Hold the Whipped Cream

sharingtime:

• Go back in time and don’t use fertility treatment so you don’t end up with three hundred children
• While you’re there back in time, don’t agree to have your lives taped

Problem solved.

(idiots)

I was never really a fan of the show (the only we-enjoy-collecting-kids show I watch is 18 Kids and Counting… because if you’re going to collect kids you might as well collect the most and then make them wear weird outfits and form a family orchestra), but now I just want them to get a divorce so they’ll cancel the show. I doubt they’ll create a Jon Plus 8 Every Other Weekend and Various Holidays, and Kate Plus 8 When She’s Not on a Book Tour. 

But maybe they could call it Jon Plus 8 Minus Kate. What a ring that one has.

In an effort to both cut calories and adopt a healthier lifestyle, I gave up my morning ritual of a double cafe mocha (I gave up cheese grits too, but that’s a totally different and irrelevant story). I’m usually a little more tired in the morning, but overall I’ve been getting by surprisingly well without it, and I don’t get tired in the afternoons anymore.

Today, however, I was in desperate need. I was dragging so much that I couldn’t even stay awake when my boss was here. So, I excused myself to walk down to the Starbucks in Centro Ybor. A tall coffee, a splash of non-fat milk, and 2 packets of Splenda… not bad, not diet-breaking, and pretty decent-tasting too. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. I must have lost all my tolerance for caffeine, because for the past four hours my hands have been shaking, I’ve been skipping around the office every time my boss asks me to do something, and I keep rambling on about nonsense to him (getting sloshed at my sister’s wedding a year and a half ago, drinking at work functions, thoughts on McDonald’s new coffee, etc.) while he’s trying to get work done. He probably thinks I’m on crack. Maybe that wasn’t really Splenda.

I need to be given a mat and be put down for a nap. I’m EXTREMELY antsy.

Dear O Trusting One,

Thank you for entrusting me with a blank check for my paycheck. Luckily for you, I consider myself to be a fairly ethical person, so I won’t be overpaying myself. I also would rather not get caught for embezzling (since, because of my predecessor, that was the reason why I was able to obtain this job to begin with). But anyhow, I appreciate the trust. Please bring me more healthy McDonald’s snacks. I miss the fruit, walnut, and yogurt bowls.

Love,

Your Morally Sound, Eternally Hungry Employee

Guess who is now a mere 3 pounds away from weighing what she did at the beginning of her senior year (of high school).

Guess who now fits into 90% of her “hopeful jeans“ section (Damn you Abercrombie size 4 jeans… I’ll get there).

That’s right… I had a trying on party for one this morning. And it went well.

It makes the pain from pilates and lifting/fatigue from running/saying no to delicious desserts feel so worth it.

I saw this recipe in an old issue of Cosmo (before tossing magazines I always look through them for recipes to tear out), and though it isn’t in any way healthy— just reading it made me want to drool. Here goes:

• 4 oz cream cheese (make it reduced fat cream cheese to make it a LITTLE better)
• 8 Oreos (again, reduced fat to make it a little healthier)
• 6 oz of semisweet chocolate chips (dark chocolate’s got antioxidants)
• powdered sugar for dusting

In a food processor or chopper, crush the Oreos until they’re fine crumbs, add cream cheese gradually until fully mixed. Roll into 1-1.5 inch thick balls, put on a tray covered in wax paper, and stick in the freezer for a couple of hours. After a couple of hours, melt the chocolate chips for 1 minute in the microwave, stir, and then microwave for 30 seconds more if needed. With a toothpick, dip the balls into the chocolate and place back on the tray. Sprinkle powdered sugar on top.

Viola. Sex in truffle form.

I just got done reading The Host, and I have to say… I loved it.

I’m part surprised and part ashamed. Surprised because I honestly thought the book was going to suck. A book about aliens in human bodies and one of them having a conscience/change of heart? Snore. And ashamed because Stephenie Meyer, despite her uncanny storytelling talents, is a terrible writer. She gives a bad name to all those writers out there who can tell a good story without massacring the English language by picking two or three favorite words and repeating them ad nauseum through his or her work (chagrin/chagrinned, tremble/trembled/trembling, sob/sobbed/sobbing). But, of course, I read it just because she— the mother of the Twilight series— wrote it.

I feel like another Dan Brown fan. Oh wait… I like his books too. Damn.

The swampthings that live downstairs are becoming a bit of a nuisance. They have put some disgusting waste from their indoor swamp into their valet trash bin outside their front door, forcing everyone to endure the scent of whatever the hell is in there. And it’s been like that for weeks… so something definitely spilled in there. I’m getting tired of having to pry Dakota away from the trash bin every time I have to take her outside. Something in there is extremely appealing to her. 

The other thing is how terrible their house smells. You know, if you want your house to reek of multiple foul smells, that’s totally okay. You own the place, so it’s your prerogative to let it smell however the hell you want it to. It is NOT, however, okay to air out your house every day by opening the window that faces the walkway. I gag every time I walk by your unit and smell an asphyxiating blend of rotting human (undoubtedly the male swampcreature… if you saw him you’d know why), cigarettes (from the female swampcreature), and Lysol (obviously a poor way of covering the swamp lair smell).

Can someone be evicted for being the smelly kid on the block? I’m looking into it.

I have mixed feelings about the recent change in weather. So to best convey my sentiments, I’m going to put it sorority-style and say two nice things and one not so nice thing.

Pro: I’ve had a week’s worth of free car washes.

Con: I can’t step foot outside, my dog is getting pissed off because I won’t take her out for walks in the rain, and the likelihood of me getting a decent tan this weekend is slim to none— since each day the 10-day forecast adds another goddamn day of rain.

Pro: My plants aren’t dying (although they’re indoor plants and the outside weather has nothing to do with them… except that they’re going to die soon from lack of sunlight).