Thursday, December 30, 2010

One more day, and then I can finally give 2010 a good kick up the arse.

Elk's recent post made me think of this today. 

People tend to think I'm some horrible sort of inhuman monster because I say that I like eating rabbits. Ok yeah rabbits are totally cute and stuff, and Peter Rabbit was awesome, and I love baby bunnies as much as the next person...
Yes, it's really so cute I could vomit. 

But that does not negate the fact that when that adorable little muffin grows up and gets fat, it's gonna taste DAMN GOOD in a stew. MMMmmmmmm......

I had a pet rabbit as a child. 

Let me back up. 

When I was a kid, Mum could't get me to give up my pacifier. We called it a "dummy," but apparently normal people call it a pacifier. I didn't suck on it, I just kept it in my mouth, clenched between my teeth, and I always kept the spare one in my left hand because I liked the way the rubber felt when you squeezed it. So I would sit there and more or less molest the dummy in my hand, twisting it round and round until some time ordained by a Higher Power that told me to switch--the one in my hand went to my mouth, and vice versa. Then I started again. And if I lost one, there would be Hell on Earth, because I NEEDED to have two at all times. 

I was never normal. 

So I kept this up until just over the age of five, when Mum finally decided enough was enough. A five year old is way too old for a dummy/pacifier, even if she only has it at night. (I have to agree on that one...) The only way Mum could get me to part with the dummy was to promise me a pet. I convinced her that in order to break away from my version of a security blanket, I would require something more sufficient than a goldfish. I wanted something with four legs that I could feed and cuddle. I was thinking maybe a dog or a cat, but instead Mum surprised me with a rabbit. 

I know she's not the only one. I know lots of kids who've been given small furry pets when they are way too young to look after them. What are you parents thinking?!

I can't imagine it would ever be a good idea to leave your five year old unattended and in charge of taking care of a rabbit. All a five year old wants to do is terrorize the rabbit. 

And I'm pretty sure no five year old could possibly do a good job of feeding and caring for an animal without any instructions whatsoever. And that's all Mum did. Got the rabbit, the cage, some food, handed it to me, and said "go nuts."

Well not exactly like that, but you get the idea.

For this reason, and because we never learned its gender, it became known as The Rabbit. That was the best name we could come up with. 

My nanny eventually took pity on me and helped me care for The Rabbit. We built a little fenced-in area in the back garden for him to wander around in while the weather was nice. In winter he came inside in his hutch. I never really bonded with The Rabbit, but he was kind of nice. 

The Rabbit was also a rather clever escape artist. It soon learned how to dig its way out of its fenced-in area. He escaped three times, but we always managed to find him and catch him and bring him home. The third time he came home, he was acting kinda weird. 

And then the next day when I went out to feed him, I watched The Rabbit die foaming at the mouth in a fit of demonic possession. 
Apparently, The Rabbit caught rabies during his last escape. 

And six year old Mich didn't even get to bury him, because he had to be taken away by animal control or something. Cousin (she's a vet tech) says they have to take possibly rabid animals away so they can be officially tested for rabies, I guess so they can try and keep it under control?

Whatever; it left me slightly more spastic than I had been before.


I'm a pig.


I did really well for three days, and then ate way too much tonight. Our family friends came over and we all went out to dinner. They arrived whilst I was tearing my room apart, flinging clothes all over the place to try and find an outfit that would best conceal my blubber. Alas, everything I own seemed determined to make me look like a lopsided blimp, so I settled with baggy jeans and the new Tesla hoodie. 

Then I go downstairs to greet the visitors and am subjected to shrieks of , "Oh my GAWD, you've gotten way too skinny!!"

ED's f*ck with your mind. 

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

If one good deed in all my life I did I do repent it from my very soul.

Thanks "Secret Admirer", whoever you are. This is seriously the most awesome piece of clothing I now possess. Well, it's up there in the top 10 anyway.

I have discovered a new skill in my fruitless attempts at making myself vomit. I can swallow swords.

I was never able to make myself puke. And yet for some reason, I keep trying whenever I binge? Most I've ever been able to do is bring up some small mouthfuls of vomit.  I tried on Christmas Eve, but to no avail. I used to have one holy hellish mothertrucker of a gag reflex, but on xmas eve, I discovered that it is no more. And then I thought to myself, I bet I could swallow a sword, like they do in the circus

I can. It's awesome. Must work on this, as I think it is a skill worth honing to perfection. 

Mum got me a last-minute Christmas present that only just arrived in the post today:

It's a mini elliptical. If you work the foot pedals while seated on a chair (or on the edge of my mattress) it's also a mini exercise bike. This could be a bad idea, as I intend to use this thing every spare moment that I have available to me. I'm using it right now in fact, perched on the edge of my bed, with my laptop next to me. So far I've burned 300 calories. I plan on ellipticalling my little heart out until my sleeping pills kick in. 

What Mummy was thinking I shall never know.

Speaking of Mummy, this evening she accused me of being a doormat. She is oft heard making this accusation, usually when she broaches the subject of my father. 

We started this evening's conversation talking about my father. I haven't seen him for Christmas yet. The original plan was to go to his house on St. Stephen's Day to bring gifts for him, Step-mom, and Little Brothers #1 and #2, and also bring samples of all my desserts. But then it snowed. Like a lot. So I spoke to Daddie Dearest on the phone and we decided it would be best for me not to drive 1 hour north and then 1 hour home again in a blizzard, and we would speak later in the week to figure out when we would have our own slightly awkward version of Christmas (holidays and birthdays and pretty much everything with Dad are always awkward). This means that Dad will most likely forget to call (I am his least favorite of all his 5 children--there's a definite possibility that he "forgets" to call me back on purpose) and arrange Christmas, which means I shall have to call him again and again until I get an actual person on the phone, because they never call back when I leave messages. 

Mum criticized me for this behavior. She thinks I should just sever all ties with Dad because he's an a-hole and doesn't deserve me constantly trying to please him, bending over backwards to cater to his schedule, etc., etc. But the thing is, I am NOT trying to please him, or bending over backwards for him, or anything else. I would have no problem never speaking to him again. I DO, however, have a problem with never seeing or speaking to my brothers again. While they remain under the age of eighteen and/or still financially dependent on their parents, I must remain friendly with said parents in order to continue seeing said brothers. Once both Little Bros are out on their own, it will be a different story. But since Mum is not related to my Little Bros and therefore has no emotional ties to them, she cannot understand how I have emotional ties to them because Mum is a spoiled brat and entirely incapable of empathy in any shape or form. 

But yeah, that's just one example of why she thinks I'm a doormat. 

I am not a doormat. I am LAZY. There is a large difference. 

People are born with a certain temperament, and that temperament usually never changes from birth to death. It's your most basic nature. My most basic nature is cold, unfeeling, lazy, and hedonistic. I do things that will benefit me in the short and long term. Selfish? Bitchy? Mean-Spirited? Most definitely. But you can't help your nature. Believe me--I have tried. I am well aware that my nature is socially unacceptable. But at this point, I really don't give a crap. 

I guess maybe it looks like I'm catering to everyone because I get so lazy? I don't argue with Dad because it's easier not to. I don't question his fathering skills either, for the same reason. 

If a friend calls me up and tells me that he or she has decided on plans for the weekend, I will most likely go along with it unless I already have plans. I do not question. I can't be bothered. But certain friends and family members of mine know this, and I'm pretty sure they take advantage of it. But if I don't care one way or the other, I'm not going to challenge that friend or family member just because they think they're taking advantage of my laziness. I only do things if they will result feelings of enjoyment or contentment. Arguments do not have those results, so why bother?

Monday, December 27, 2010


I hope you all had a lovely Christmas. I can't believe it's over already! Goes by way too fast. 

Seriously good haul this year. Aside from the new imac (I'm on it now, and it's super awesome--Mum helped me pay for it, and she got it really REALLY cheap; I'm pretty sure it fell off the back of a truck or something), I got lots of new socks, new slippers and pajamas; an Edwardian style dress, which I wore all day on Christmas:
And I wore a corset underneath in an attempt to not stuff myself to the point of pain. It didn't work. The corset came off around 8.00 PM, and then I ate most of Big Sis #2's gingerbread trifle. 
I also got El Topo on DVD:

And the John Waters DVD collection:

But my favourite gift of all was this one:
It's Bellatrix LeStrange's knife!!

I really ate myself into oblivion the last couple days. Mostly I ate the desserts I made.
From top to bottom--the mince pies, pumpkin pasties from the Harry Potter cookbook, shortbread Christmas tree cookies (some with icing, some dipped in chocolate, and some plain), and the spices angel food cake with maple sugar icing (and cupcakes I made wit the leftover batter). Myself and my family beasted almost all of it, and the leftovers shall be taken into work tomorrow. Except for the mince pies--the Father has said he would like some, so I'll save him a few. 

I actually have a RASH from binging on so much crap. It's all over my stomach. That sometimes happens when I overdo it with the dairy...

Snow day today!! We got a foot of snow between yesterday morning and this morning. It looks so pretty outside, I love it! Our driveway is a bit lethal, though. Mum had some kind of disagreement wit the plow man, so they never came to plow the driveway. This means I may actually have to get off my lazy rear and SHOVEL the driveway. 

Major starve-a-thon this week. So far today I've only had 20 calories of half and half from my coffee. Shall try to keep it under 200 every day, and exercise like crazy. Weigh-in on Friday, if I'm a good little girl all week. 

Friday, December 24, 2010

It's the largest lingerie department in Ireland, or so I understand...

Happy Christmas Eve, my lovelies!!
I hope you're all having a nice holiday so far. I've been eating myself into a stupor for two days running. 

New Boss actually let me out of work early yesterday, and I went on a hunt for a star-shaped cookie cutter for my mince pies. I went to 2 different K-Marts and 3 dollar shops before I had to resort to William Sonoma and pay EIGHTEEN dollars for an effing set of cheap plastic cookie cutters. Highway robbery!! ::shakes fist::

The Bake-a-thon begins in approximately 20 minutes. I already made the mincemeat in the crock pot (1 bag "Fruit Bits," which contained dark raisins, sultanas, apple, and peach bits; 1 bag dried red currants, 1 bag dried cranberries, 2 apples cored and skinned and cut into teeny pieces, the zest of one orange and one lemon, pinch of ground clove, some cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, about 1 1/4 cups brandy, and a can of frozen apple juice concentrate). That cooked on low for 8 hours and then it desperately needed sugar, so I dumped quite a bit of light brown sugar into it and mixed it until it wasn't so bitter. 'Tis quite delicious. 
Unfortunately, I may have zested a chunk of my right thumb right into the mincemeat.
I did that on Wednesday evening. It's still bleeding. 

Kind of accident prone in the kitchen. I can't help it. Usually I get burned, but nasty cuts are also a common occurrence. Dr. S believes it may be some kind of nerve problem. According to him, no one should be quite that resistant to pain. One should know that they're on fire at the time that it happens, not a good 30 seconds after their skin has started flaking off. 

Enjoy your Christmas, me hearties. And remember: this is no time to beat yourself up for eating too much. The Good Lord did not send His only Son down to Earth so we could starve ourselves on his Holy Birthday. Oh no. He did it so we could eat pie, and like it. 

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

We've had one, yes. What about second breakfast? What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper?!?

 Edit--my mistake: I meant Stelara, not Seroquel...

Great quotes from New Boss: "How can you hate Kevin Bacon?!? I LOVE Kevin Bacon!!"


Well the pre-Christmas starve-a-thon isn't exactly going as planned. I am eating everything I can get my grubby little hands on. But I'm not going to freak out. It's the holidays. I know when a battle is lost. And I'm not going to be that a-hole who opens the door to the UPS guy and signs for the giant wooden horse. Because I am not a patsy. I will give in, but I shall give in with DIGNITY, darnit. I'm still exercising as much as humanly possible, so hopefully it will all even out. And I plan on taking half a box of Ex-Lax tomorrow for Christmas Eve Eve, so at least I can flush out some of the garbage before the serious culinary debauchery begins.

I have Christmas Eve off, so I intend to spend the entire day baking. I'm making my famous spiced angel food cake, Christmas tree-shaped shortbread cookies, my own version of mince pies from scratch (should be interesting, as I've never made those before...), and the Pumpkin Pasties recipe from my new Harry Potter cookbook.

Had to buy it. How could I possibly resist such a thing?!? I had originally purchased it as a Christmas gift for Big Sis #2, but decided to keep it for myself. I also considered doing the same with the Tool sweatshirt I got Little Bro #1, but then wrapped it and stuck it under the tree so I CAN'T steal it. I had some serious fun wrapping on Saturday night. I was texting Kazehana during all this (well, I was texting, she was on AIM I think)--took my usual 3 sleeping pills and wrapped presents while watching Millennium. I woke up with the scissors, cellotape, and bits of wrapping paper in bed with me. And both cats. Usually only one cat sleeps with me. They were not impressed with the mess. 


I keep seeing this ad on the telly about this new medication--Stelara. It's for psoriasis. Ok so I get that psoriasis sucks. A friend of Mum's has it and although I've never seen any sign of it on him, he does complain about it a fair bit. But seriously. The list of side effects from this medication is OUTRAGEOUS. Aside from the militaristic slaughter that will apparently be wrought upon your immune system, it says right there in the commercial that Stelara "may cause cancer."

CANCER. A pill that might give you cancer. Are you people kidding?? I think I'd rather have flaky skin, thanks. And I thought the Restless Leg Syndrome™ meds were bad! But that only causes an uncontrollable impulse to gamble (how you can put that in a pill is beyond me). I know the US is a bit pill-happy, but I think we've gone too far when we start taking pills that cause cancer.

Monday, December 20, 2010

And here you thought I was just another bubble-headed blonde bimbo. Well, the joke's on you - I'm not even a real blonde!

 Thanks for all the nice comments on the new pic at the top. <3 I was terrified to put that up. I don't often like full-body shots of myself. And I figured if that's up for the world to see, I must continue to live up to it, which means I can't pig out all the time.
Sorry I suck at commenting lately. What with a real job, my free time is pretty much non-existent. I spend my life at work, on the treadmill, and asleep. -_- Shall try and comment on all your lively blogs later tonight.

One of our clients called in last week asking for a document out of his file. Boss told him that the file was in storage, and that we'd have to order it. We should have it in the office in 2 or 3 days, Boss said. Client being anxious about getting the document out of this file, he called several times a day every day after that asking if we had his file yet, when did we expect to get it, did Boss really order it from the storage place, how long do these things usually take, etc., etc., etc.

Seriously, like 6 times a day.

I told Boss that the guy kept calling saying he really needed those docs by Friday at the latest. Boss said yeah yeah yeah, the file's coming; I ordered it. 2 days.

This morning, Boss comes in and says, hey I think Client's file might be in one of those boxes under your desk. (There's dozens of overflowing storage boxes of old files under the desk. I try not to look at them because the mess makes me feel ill.) I checked the inventory lists for the boxes--lo and behold, there's Client's file in Box Number 11. This means several things:
1.) Boss never called the off-site file storage place.
2.) Boss possibly had no intention of calling the storage place.
3.) Boss lied, and thus made me lie to Client.

I pulled the file out from under the desk and Boss and I both agreed to never speak of this again. Then Boss drew up a bill for $50 to give to Client for getting the file. A "Retrieval Fee."

I'm pretty sure all lawyers are like this. I know Old Boss was.

New Boss:

Not even kidding. And it's little things like this that make me believe in God--how Fate sends one of the most obsessive Batman fans ever to work for the Penguin's twin.

I actually managed to not binge on Friday or Saturday, which is awesome for me. Yesterday, however, I stuffed my face. We did a mini-Christmas dinner with my one cousin, since she's working on Christmas day. Mum bought a whole fillet (rather than just individual fillet steaks), and I roasted it with potatoes and onions. I also cooked some sprouts and turnip, and Yorkshire puddings. Since I made everything and therefore KNEW it was delicious, I had to eat it. And surprisingly--even though I was so full by the time I went to bed I actually felt like I was about to have a heart attack--I did not feel too horrible about pigging out. I know that if I binge all weekend, my weight generally stays the same from week to week. So if I binge only one day on the weekend, my weight may continue to gradually drop? We'll see at the mid-week weigh in. While I would obviously rather lose than stay the same, I'll take maintaining over the Christmas season rather than gaining.

Especially since, beginning Friday, I shall become a human-Christmas-goodie-Hoover.But you know what? It's effing Christmas. If you can't enjoy yourself for Christmas, what the heck is the point of living??

Best ornament ever:
I think it was Olivia who mentioned the Harley Quinn ornament? Well, I told Mum about it and bless her, she went and searched every hallmark shop in a 20-mile radius until she found it. :D

Saturday, December 18, 2010

A lady of breeding ought never to raise her voice any louder than the gentle hum of a whisper in the wind.

So I'm kind of a quiet person by nature. Not shy, or depressed, or whatever--just quiet. As in I don't feel the need to speak every single one of my thoughts out loud. 

My mother, however, is a different story. 

I love her to death; I really do. She's honestly probably my best friend, but HOLY MOTHER OF GOD she never shuts up. Most of the time I can tune out a good portion of what she says, but usually this is more difficult in the mornings. She never mastered inner monologue I don't think, so every little thought that pops into her head comes spewing out of her mouth, like a stream of consciousness no one can keep up with, and half the time she's talking about people from her jobs, so no one at home has any clue what the heck she's talking about, but she just keeps right on yapping. Even if there's no one in the room, she's been known to keep talking. 

Like the aliens on Sesame Street. Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip ..................


Perhaps this is why I was such an unnaturally quiet child. 


Let's talk about my hair. 

This is routine for me at this point, but other people seem to think it's odd.
I do it up like that most of the time. I don't wash my hair that often, as my colourist told me not to. So for the 1st two days after it's washed, it's all nice and cute and actually blown straight. But that's a lot more work. So I clip in those Jessica Simpson hair extensions,  and tie it back all fancy with the clips and the comb.  I sleep in the extensions for 3 or 4 days, clipping it up like that every morning. 
I think it's pretty fun. Mum think I'm ridiculous. 

The women in the 18th century did similar things with their hair. They'd sleep in those fancy hairstyles for many many days, because they put so much work and hairspray into it. 
Only instead of hairspray, they used this gluey pomade that was made mostly out of lard. 

I shudder to think how bad that must have smelled after 4 days. Apparently, this is where the "rat's nest" expression originated. Thank God for Aqua Net.

It's a Friday night, and I did NOT binge. I'm at roughly 1,100 (bollocky gift baskets at work >:O) and it's 1.00 AM. Kind of high, but good for a weekend. I didn't get to see Black Swan--he got stuck working late. And then I bailed on him tonight to go out with the friend that wants to move to Colorado. My turn to drive, so no alcoholic cals for me. :D And I totally ate before I left the house*. 

Christmas shopping tomorrow. Like hardcore. 


Thursday, December 16, 2010

Unlike profiling serial killers, writing is a lonely and depressing profession.

I am so boooooooored. New Boss has been on some big trial for three days, so he's left me with nothing to do. I hope this does not become routine. 

In an effort not to eat out of all the baskets of calories that people keep sending us (>:O), I'm sitting here taking photos with my phone.
Me at my new desk!

So I did my nails. I kind of fail at nail-decoration.
You can't see it that well, but the polish is messed up and all over my skin. The stickers are supposed to look like lace, but instead they just look like crap because Anger Problems + OCD + General Inability to Keep Still + Total Lack of Painting Skills = bad manicure. 

 One of my bff's has applied to grad school. In Colorado. Is it completely evil of me to pray to every deity out there that she gets rejected? She won't get rejected, though. D is one of the smartest people I know, and I read her essay. She'll get accepted. And I must pretend to be happy for her.

Even though I'm actually feeling more like this:

Going on a movie date with my friend's drug dealer tonight, after some Christmas shopping. We're going to see Black Swan. Natalie Portman lost something like 20 pounds for that movie. Hopefully that will encourage not to eat for the rest of the day. And it will definitely encourage me not to eat any popcorn at the actual movie.

And because we could all use some holiday cheer:

The first time Mum and I heard this on the radio, I laughed until I cried, and she nearly crashed the car. 

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

My big top tricks will always make you happy; but we all know the hat is wearing me.

Not enough people have seen Gregg Araki's movies. 

That's from Nowhere. It's sort of like David Lynch, only full of teen angst and doing a lot more acid. 

So I have a question for y'all. How do you count your food intake? I know some of you post it on your blogs, but what about the rest of you? I count the calories (EXACT--like I count and weigh pretty much everything that isn't precisely labeled with nutrition info). I also count the % of carbohydrates, and try to stay between 20-30% for the day. I tried to figure out how to count carbs properly, but there's  too much math involved. I cannot do math. Like seriously--in high school I took Algebra 1 three times, and I only got those D's because I threatened the teachers into giving me passing grades. 

So tell me how you gorgeous creatures organize your daily meals. I know I'm not the only one who's got a set routine--turkey bacon and coffee for breakfast, Dunkin cappuccino for lunch, and then either veggies or a Lean Cuisine for dinner. Every day. Except weekends when I eat the entire house.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

I smell bacon, I smell pork. Run little piggy, I got a fork.

I have nails!!! 

Like ACTUAL nails that I can paint and tap on hard surfaces, and use to scratch my sister. 
This is a relatively rare phenomenon. In the last 26 years, I have only had long nails maybe 5 or 6 times. Mum says I started picking and biting them as soon as I had teeth.  It's grown worse over the years, finally reaching a peak around my early twenties. I don't just pick and bite. 

Oh no.

I MANGLE the bejeezus out of my nails, and also the skin around them. It gets worse in winter, because the central heating dries my skin out and makes it crack. I pick at the cracks, and then have giant cuts all over my fingertips (mostly on thumbs) that never heal properly until we turn the heat off in the spring.

But recently I decided to stop attacking my nails. Like maybe a month ago, and now they're long and it's really weird. I play with them a lot. Tap them. Click them on each other. Touch them. Lots of little things just to make sure they're still there.

I bought new nail polish and fun stickers.
But as I'm still slaughtering the skin around my nails, I dunno if my hands are attractive enough for these yet, so the manicure may have to wait. Baby steps. Quitting the nail-biting was hard enough. I apologize, Peri--the patch is coming along very very slowly because of this. It's tough to sew when your fingertips are a minefield of open wounds. :( 

Why am I such a freak? I'm doing this to myself. I have to stop and think about how absurd that is. I don't cut anymore, but I'm still injuring myself. I just use my nails and teeth to do the damage, instead of a knife. 

Animals must look at us humans and think we're retarded. I know my cats think I'm stupid. I can see it in their eyes. That LOOK that says, "OMG, you're a moron." 
I'm working on the most AWESOME little MS Paint pic ever!! It's taking a while, though; I want to include all of you so I'm going back through a lot of old posts to make sure that none of my commenters get left out. 

Tracy, did you try sending it to bellatrixburrows at hotmail? You could also try my other email: iworshipzoot at hotmail dot com. 


I pigged out so bad this weekend. All that stuff Little Sis bought? Well she added to it when she made Mum take her grocery shopping. So on top of that rubbish that was already in the cupboards, we also had a HUGE bucket of chocolate-covered pretzels, a sizable selection of ice cream, more cookies and pop tarts...... 

It was bad. Monday morning was like those times where you get way too drunk down the pub, and end up going home with some stranger only to wake up and discover you slept in  your make up, your clothes are half off, there's empty condom wrappers on the floor, and you feel a wicked hangover coming on.

Except for me, there were empty Pop-Tart and South Beach bar wrappers on the floor. And I felt like a bloated sack of manure. 

This could have been fixed with vigorous exercise, which is heaps of fun when you have a good supply of vitamins*. But I was out of vitamins.  I went crying to vitamin-Friend, but he's got nothing. I whined about how fat I am and how I can't exercise properly, and he sympathized. So he hands me this little round, white vitamin* and goes, "Here, have one of these."

So I did. 

And like 10 minutes later, I absolutely had to look it up and find out what it was (he gave me 2, so I searched it on vitamins*.com). 

Soma is truly a wonderful thing. 
You could have taken a sledgehammer to my knee cap; I probably would not have cared. 

Everything in moderation. 

*I just want to say that I DO NOT, under any circumstances endorse this behavior. Drugs Vitamins are BAD. 

Sunday, December 12, 2010


My stomach has developed some kind of problem with dairy. Seriously, Tummy--what's up with that? You and dairy used to be pals. Dairy goes so well with cereal, and tea and coffee, and it's so nice frozen. But noooooooooooo. Tummy has decided that this town isn't big enough for the both of them. And I'm the one who has to suffer.

I just chugged a ton of milk. 


I only wanted a little. I like milk. Sometimes I enjoy a nice glass of milk. But I couldn't stop. 
It attacks slowly. 
It actually works kind of like a laxative.
Except a lot faster than ex-lax, and with more of a focus on the pain and crampage than actual sh*ttage. 
My own darn fault I guess. I keep consuming dairy products even though they make my stomach feel like it got on the wrong side of a Tesla invention. 

I was born in the wrong century. (Duh.) Had I been born a little closer to the 1850's, I think I would have married Nikola Tesla (click it--it makes me really happy that there's someone out there as psychotically in awe of Tesla as I am). And it totally would have worked because Tesla was asexual. (I don't like to be touched; I don't know where you've been.) He was also completely out of his effing mind, and beyond brilliant. So brilliant in fact, he invented a machine that could zap you out of existence from 200 miles away. The only thing stopping him from blasting you from even farther away is the fact that the earth is round and not flat. 

Top that. 

And thanks, O.H. for your flattering comment a couple posts back. I am intrigued, because I cannot click on your name to find out who you are. But apparently you read my blog, so rock on. 

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Why are all cats the same?

I'm not depressed. Just quiet.

There was nothing on telly, so I dug Millennium out of the shelf. I'm pretty sure it's the greatest television show ever made (sorry Oz, you're only #2). I wish they'd made more than three seasons. I've got them all memorized.
<3 the opening credits:

I pigged out a little tonight. SO CLOSE to ending the day at 820 (really good for a Friday night). >:( Little Sis came with me on Wednesday to do the food shopping, which means the pantry is now filled with the following Satanic foods:
- Eggo Waffle Maple Flavoured Cereal (This isn't too bad; only 110 per cup, but I tend to eat whole boxes of cereal in one sitting so it's bad for me.)
- S'Mores Pop Tarts (200 per ONLY ONE pop tart. What the f*ck people?! You're feeding these to your children??)
- Soft & Chewy Chips Ahoy (60 cals per one itty bitty cookie)
- Heavy whipping cream (50 cals per tablespoon. I will whip up a whole bowl of it by hand just to eat it. With cookies.)
- A bear full of honey (60 cals per tablespoon)
- Ice cream sandwiches (120 per sandwich. I had to put my foot down at that point, so Little Sis agreed to the Weight Watcher's ones.)

So I pretty much spent the evening darting back and forth between the living room and the kitchen while hyperventilating. I don't get it. Why is the weekend different? Why am able to starve all week and then I just cave on Friday?

I ♥ Luna Lovegood:
Evanna Lynch, the Irish actress who plays her, wrote J. K. Rowling loads of fan letters saying how much she'd love to be in a Harry Potter film. She wrote to Rowling when she was put in hospital for anorexia, and Rowling wrote back with advice. Apparently Rowling's advice helped her to recover, and she ended up in the 5th HP film. 

I enjoyed that when a friend told me. 
I wish I could grow my hair that long! :*O Alas, bleached hair that was thin to begin with doesn't look that great long. It just looks dead, right before it starts falling out. I'll be getting it freshly bleached this weekend, hopefully. My roots are starting to look trailer-trashy. 

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

I only take sick days when forced to do so.

Turns out New Boss is a germophobe. He took one look at me today and sent me home early so he could disinfect the entire office. 

I have a cold*. 

Mum thinks I should got to the doctor. She thinks I need bed rest, and soup, and liquids, and Lucozade (BLEEEHH!). After many many years of my covering up various illnesses, she has finally cottoned on to my system. 

*Mum's Mich-Health-Guide:
  • "I'm fine" = Could be covering up anything from the common cold to ebola, or perhaps broken bones. 
  • "I think I might be getting a cold"/"I just have the sniffles" = Mich has a really bad cold, and it is headed directly for her chest. 
  • "It's just a cold." = Mich has most likely got bronchitis, or walking pneumonia; and she will need to be either sedated or knocked unconscious in order to get it treated. 
  • "I feel a bit fatigued." = Mich shall spend the next 24-48 hours vomiting until she collapses, due to either a stomach bug or a hangover. 
  • "I have slight heartburn." = Mich is in such digestive agony you wouldn't believe it.
  • "I think maybe I should go to the doctor..." = Mich has contracted something extremely severe, such as tuberculosis, and she may drop dead at any time. 
If there's an opposite to hypochondria, then I've got it. My body makes it easy to cover up illnesses--I run at an average temperature of 96.4 degrees F. So for me, 98.6 is a fever. But I can pass it off as normal, even to medical professionals. I don't get fevers often. Last time I had one, it went up to 101.9 and I had actually reached the "I think maybe I should see a doctor" stage before I started talking nonsense and hallucinating, and my roommates called an ambulance. I have no memory of this, or of being taken to the hospital, but my roommates later told me that I flat out refused to get near the ambulance, threatened the EMT's with bodily harm, and then I walked 7 blocks to the hospital. In the middle of January. 

But I think the best example comes from last January. On December 31, 2009, I slipped on the ice in the driveway and walloped my head and arm on the pavement. Despite possible injuries, I just got up, brushed myself off, and went about my merry way. 2 weeks later my arm still kind of hurt, so I went to the doctor. Turns out my arm was broken. (Luckily for me, it was healing ok on its own, so I didn't even need a cast or anything.)
At this point Dr. S can only shake his head and try to tell me to take it easy. On the x-ray, he pointed out where you could see that my wrist had also been broken at some point in the distant past, though it had obviously healed ok (who knew?). And if he has access to my medical records from before he became my doc, then he probably knows that several broken ankles have also gone untreated. He thinks I may have some kind of nerve problem. It's quite possible, as I'm constantly injuring myself (mostly cooking-related cuts and burns) without even noticing. 

But half a day off = more time to exercise! Bronchitis Head cold be damned. :)

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

...this isn't some communist day care center!

Dunkin Donuts does not provide sufficient nutritional information on their website. Their beverages, for example: you can check the nutritional info for a medium coffee with skim milk and splenda, but not for a medium coffee with cream and splenda. I'd have to check how many calories are in a small coffee with cream, and then do MATH to figure out how many calories would be in a medium coffee with cream. 

I SUCK at math.

I wanted to know how many calories are in a large cappuccino made with skim milk. Their website does not provide this information. Or any information on a cappuccino with skim instead of regular milk. So I called their customer hotline. After telling the young lady my question, I waited on hold for 6 minutes. And then: success! The lady came back and said there's 90 calories in a large cappuccino with skim milk, 45 in a small, and 72 calories in a medium.

I feel fat.

On Sunday, one of my best friends asked me if I'd gained weight. He tried to cover it up with a "you look really good! I didn't mean it in a bad way" excuse, but the damage was done. I didn't know whether to slit his throat or mine. Thank God for my mother.

She overheard Friend's comment. Mum's response: "WHAT?! She hasn't gained weight!" She sounded more offended than I felt. 

Nevertheless, it was definitely a fat weekend, so I've been working extra hard to make up for it. I made sure to excessively exercise all weekend while I was being a human calorie-vacuum; burned 800 on Saturday and 900 on Sunday. I burned 700 yesterday and today. And yesterday I only had 200 cals. Today was wasn't as good--320. Being sick helps. Just a cold, but sudafed (the proper one with the pseudoephedrine) murders my appetite. :D

As a result of posing for hours on end in cold bathwater for that painting, Elizabeth Siddal got a nasty case of pneumonia. She remained sickly until her death 10 years later.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

We're walking in the air...

...and now for your holiday entertainment: Vlog #2.
It's a little more rushed than I would have liked, but Mum was literally pulling into the driveway by the time I was almost done recording. 

Tracy, I made the video public, so hopefully it works this time!
The password is: silver balls

[The music is Luigi Boccherini's minuet from his String Quartet in E Major, Op. 11, No. 5; overused in films worldwide.]
I rather enjoyed this. I might dress up like that again for the next one...


Saturday, December 4, 2010

Once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

First day at work went very well. There is a Dunkin Donuts in walking distance, so at least I can get some walking in every day. 'Tis like a 15-minute walk round trip. The office is kind of a disaster, though--old files and boxes and crap everywhere. Once I get settled in, that shall be my first project. And then I will try redesigning the boss's letterhead. And his letters in general. I'll never understand where some people get their graphic design ideas. I mean I'm no graphic designer; my skills are in typography, but holy hell. Sending letters out typed in Courier New?! Pleeeeeeease!!

But I figure I should wait until the boss is more comfortable with me around before I go insulting his letter design. 

Little Sis told me they're doing the D.A.R.E. program in her school, in health class. Do y'all remember Dare? The most pointless class there ever was, in my opinion. They should just show all ten year olds Requiem For A Dream. They'll never do drugs after that. And Little Sis said Officer Kirk is still doing the Dare program. He must be pretty old now, but fair play to him for still trying to teach a bunch of upper-middle class brats that their parents' cocaine habits are in fact a bad idea. 

And according to Little Sis, Officer Kirk no longer brings the Briefcase to Dare classes. I suspect that this is my fault. Sophomore year in high school, Officer Kirk and his partner came to talk to us about the wrongness of drugs. And they brought a briefcase with them. A briefcase filled with drug samples, so we could all get an idea of the things in life we should be avoiding. 
[Forgive the ridiculously bad art skills. I never claimed to be good at art.]

Seriously, what were the Dare officers thinking!? I guess a lot of the kids were like, "oh wow look at all those drugs--I'm glad I know what they look like now so I can avoid them." But come on. I couldn't have been the only one that started drooling.
My first thoughts--I NEED that briefcase.

I tried. I had a friend create a diversion while I attempted a grab-and-run. It might have worked if there had been only one police officer, but I'm pretty sure Officer Kirk was on to me. 

Little Sis said they no longer use the briefcase. 

I had a semi-successful Friday night, as far as eating. I had a little more than I would have liked, but I did NOT sneak downstairs in the dead of night to devour everything in the pantry. Baby steps, right? Went on a dinner date with Mum (oh the exciting social life I lead!), and wore a cute new outfit:
The leggings are sparkly, and the shoes have leg warmer type things attached to them (also sparkly). I just bought a bunch a short skirts to wear with leggings. I like this look. Might go to Kohl's today and get more skirts. And more leggings. I want more sparkly ones. 

I think I'm finally current on all your blogs. Commenters get first priority, so if I missed yours come and yell at me! 

Tracy, thanks for the lovely comments! You are such a sweetheart. Move in with me? You REALLY need your own blog, so I can comment on it. I was thinking of making you an authorized poster on mine. What say you?

Misschickabee--blogger won't let me look at your blog, if you have one! Thanks for your wonderful comments. ;) You're a doll!

Well I'm off to work out and re-read Harry Potter #3 for the seventh time. Have a lovely weekend girlies! Hopefully will get my second vlog up soon. I'm waiting for the house to empty of its other occupants, as there's a very good chance I could get committed if I'm caught doing what I plan on doing....