10.22.2004
Gut Feelings
After the long bout of melancholy yesterday as I watched the rain fall outside my office window from my squashed perch at Ye Olde Desk, I went with a couple of coworkers to this place called Windy City Sliders for lunch. It's this adorable (now hellish, read on) little burger joint with a "Parking for Bears Fans Only" sign out in front and a super "Da Bulls" vibe that's perfect for that silent, furtive, hangover grease infusion. And since I hadn't eaten all day I figured it would cancel out anything else, calorie-wise (see the USDA's Food Pyramid for more on this brilliant concept). But the thing is that as lovely as Windy City's sliders seem to be - tiny and harmless - I never ever eat shit like that unless I'm really really hung over...so yesterday's repast was a big big mistake. That little bastard burger shut my system down and I had to leave work early just to go home to lay in pain on my sofa.
Thankfully, it was like 55 degrees out so I opened all the windows, got out my delicious blankie and made some chamomile tea. Watched the tail end of Jerry Springer. The usual societal rejects, natch. My favorite part is when the audience gets to lob their retarded zingers at guests, who at this point are quite aggressive after an hour or so of shoe-throwing and hair-pulling played out to stadium-loud chants of "sit down whore!" (I love a good family-friendly show, don't you?)
Followed this up with a bit of channel-flipping between a dog show (why don't the pugs ever win?) and home shopping. I love to listen to Ron Reagan do his best "Best in Show" commentary during the dog shows. He's so not funny but he tries so hard to be clever. Go, Ron Reagan, go. You're the only Reagan I've ever liked. And on home shopping they were selling makeup so of course I had to tune in. Scary, though, because it's a product I use. Hm. Maybe it's time to rethink that drink.
Follow me on this: the best home-shopping show ever is Suzanne Somers' bizarro self-love fest, but coming in at number two is a makeup line by this 1,000-year-old crone named Adrian. Now, Adrian has had about 25-30 plastic surgeries - all of them on her creepshow, Jocelyn Wildenstein face - and sells a makeup line for "older women." I believe it's extra-powerful to hide the surgery scars. It's big, too. A regular-sized compact is as big as a woman's palm. Adrian sells them as big as an entire hand, from fingertip to wrist. Once she had one with swirls of color, which EH and I dubbed "Hypnocream," and Adrian has been a favorite ever since. Love to watch her apply the Hypnocream on her poor, downtrodden models. Adrian's touch is what can only be described as "violent," and the sad-sack women who got the Hypnocream gig try to hold their expressions in place as Big A slaps them around. Truly a sight to behold.
Back to me, me me, I turned in around 8:00 with a book of poetry by Galway Kinnell. ("When One Has Lived A Long Time Alone" - I was sooo deep in melancholy. Thank god that's over with.) The kicker is that thanks to that demonic little sandwich, i'm still in pain today. I made a double-strong pot of coffee and took it to work. Hopefully that will wake up my insides. Ouch. Still can't believe I ate a slider and fries for lunch - sans hangover! I eat soy dogs for chrissake. What was i thinking?!?
So my weekend is going to be mellow. Tonight I'm going to Benihana (not happy about that - faux Japanese?) for my friend N's birthday, and tomorrow night i'm making Thai basil chicken and watching "Saved!" with the Estranged One. I can't even believe that my weekend's entertainment revolves around food. It is the absolute last thing i want to think about right now. Go, coffee, go!
Thankfully, it was like 55 degrees out so I opened all the windows, got out my delicious blankie and made some chamomile tea. Watched the tail end of Jerry Springer. The usual societal rejects, natch. My favorite part is when the audience gets to lob their retarded zingers at guests, who at this point are quite aggressive after an hour or so of shoe-throwing and hair-pulling played out to stadium-loud chants of "sit down whore!" (I love a good family-friendly show, don't you?)
Followed this up with a bit of channel-flipping between a dog show (why don't the pugs ever win?) and home shopping. I love to listen to Ron Reagan do his best "Best in Show" commentary during the dog shows. He's so not funny but he tries so hard to be clever. Go, Ron Reagan, go. You're the only Reagan I've ever liked. And on home shopping they were selling makeup so of course I had to tune in. Scary, though, because it's a product I use. Hm. Maybe it's time to rethink that drink.
Follow me on this: the best home-shopping show ever is Suzanne Somers' bizarro self-love fest, but coming in at number two is a makeup line by this 1,000-year-old crone named Adrian. Now, Adrian has had about 25-30 plastic surgeries - all of them on her creepshow, Jocelyn Wildenstein face - and sells a makeup line for "older women." I believe it's extra-powerful to hide the surgery scars. It's big, too. A regular-sized compact is as big as a woman's palm. Adrian sells them as big as an entire hand, from fingertip to wrist. Once she had one with swirls of color, which EH and I dubbed "Hypnocream," and Adrian has been a favorite ever since. Love to watch her apply the Hypnocream on her poor, downtrodden models. Adrian's touch is what can only be described as "violent," and the sad-sack women who got the Hypnocream gig try to hold their expressions in place as Big A slaps them around. Truly a sight to behold.
Back to me, me me, I turned in around 8:00 with a book of poetry by Galway Kinnell. ("When One Has Lived A Long Time Alone" - I was sooo deep in melancholy. Thank god that's over with.) The kicker is that thanks to that demonic little sandwich, i'm still in pain today. I made a double-strong pot of coffee and took it to work. Hopefully that will wake up my insides. Ouch. Still can't believe I ate a slider and fries for lunch - sans hangover! I eat soy dogs for chrissake. What was i thinking?!?
So my weekend is going to be mellow. Tonight I'm going to Benihana (not happy about that - faux Japanese?) for my friend N's birthday, and tomorrow night i'm making Thai basil chicken and watching "Saved!" with the Estranged One. I can't even believe that my weekend's entertainment revolves around food. It is the absolute last thing i want to think about right now. Go, coffee, go!
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Speaking of Jocelyne Wildenstein. Sweet Jesus, I wake up in cold sweats after seeing the picture in this article which I found on Fazed.net.
OH MAH GAWD. My favorite part: Jocelyn, how do you choose the right surgeon? "It is impossible to hold a medical degree from the University of Papaya as Papaya is not a country; you should never have to walk through a transmission shop to get to the clinic; and avoid places that require a secret knock."
That picture reminds me of the scene from Men In Black where Vincent D'Onofrio grabs his scalp and pulls it back to stretch his face out. "Is this better?"
My favorite quote is "Bring in a photograph, or a clipping from National Geographic as I did, to show the surgeon exactly the look you desire." Now are we talking about the tatas-down-to-the-ankles look or the rings-around-your-3ft-neck look? I mean, with National Geographic you have to be specific. You could wake up with a basket full of mangos on your head or looking like a sherpa from Everest.
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My favorite quote is "Bring in a photograph, or a clipping from National Geographic as I did, to show the surgeon exactly the look you desire." Now are we talking about the tatas-down-to-the-ankles look or the rings-around-your-3ft-neck look? I mean, with National Geographic you have to be specific. You could wake up with a basket full of mangos on your head or looking like a sherpa from Everest.
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