What is it good for?

 War. UNGH! Good God. 

We are a house, divided. War percolates below every seemingly meaningless gesture. Even casual conversations cause sparks. For now, a cease-fire exists. But, for how long?   The skirmishes and clashes of the past loom over our daily interactions. Only the threat of MAD keeps us from crossing the line.

What is this division, this conflict , this horrific wound in the body of our pseudo-marriage? I speak, of course, of that most shocking of rivalries: differing dieting techniques*.
He advocates for low-fat foods.
I advocate for less processed foods and smaller portions.

Who is right in this eternal conflict? Whose ideology is the correct one? **

As a nurse, Mister Man feels that he has the power of the AMA behind him. His position is one of entrenchment, stagnation. Basically, if it doesn’t come from the medical community – he doesn’t want to hear about it.

My position is from a place of not wanting to eat foods that contain scores of chemicals in them. Unless and until someone proves I will gain superpowers from ingesting it – I do not want to eat thiamine mononitrate, nor any of the other 37 Twinkie ingredients.

Now, this is not to say that we disagree on everything about a healthy lifestyle. For example, we both want to include more exercise into our daily regimen. We both feel that water consumption is key to wellness.

Aaaaand, that’s about it.
I want us to eat a diet heavy in veggies, fruits, and meat. Basically, a primal diet. He wants us to eat like its 1956, heavy on the grain and dairy.

Mine.

 

His. Except with more chemicals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

However, all of the dairy must be fat free. Fat free cheese, milk, yogurt, etc.  I have to wonder what they are using to replace the fat?  Because fat does serve a purpose in food and in our bodies. I feel that instead of reaching for a product claiming to be “LO-FAT!” we should instead, just reach for less of a full fat product.

I guess we won’t ever be able to settle this debate.

…PFFT, who am I kidding?
Do you want to know the most obvious reason that my diet is the correct one?

Because mine contains bacon.  Mmmmm, bacon.

 

I believe I just won.

 

 

 

 * – I know, right?
** – Well, duh. MINE.

Crankypants: A Song of Fever & Cramps

These...are my Crankypants!!

 

Fair Warning – parts of this particular entry are gross.

 

 

 

 

 

 

To get the full effect, say the above picture caption in the same manner as Ash from “Army of Darkness”.

 

 

Please send soup. And Midol.

Halloween weekend and night were awesome.  However, I apparently contracted the Venusian Death cold sometime during it. I have become a walking, talking snot-factory. Cough, wheeze, snork, hork, and sneeze. It is far more fun than any human should be allowed. /sarcasm
On top of that, my EUPHIMISM DETECTED! showed up, approximately five days late.
May I just say that sneezing while your bodily is busily doing uterine demolition work? So.not.recommended.

~bleah~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On a related note, my thinking and creative abilities are dead. They’ve been suffocated by the vast amounts of nose goo.

OK – not entirely true. I do have a little cognitive ability not muffled by a layer of mucous. Unfortunately, I have to use it to do laundry. Also? I must call the University to find out WHY their application status check web page sucks gangrenous donkey schlong. Because it does. It sucks and I hate them. Hate, hate, hate.
No, wait.
LOATHE ENTIRELY.

I just want to find out if I was accepted for the Spring semester. The provided “check it yerself” web-app doesn’t work. It just pretends to load and pretends to load and pretends to load….

I am not asking too much, am I? I’d like to think that I am a shoo-in, academically speaking. Not being able to check is making me a touch crazy, though. I hate not knowing.

Feh. I am going to go make yet another cup of tea and then kill some zombies. Maybe blasting hordes of undead will make me feel better.  At the very least, it will be something to do while I wait in endless “your call is important to us, please stay on the line” hell.

Health Abridged

I don’t know about you guys, but I must start a new fitness routine every few weeks. At least I am consistent with my wanting to be in better health. Just not with follow through on a particular method to get there.

I think overall that I am in pretty decent shape. I don’t have insurance*, so I can’t go and get a stem-to-stern checkup to say that authoritatively. But, I exercise at least three to four times a week for 40+ minutes (each, not total.) I eat more or less healthily and I rarely get into gunfights. This is not to say I wouldn’t like to have the peace of mind that kickass coverage provides. If something calamitous happened to me – or FSM forbid – my Girl, we would astronomically fucked. But I am doing my best to avoid said catastrophes**.

However, life happens. As it does. Often with !Surprise! visits from the Oh, Shit Fairy. We all know her. She’s the yanker of carpets out from under your feet. The power loss during the marathon writing session. A smack to the back of your head when you’ve done naught wrong except to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She is merciless and has a vindictive sense of humor. The very best you can do is be as prepared as you can before she arrives with a bag of tacks for your chair and her IRS auditor boyfriend.

Boy, the tone of this just veered into a more serious note, eh?

. . .

But – and I mean this – while I am worried about insurance/health/the future, I am not obsessing about it.

 

 

 

 

Well, not very much.

I mean, there’s only so much freaking out about the future that you can realistically do. That’s why it’s the *future*. You just have no idea what is waiting around that corner. It could be anything!

I.Am.So.Freaking.HAPPY!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or not. The point is that you don’t know. Anyone who claims that they DO know is probably trying to sell you something.

Like a spurious health elixirs. Or a bridge.

This bridge, maybe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* – nor a full-time gig, so no money for out-of-pocket exams.

“What does it have in its pocketses?”
“Not a goddamn thing, you greedy fuck.”

** – I don’t know about you guys, but have you noticed that many of the words that convey gigantic, tragic circumstances start with a “c”?

Main Entry: catastrophic  [kat-uh-strof-ik]
Definition: destructive
Synonyms: calamitous, cataclysmal, cataclysmic, catastrophal, disastrous, fatal, ruinous, tragic, carbohydrates, car-jacking, cardiac, cancer.

"C is for cholesterol. And mine's as high as can be!"