice this week though. My coughing is repulsing even my dog. It hurts so bad, it’s like someone is attacking my trachea with a blowtorch every time I bark out a stream of coughs.

At least if I can take down shots of Tussin, I at least know that I can probably tackle shots of 100 proof rum this weekend, that is if I make it out of this alive. Thursday afternoon I am arriving back in the 51503 to rendevouz with my old comrades for the weekend. I will be hospitalized. Or incarcerated. There’s really no way around either of those.

I hate people that have comment-to-comment arguments on things like YouTube videos. Does anyone really win those fights? Who do you brag to when you totally diss on someone’s comment under a Bruno Mars music video? Let’s be serious. Get a life.

The next person on my hit list:

Ma babyboi iz doin all sorts of flips inside me! Lol my shorties r crackn up:) “mom my baby brother iz crazi” iz wut thy keep sayn….hahahah….awww! I luv my lil familia:)

At home wit da shorties:) aint nada like steppin into tha NEW YEAR wit tha ones i love tha mostest!!! erybody else b safe and have a HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I’m off to find something that will knock me completely out for the next 24 hours. In a perfect world, I will wake up completely refreshed, and my sickness will have left me entirely. Instead I will probably wake up with mascara smeared all over the left side of my face, hair greasier than a Whopper Jr., vomit on my pillow, and my eyes crusted together.

Only time will tell.


B: Eggs or oatmeal?

J: Eggs.

B: F*ck you, I’m eating oatmeal.