Currently viewing the tag: "disaster"
I’ve been pretty quiet these days. I’ve been side-lined lately due to a sudden onset of Disasteritis. Turns out my diet (in particular my rejection of leafy greens) has caused me to become severely fatigued.
When my doctor called to tell me that my iron levels were a good 55 points below normal, I was shocked. “But that’s impossible!” I gasped, “I have at least 4 blue cheese-stuffed olives a week!”
Apparently that’s not enough. Which reluctantly has gotten me back in the kitchen. So, my dear Disasters, today I am bringing you yet another helpful recipe, that is quick, easy and chock-full of nutrients:
Lean Cuisine with Energy Boosts
Step 1 Purchase ingredients from local Walgreens:
You know your cuisine is lean, but is it packed with nutrients? Not yet!
Step 2
Gingerly add Vitamin C, Iron, Fish Oil and a tablet that says “Hair, Skin, Nails” (this is the holy trinity: if you have to skimp, do not skimp here).
Step 3 Cook on high heat for approximately 4 minutes and 30 seconds. Careful, it’s hot!
Step 4 Voila! You’re done. Let cool, turn on Jersey Shore, and serve with a martini.
Note: When I feel as though I’m steps away from scurvy, sometimes I add a secret ingredient–the extra 1-2 punch my body needs:
Drink for two, prenatal vitamins for one, that’s what I always say!
Related Disasters:
Please listen up. Especially you, GuyPacino, with the blackjack table for a headboard. We have something to discuss.
WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? Do you think silk sheets make me feel sexy? They don’t. They immediately make me question every life decision that led me to your bedroom.
Do you think these are romantic? Well they are, in the same way that Jesse James’ sex couch is to the Monster Garage. But silk sheets are not going to make me want to spark your plugs. I have far too few tattoos.
Do you think they make you look like a baller? Just because you buy your sheets at Bed Bath & Beyonce does not mean this is going to end well. In fact, it more than likely guarantees it’s not.
Also, I looked in your bathroom:
Related Disasters:
Dear Doh,
I’ve been seeing a cute boy recently who I’m pretty into. So in true girly fashion I went to Facebook to look up his profile, but not to add him as a friend. I wanted to stalk him first. So I find his page and it’s not entirely public but some of his personal information is visible. Well, to my dismay his marital status was “in a relationship” but not just that, there was actually a specific person’s name following and needless to say, it wasn’t me! So you can imagine my shock and then disappointment at discovering this gem drop of knowledge. (Side note: it’s clear that he just hasn’t gotten around to changing it yet because there’s been activity on his wall within the last few days AND the “girlfriend” had commented on one of his posts!)
(Sigh) I decided that I would give him the benefit of the doubt and ask him about it the next time I saw him.
So jump to date #4(!) I confess my snooping around on his FB page and bring up his status. He tells me that yes, he was in a relationship as of recent. They broke up a couple weeks ago (before he met me) and that they were together for a year. He said he didn’t love her and didn’t want to continue the relationship any further if he wasn’t in love. Ok. Fine. I can deal with that. However, it’s been about a week since that conversation and I went to check back on his FB page and his status still claims that he’s in a relationship. This bothers me and makes me feel weird. I want him to change it. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be a dick and change it so soon after breaking up? I want to get to the bottom of this without coming across as crazy but not sure what approach to take now.
Any thoughts?
Best,
Dismayed & Disappointed
Dear Duped,
I’ve met guys like this before. This is the same guy who says he’s 5’10 online, when he’s really 5’6. These are the rounder-uppers. In this case, he’s “rounding up” in regards to his fidelity. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe technically they are broken up, or taking time apart. But even if that’s the best case scenario, if he still feels obligated enough to leave her on his relationship status, then there is more to this picture.
United, can we check these? This guy’s got baggage.
Do you really want to stick around while this gets this cleared up? Four dates is a lot — if the “ex” is still commenting on his posts it makes me think she’d be shocked to know this, too. And that’s just drama you don’t need.
As for his claim, “I just decided I wasn’t in love,” my guess is he’s just feeding you douchebag candy. I’ve heard that one before. Somehow it sounds genuine, honest, and emotionally in-touch, and since we want to hear it, we fall for it every time. But it’s probably a partial truth.
My advice is trust your gut. It doesn’t feel right because it’s probably not.
Done with douchebagsly yours,
Disaster
Related Disasters:
My sister is to matchmaking as Velveeta is to fondue. It seems like a good idea, but inevitably it’s a hot mess.
My sister has moved from one long term relationship to another and landed herself in a marriage and a house. Lately it has become her mission to marry me off, too. Or at least get me happily dating in Chicago to reduce my flight risk. But after years of serial monogamy, my sister has lost her game.
A couple of weeks ago I brought her to a fundraising event where she won over the crowd with her grace and charm. “Wow, you’re an architect? You know, my sister loves buildings. You should talk to her. She’s the one over there–the one with two Chardonnays.” Then she proceeded to write down my name, email and cell phone number on the back of her business card, framed it with a heart, and handed it to him.
Needless to say I never heard from this guy, but that doesn’t stop BamBam from clubbing men over the head and dragging them back to the sister cave. And this problem has only gotten worse since she bought a house. I get calls at least twice a week. Yesterday she called and didn’t even say hello, she just jumped right in.
“We’ve got a hot roofer,” she said, frantically. “I think he’s got kids, but I don’t see a ring. Do you want me to stall him until you can get over here?”
Then there’s the termite guy. And the fence guy. And the general contractor, who she can’t understand, but she’s pretty sure it’s just the accent, not the fact that he’s a drunk.
And week by week BamBam lines up the suitors, and yet, somehow, I still wind up alone in the cave.
Related Disasters:
Last weekend was not the first time I got duped into listening to a jam band. This has happened several times before. I need to start asking important questions earlier, like “do their songs have words?” Inevitably I find out this information too late. The show didn’t even start until 2 am, which is pretty typical, I think. Jam bands and vampires share this in common.
Don’t get me wrong, I love to dance. It’s just that I’m not sure how to dance to jam bands. When we got there I spent some time observing a few mancers (man dancers) and from what I can tell, you stare at the ground, let your arms go limp and rock from front to back. But when my friend started twirling, I checked out.
That’s when the guy behind me with a partially-buttoned plaid shirt tapped me on the shoulder.
“Where you from?” He asked.
“Chicago. You?”
“New York.” Then without a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “What do you do?”
I do not understand guys from New York. Why do they all really want to know what I do so badly? It’s always the first question they ask me, and makes me think there’s some back room bingo game going on and when I answer, “I’m in marketing,” he’ll yell BINGO! That was the one I was waiting for!
Anyway, I’m sick of it. So I said, “I’m in a drum circle. It’s awesome, but overwhelming–so many parks, so little time…You?”
He was so happy I asked him what he did, he overlooked my response. “I work for the Evil Empire,” he said.
“You work in politics?”
“No, I work for Goldman Sachs. You may have heard of it,” he said smirking.
“Nope. We don’t use golden sacks in our drum circles. Mostly hemp.”
“No, I mean, I’m in banking. I’m here for a bachelor party. That’s my friend,” he said, pointing to a guy in a button-down shirt with a neck full of mardi gras beads. “We’re about to lose him to the other side.”
“He’s turning gay?”
“No, he’s getting married.”
“That’s cool,” I said, “I support gay marriage.”
And just like that, I started to twirl.
