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Showing posts with label Deep Fried Oreos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Deep Fried Oreos. Show all posts

You can't run a global network of interconnected cells from a cave

The world is filled with half-ass advice.  Drink less booze - red wine is good for the heart.  Fruit is the same as a Snicker's bar - eat a shit ton of bananas if you want to live forever.  Smoking will give you lung cancer - cigarettes are actually full of antioxidants.  Ok.  That last one is a lie.  There is absolutely no rebuttal for the woes of smoking.  It's such a sin really.  Not even remotely cool anymore on any level.  But so so good.  I miss it every day.  (You hear that Marlboro Light Menthols.  I think about you every day.  You're like the man who dumped me).

Only I've never been dumped.  True story.  I've always been the dumper.  My therapist would have a theory on that I'm sure.  She'd say (in a Jennifer Tilly style voice, because in my head - all women sounds like Jennifer Tilly), she'd say "Jessica: maybe you are dumping them because you aren't willing to accept that everyone has flaws.  Maybe, just maybe - you want to be the one to walk away because you are scared of everyone leaving you first".  Or something like that.  And then she will nod her head a few times, chew on the top of her pen and write into her leather portfolio notebook (I think it's a shopping list for groceries) and then the hour session will be over and I will leave $120 poorer with the knowledge of shit that I already think about & wish wasn't wrong with me.  Only now it's been verified by some nicely dressed stranger in a cold, too clean room with expensive furniture by someone with way more college degrees hanging on the wall than I have.  Stupid therapist.

No, really - this conversation didn't really happen.  I mean, not exactly in that manner.  I've been to a therapist and the office has been cold and I have been $100+ poorer when I left... but I never did talk to anyone about being the one who dumps my boyfriends before they had a chance to dump me.  I mean, why bother when I'm pretty sure of how the conversation will go.  I don't like to pay people for shit I already know.  It's why I don't buy newspapers.

Article about a stabbing.  Article about the stupid Maryland weather ("60 on Wednesday.  -22 on Thursday.  Keep Out Your Sweaters! Ha Ha Tulips - You Thought Spring Was Coming... You've Been Punked!").  Article about government agenda that is biased and unoriginal and skewed to the right (or left, depending on which publication & who is sponsoring).  Blah blah blah.  You get my point. 

Wow.  I'm all over the place.  That's different.

I'm trying to eat healthier these days (ZOMG, she's talking about food.  Again.)  yeah, so?  If you didn't already know that my blog was about food addiction and the plight of being a chunkadunk in a perfectionist world, then why are you even here?  It's certainly not for the recipes*!  At any rate, I'm trying to eat healthier (am too!) and I've been researching everything from juice fasting (I did it for 9 days and lost 8 lbs - no joke) & eating clean (which, contrary to what I first believed does not mean that I can have a Berger Cookie as long as I wash it first) & going vegan (which I could never do for the simple fact that this plan doesn't allow bacon in any form) & doing the smoothie thing (only non-food addict people can replace a meal with a smoothie and feel like they've eaten something.  I don't care if you put 4 cheeseburgers & fries into the blender, if I can't chew it - it ain't a meal.  It's just not).  All of this so at the end of the day, I can pass my expertise on the proper way to eat along to you - the mass** of adoring Jess fans who want to know the secret to looking like a super model without the starvation/ hard work.   Here's the secret, are you ready?  You got a pen out and a piece of paper?   Move your junk.  Eat less junk.  There.  6 words to health....

*I think I put the recipe up once for deep fried Oreos. This seems counterproductive right now so we will just pretend it was a great recipe for beet salad instead.

**Mass = 6 readers

I do really wish there were more of an awareness to what people are actually putting in their mouths.  It's sad.  The food industry (every industry really) isn't in it to figure out what's best for you.  It's in it for the dollar. And the only way to put a halt to the abysmal situation of all things food is to not consume it in the first place.  So it has to stop at your mouth, people.  Because no one is looking out for you except for, well - you.  It's really that simple. And really, this isn't just about eating but about life in general.  Of course, I'm no expert but I know what works for me.  And I really really really want other people to benefit from my wisdom as well as my massive amount of mistakes.  The best thing I can do in retribution (besides revenge, which sometimes sounds oh-so good) is to spread the word to those who are willing to hear it.  Not to get all Doogie Howser, MD on you. 

So to sum up:

1.  Look out for yourself, no one else is gonna do it for you.  Stop waiting for a miracle or for the circumstances to be "right".  Time is slipping by and before you know it you will be 40 with nothing to show for yourself.  Life is too short to waste time.  Just do something.

2.  To lose weight, follow these basic steps:  Eat less.  Look on the list of ingredients and if you cannot pronounce most of them, don't eat it.  Better yet - stick with things that have no label at all.  Oranges.  Broccoli.  Swiss Chard, etc.  Oh, and try to move more than normal.  I (seriously) like to park far away from the entrance at the store.  It forces me to walk further and it's less crowded with lazy people, assholes & carts.  Try it sometime.

3.  Meditate.  Wait, wait wait - hear me out.  I know, you probably hear the word meditate and think of some Asian guy in a pastel robe with no hair sitting Indian style in a hut humming a mantra.  Ok, maybe you don't think that.  I probably took it too far (don't I always?)  But you probably think it's hokey.  I thought it was a little too.  Until I started to do it.  Read a book about it.  Go online and research it.  Take a moment (even if it's a minute) and just sit with yourself and try to not focus on nothing other than breathing and right now.  Don't think about your dishes or your messy bathroom or your paperwork from school or the mistake you made last week/month/year.  Just focus on the moment.  You'll be surprised how much of a difference it can make.  And if you think it's dumb and doesn't work just keep at it.... it never hurts to just give it a go*

*Beethoven was told he was stupid.  Luckily, he ignored that shit and went with his gut instinct that told him he was awesome.  Go with your gut.  Be Beethoven.

On that note, I'm out of here.  Happy Early St. Patty's Day to all my Irish friends.  If you're feeling festive, go out and have a few green beers.  Or be like me and celebrate St. Patty's without the booze and subsequent arrest for public intoxication.  Or just shave your pubic hair in the shape of a three leaf clover (just in case).

You're killing me, Smalls.

Dear Blog Readers:


I'm so, so very sorry. You probably thought I died. Well, I didn't, of course. And by the way, thanks a lot for calling/emailing to check in on me or at least contacting my next of kin for an address to which you could send flowers or make a substantial monetary donation in my name (you could still donate, ya know). I 'preciate it. I feel the love. No really.

I've been busy. With what, you say? Well - aren't you the nosy blog reader. Sike, it's cool - I'm glad you asked. I've been trying to find a new school for my kid (he's in one of those closed-down Catholic jobs), a new apartment (moving on up, to the East side yo - and actually, the West side, but that doesn't sound as good), & also lots of other mundane things that will bore you to tears and leave you running from my blog wondering why you ever came here in the first place and demanding I give you back that $10 check I mailed out to improve my fan base. Phew. That was a mouthful, no? Seriously though. I've been busy dealing with some major crapola in my life and decided to take a break from all the semi-nurse work & relationshit (yes, you read that right) and do this here blog. For you. You should be grateful.

I found this website called snacksandshit.com (ok, someone sent it to me - whatever). Sounds like it would be right up my alley, I mean, I love snacks. Shit, not so much. But whatever - snacks are cool. At any rate, it's a website designed entirely around the hypocrisy and idiocy of rap lyrics. It's a good read. I almost peed my pants a few times reading some of it. I would link you to it, but frankly I'm lazy and I have this one link per blog limit. You understand.

Seriously, how hard is it to cut and paste that yourself into a new browser window? I mean, yeah - sure - you'd have to take your non-dominant typing hand out of your pants. But you should probably do that anyway. Gross.

Yesterday - in my misguided attempt to please my inner fat kid while simutaneously working towards my goal of qualifying for gastric bypass, I made deep fried Oreos. Oh, I'm so not lying.



This picture actually doesn't do it much justice. And I even saved some for the next day and they were like donuts. DONUTS. With friggin OREO cookies inside. A fat girl's wet dream. You know - if girl's had wet dreams (do they? I don't even know). But you know what I mean. So now I keep envisioning all the things I could batter and deep fry. Snickers bars. Ho-Hos. Those peanut butter tastycakes. Can you imagine them? Berger cookies?! (My apologies to those of you who have no access to the Baltimore-bred Berger cookie. It's a crack-like food item in its own right and you should definitely consider moving here JUST for that. And - you know - for the actual crack. I hear you can get a lot of that here too). Moving on....

Sigh...

Bathing suit season is here. Can I get a 'whoop whoop'?

*crickets chirping*

So yeah, ok. No one is cheering. I lost a smidgen of weight, but you will be happy to know that I still look hideously horrible in anything remotely tight and made of waterproof spandex. I've tried every bathing suit from the 10$ job at the Target to this $100+ number that promises miraculous body transformation and delivers nothing more than pushing all my flab up into my neck with copious amounts of boning and what I can only assume is stainless steel thread. Cause *that's* comfortable. The suit promises to make you look like you lost 10 lbs instantly. What it doesn't tell you is that those 10lbs will be pushing against your liver and will probably cause some permanent internal damage resulting in abdominal cavity bleeding and death. "Miracle" Suit. Should be called the "Miracle You're Still Alive What With All This Lard" Suit. I know, I know - I'm being extreme. But seriously - they are the most uncomfortable bathing suits EVER. And it's not like I even feel like I look hot wearing them. So I might as well wear my skirted mom tankini and my long sleeved burka-ish cover up and at least be able to breath. Sorta.

Next year I'm gonna be slim enough to wear a bikini. Bwahahahahaha. NOT. I make this promise to myself every year and then fail miserably. (See above - DEEP FRIED OREOS)

I rest my case.

I think this is enough blog for one night, don't you? I need to easy myself back in. - Insert perverted joke here - I'm much too tired for that one.

In my next blog I promise the following things:

- Photos of funny bathing suits & the people not scared to wear them
- Photos of that serial killer guy from Aruba who looks surprisingly like Jamie (it's the ears)
- A recipe for Bolivian stew.

Ok, that last thing was made up. But I'm sure I could come up with a recipe or two for you.

On that note, so long. Never stay mad at someone - it's such a waste of time. Send them some poop in the mail and call it a day, ok? Whoops. Broke my one-per-blog link rule. Eh. Oh well. I was never much for rules anyway. Peace out!

About Me

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I'm just a girl with a dream. Actually, that's not true. I'm an old lady and my dreams have pretty much faded away. But, for whatever it's worth, I still feel obligated to go on living. Sometimes I think too much and too long about things that it seems like no one else cares about besides me. I can't decide if this makes me a better person or doomed to live an anxiety riddled exsistence. Somewhere in the midst of all this craziness, I became one of those people who obsesses about her kids. Look at them - wouldn't you be crazy about them if they were yours?