Click to enlarge...Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Some Call It Lying. I Call It "Editorial License"
I'm writing to you, dear fans, from a hotel in which the room service is so bad that one must order out from a service called Deliver Me Food, as in, Deliver me from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory for ever and ever Amen...
Here in "undisclosed midwestern city" I am freezing my ass off.
And waiting for food. Or delivery. Or both.
So in the meantime, I might as well inform you that for some time now Bebemoche Hits The Streets has not reflected reality. For anyone who has the slightest clue (about my life, of course) that has been fairly obvious.
Anyway, it is almost Christmas season, but that has not prevented me from having my usual incredibly bad attitude, working too many hours, and dreaming up sarcastic rantings despite that I have no time to blog them. I am wiped out, and you just may not hear from me again until 2009, after my extended vacation and global travels.
Stay tuned for the year in review.
Yours,
Bebemoche
Here in
And waiting for food. Or delivery. Or both.
So in the meantime, I might as well inform you that for some time now Bebemoche Hits The Streets has not reflected reality. For anyone who has the slightest clue (about my life, of course) that has been fairly obvious.
Anyway, it is almost Christmas season, but that has not prevented me from having my usual incredibly bad attitude, working too many hours, and dreaming up sarcastic rantings despite that I have no time to blog them. I am wiped out, and you just may not hear from me again until 2009, after my extended vacation and global travels.
Stay tuned for the year in review.
Yours,
Bebemoche
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
AC/DC Runs Out of Money
Click here to discover the new album. Are they hoping that nobody in the audience notices that they look like grandpas with electric guitars? Flybacks don't look that hot in gray.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Resume Review Season Returns
Time for me to gloat over my superior education and snicker at resume bullets such as:
- Active in robotic surgery research, rugby team
That certainly paints an interesting mental image, now doesn't it?
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Read Me
An interesting and entertaining article, especially for those of us familiar with prizes not worth winning:
The Eligible Bachelor Paradox
The Eligible Bachelor Paradox
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
For Your Reading Pleasure
Highbrow: Stuff White People Like
Lowbrow: Hot Chicks* With Douchebags
Nota bene: The authors of said blog have a different definition of "hot"
Lowbrow: Hot Chicks* With Douchebags
Nota bene: The authors of said blog have a different definition of "hot"
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Quote Of The Day
The scene: Bebemoche and a Partner in her firm are re-entering the office building after a mid-afternoon Starbucks run. Bebemoche has forgotten her building ID upstairs, but Partner has his
Bebemoche (to Security guard): Can I get into the building with him?
Partner: I have a badge
Security guard: Do you [Bebemoche] have a badge to the building?
Bebemoche: Yes, but I left it upstairs
Security guard: Well, you had better bring it with you next time, or we'll have to take you out behind the building and spank you
Bebemoche (sarcastically): That would be appropriate
Elevator door closes
Bebemoche (to Partner): Would you like to see me beat up the security guard?
Partner: What was up with that guy? Did he actually hear what he was saying?Bebemoche: Welcome to my world!
Tragedy Comes To New York
No, not what is happening in the Financial Services sector, rather, the fact that my TV got stuck the other day and would only show Fox News no matter what channel I changed it to. The horror!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
One Final Excerpt
Are you enthusiastic about new experiences and activities, Bebemoche? I've had a fabulous time training/performing Improv theater recently and I'm eagerly anticipating spending this weekend on a sailboat learning to sail. Tell me a little about one new passion/interest you've developed in the last year...
I am absolutely unenthusiastic about new experiences and activities. I like to view my life as in the film Groundhog Day, except for in my personal version, I would never change anything. If I could only suspend the aging process and just live on, as I am today, without changing anything at all, that would be ideal. I pray for that every day. Who needs to learn anything in life? After all, there are only so many options available to me here in prison.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Adventures In Online Dating
My dear fans, I would love to tell you that this time around my online dating experience had been as horrible as the last, but I would be lying. However, I do have a few amusing anecdotes to share after my very brief stint in the online dating world.
First of all, I went back to my old, trustworthy (well, maybe not) Ivy League* dating site, where, apart from the Jeffrey Dahmer-like individuals who signaled their interest, some of them for the second time around, I did actually meet a few really interesting and intelligent men, none of whom I was even remotely attracted to.
For some, the feeling was mutual. For others, their hopes were swiftly crushed as my post-wine lack of tact ripped them to shreds on various Manhattan street corners. I do feel slightly bad about that, but they'll get over it.
Second of all, I decided to cast a wider net, motivated by the successes of others. I joined another public site, where over a very brief period of time I must have clicked "No"** upon more than 250 law enforcement officers, construction workers, lecherous 50+ year underachievers, and one very notable 25 year old hot, blonde firefighter in Brooklyn. Let's just refer to that site as a reminder of how unattractive the general public really is.
That is why I was shocked and entertained when, as I went to cancel my membership, the site lined up photos of what must have been a group of models paid to appear and retain despairing female members. The photos, some of which resembled Calvin Klein cologne ads with a mostly naked wet man lying in the surf with a seductive look on his face, were lined up side-by-side with huge text reading: These men want to meet you. Are you sure you want to cancel your membership?
Yes.
* Although I did not note it above, I was incredibly frustrated with the continuing lack of honesty regarding height on the website. Besides my 6'4" date, everyone else had been dishonest and added a few fictitious inches, and it pissed me off. I do not like to tower over my date!
** It takes two clicks. What a pain. I think I have carpal tunnel now thanks to the experience
First of all, I went back to my old, trustworthy (well, maybe not) Ivy League* dating site, where, apart from the Jeffrey Dahmer-like individuals who signaled their interest, some of them for the second time around, I did actually meet a few really interesting and intelligent men, none of whom I was even remotely attracted to.
For some, the feeling was mutual. For others, their hopes were swiftly crushed as my post-wine lack of tact ripped them to shreds on various Manhattan street corners. I do feel slightly bad about that, but they'll get over it.
Second of all, I decided to cast a wider net, motivated by the successes of others. I joined another public site, where over a very brief period of time I must have clicked "No"** upon more than 250 law enforcement officers, construction workers, lecherous 50+ year underachievers, and one very notable 25 year old hot, blonde firefighter in Brooklyn. Let's just refer to that site as a reminder of how unattractive the general public really is.
That is why I was shocked and entertained when, as I went to cancel my membership, the site lined up photos of what must have been a group of models paid to appear and retain despairing female members. The photos, some of which resembled Calvin Klein cologne ads with a mostly naked wet man lying in the surf with a seductive look on his face, were lined up side-by-side with huge text reading: These men want to meet you. Are you sure you want to cancel your membership?
Yes.
* Although I did not note it above, I was incredibly frustrated with the continuing lack of honesty regarding height on the website. Besides my 6'4" date, everyone else had been dishonest and added a few fictitious inches, and it pissed me off. I do not like to tower over my date!
** It takes two clicks. What a pain. I think I have carpal tunnel now thanks to the experience
The Answer
My job has been challenging as of late: incredibly long hours, weekend work, multiple proposals to juggle at once, too many senior partners involved. I'm burnt out. But I think I have finally discovered the answer to what is next.
I want to work for Diddy.
I want to work for Diddy.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Life's Mysteries
How can it be that there is no pickle relish in Yankee Stadium? It is a hot dog tragedy...
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Public Service Announcement
The narcissistic personality disorder support group will soon be meeting at 51 Garden Street in Hoboken. The discussion topic of the upcoming meeting: Why I am more important than you. If time permits, the second portion of the discussion will focus on why nobody else's needs matter.
The group has not met since 1988, but hope to soon find a time which will put all of the extremely important members' schedules first.
The group has not met since 1988, but hope to soon find a time which will put all of the extremely important members' schedules first.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Stay Tuned
Once I have returned to my dear old New York, New York, I am setting off for an extended weekend with friends on Fire Island!
I'll most certainly have tales to tell upon my return and will be thinking of you, my dear readers, as I flit from one beach party to another.
Life is good!
Tootles
I'll most certainly have tales to tell upon my return and will be thinking of you, my dear readers, as I flit from one beach party to another.
Life is good!
Tootles
Kinko's 90210*
Those of you who follow my business travels know for a fact that I am often sent to the most undesirable US locations possible - Richmond, VA; Memphis, TN; Harrisburg, PA; a small tent on the plains outside of Kansas City (ok, so perhaps I am exaggerating just a tad bit with that last one...)
That is why it was with simultaneous delight and revulsion when, at 10PM yesterday evening, after spending 24 hours literally writing a client proposal and most of the weekend working on another, I was informed that I needed to be in Los Angeles for a one hour meeting at 4PM (PT) the next afternoon.
I was even more thrilled when, upon requesting the exact address, I was informed that the client site was none other than smack dab in the middle of Beverly Hills, just a stone's throw from Rodeo Drive.
Jackpot!
Better yet, I was asked to attend a three hour business lunch at a local Italian restaurant to "prepare" for the meeting (read: eat way too much and speak about anything but the subject at hand).
How could it be, that I was asked to cross the country in my oh so unglamorous lifestyle (albeit via business class and limousine service), to discuss such an un-sexy subject, in such a fabulously sexy location?!? And with only a small price to pay - a quick limo stop by Kinko's 90210 to pick up some documents on the way to my business lunch. There was even window shopping galore on the leisurely stroll towards the client site.
We did not even get to my subject in the meeting, and so I spent the entire time looking down at Cartier and Chanel.
I know I won't be feeling this way when I arrive in NYC on the redeye tomorrow morning, but in the meantime, life in consulting, for once, is beautiful!
* For my foreign readers, 90210 is the zip code for Beverly Hills, California
That is why it was with simultaneous delight and revulsion when, at 10PM yesterday evening, after spending 24 hours literally writing a client proposal and most of the weekend working on another, I was informed that I needed to be in Los Angeles for a one hour meeting at 4PM (PT) the next afternoon.
I was even more thrilled when, upon requesting the exact address, I was informed that the client site was none other than smack dab in the middle of Beverly Hills, just a stone's throw from Rodeo Drive.
Jackpot!
Better yet, I was asked to attend a three hour business lunch at a local Italian restaurant to "prepare" for the meeting (read: eat way too much and speak about anything but the subject at hand).
How could it be, that I was asked to cross the country in my oh so unglamorous lifestyle (albeit via business class and limousine service), to discuss such an un-sexy subject, in such a fabulously sexy location?!? And with only a small price to pay - a quick limo stop by Kinko's 90210 to pick up some documents on the way to my business lunch. There was even window shopping galore on the leisurely stroll towards the client site.
We did not even get to my subject in the meeting, and so I spent the entire time looking down at Cartier and Chanel.
I know I won't be feeling this way when I arrive in NYC on the redeye tomorrow morning, but in the meantime, life in consulting, for once, is beautiful!
* For my foreign readers, 90210 is the zip code for Beverly Hills, California
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Roach Attack!
I like nice, hot, steamy, long showers. Apparently, so do the roaches in my building. Yesterday, bath towel-bound, I waltzed back in to my bathroom after my shower to see a large roach scuttling across the floor. I reached for the readily available can of Raid and began to liberally spray, and spray, and spray as the roach ran across the floor seeking shelter, ultimately falling unconscious in my trash can.
I then looked up, only to see a parade of giant roaches waltzing down the steam pipe right into the heart of my bathroom. Now, imagine the events that I am about to describe as though they happened in slow motion...
I aimed the Raid at the opening of the pipe in the ceiling. Unfortunately, there was one fatal flaw with my plan. I was shooting Raid at flying roaches...
...one of which flew on to my bathrobe on the back of my bathroom door. The other of which flew directly at me and landed on my chest, right above where my bath towel was tied around me. I screamed at the top of my lungs and violently brushed off the roach which seemed to be enjoying his little run round my chest, which in reality probably lasted one second but felt like at least thirty. I then aggressively pursued him with an incredibly liberal spray of Raid until he at least had flipped over onto his back.
The other roach made a getaway towards my front door, pausing within the heel of my architectural sandals. God forbid I spray them with Raid. I tried to stop his running by stepping in front of him with my bedroom slippers on, but the little bugger was not afraid. He ran and ran through my extensive shoe collection until he had almost made it to the front door, where I drowned both him and my doormat in Raid.
By the time the ordeal was over I had doused my apartment in so much bug killer that I had to open the doors and windows. Not to mention the second shower I had to take to wash off my chest. I then liberally applied roach kiling gel, boric acid, and additional Raid in my bathroom, and disinfected every surface in sight. So far, no new sightings, but one never knows...
I then looked up, only to see a parade of giant roaches waltzing down the steam pipe right into the heart of my bathroom. Now, imagine the events that I am about to describe as though they happened in slow motion...
I aimed the Raid at the opening of the pipe in the ceiling. Unfortunately, there was one fatal flaw with my plan. I was shooting Raid at flying roaches...
...one of which flew on to my bathrobe on the back of my bathroom door. The other of which flew directly at me and landed on my chest, right above where my bath towel was tied around me. I screamed at the top of my lungs and violently brushed off the roach which seemed to be enjoying his little run round my chest, which in reality probably lasted one second but felt like at least thirty. I then aggressively pursued him with an incredibly liberal spray of Raid until he at least had flipped over onto his back.
The other roach made a getaway towards my front door, pausing within the heel of my architectural sandals. God forbid I spray them with Raid. I tried to stop his running by stepping in front of him with my bedroom slippers on, but the little bugger was not afraid. He ran and ran through my extensive shoe collection until he had almost made it to the front door, where I drowned both him and my doormat in Raid.
By the time the ordeal was over I had doused my apartment in so much bug killer that I had to open the doors and windows. Not to mention the second shower I had to take to wash off my chest. I then liberally applied roach kiling gel, boric acid, and additional Raid in my bathroom, and disinfected every surface in sight. So far, no new sightings, but one never knows...
I'm Impressed...
...that you fools have been coming back to my blog week after week despite the lack of new content. Thanks for being fans. Never fear - although I have not quite been myself lately I am most certainly back for good, sarcasm and all.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Latest Celebrity Sightings
As I've been out on the streets rather than chained to a computer, for at least a couple of hours a week, I've noticed far more celebrities around, including those above. Priceless moments included:
- My having to restrain myself during a 15 minute-long subway ride during which I was tempted to scream "Get Hairapy" in Mario Cantone's face
- Meeting European friends for brunch. They didn't recognize Barbara Walters, and she did not appreciate having their rear ends in her face as we squeezed in and out of the restaurant booth
- A new low - Last weekend while walking home from a post-gym Wendy's binge, sweaty, in shorts and a T-shirt, and shoveling chocolate frosty into my mouth, I looked up only to see Marky Mark in front of me. I certainly made sure that he did not look twice. I, on the other hand, may have become a fan after seeing just how good he looks in person
Friday, April 11, 2008
Saturday, April 05, 2008
I Have Seen The Fires of Hell
...and no, it is not simply the fact that I am hallucinating after my 22 hour workday, a new personal low this past week, especially since said workday began at 5AM.
This is a true story.
I am staying in some horrible Marriott in the suburbs of Virginia. The upside of my newfound "home" is that it is only a ten minute drive from my client site. Convenient, seeing as my clients see fit to start work very early in the morning. In fact, this week one of them was so bold as to call me before 7:30 AM. But I digress...
At 6:45 AM on Thursday, I was making my way out of the hotel in a daze, on my way to FedEx Kinko's to pick up some documents for an 8:15 AM executive presentation. My heels clicked on the marble lobby floor as I sped through the lobby. I said my obligatory hellos to the completely useless doormen, then turned towards the sliding glass doors, only to be shocked to see giant flames flickering in the glass.
I paused for a moment, and then realized that the flames from the lobby fireplace were being reflected by the doors, perfectly illustrating my feelings about the day ahead and the people I had to spend it with.
I briskly walked into the flames.
This is a true story.
I am staying in some horrible Marriott in the suburbs of Virginia. The upside of my newfound "home" is that it is only a ten minute drive from my client site. Convenient, seeing as my clients see fit to start work very early in the morning. In fact, this week one of them was so bold as to call me before 7:30 AM. But I digress...
At 6:45 AM on Thursday, I was making my way out of the hotel in a daze, on my way to FedEx Kinko's to pick up some documents for an 8:15 AM executive presentation. My heels clicked on the marble lobby floor as I sped through the lobby. I said my obligatory hellos to the completely useless doormen, then turned towards the sliding glass doors, only to be shocked to see giant flames flickering in the glass.
I paused for a moment, and then realized that the flames from the lobby fireplace were being reflected by the doors, perfectly illustrating my feelings about the day ahead and the people I had to spend it with.
I briskly walked into the flames.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
It Runs In The Family
My grandmother passed away recently, and going through her closet with my aunt brought back many memories, some of which are amusingly Bebemocheworthy.
Grandma was a fashion plate. At 4'10" she was a petite and stunningly beautiful Southern belle, even well into old age. A career homemaker, she moved around the world with my grandfather the engineer. I always loved her stories of Brazil, India, Spain, Germany, and others. We were an amusing pair: the gorgeous housewife and the obnoxious, overly-educated feminist.
One day around 1995, when I was at the house in Houston, Grandma showed me a gift she had received from my grandfather: a tiny pistol with an ornate mother of pearl handle. And I do mean tiny. As in, so tiny that you could fit it in your evening bag. Should one ever fire said pistol, the best possibe outcome would be that you nicked your adversary badly enough for him to need a band-aid. I always imagined that the pistol even made a high-pitched sound when it fired, and envisioned it tucked into any one of Grandma's many color-coordinated evening bags.
I'll spare you the details of our favorite ladies lunch destinations, how we loved to share the beef nachos at Los Tios, or how time and time again we made her famous chocolate cake with the lemon icing that is virtually impossible to perfect. What I will say, however, is that Grandma was on a restricted diet in her final years. Because of all the medication she was taking, she was not permitted to eat salt, and she loved salt (well, just as much as she loved sugar).
When cleaning out her closet we made a curious discovery: she had stashed individual salt packets into her toiletry bag and we found a full size salt shaker hidden on the shelf in the closet. She was sassy to the end.
Grandma was a fashion plate. At 4'10" she was a petite and stunningly beautiful Southern belle, even well into old age. A career homemaker, she moved around the world with my grandfather the engineer. I always loved her stories of Brazil, India, Spain, Germany, and others. We were an amusing pair: the gorgeous housewife and the obnoxious, overly-educated feminist.
One day around 1995, when I was at the house in Houston, Grandma showed me a gift she had received from my grandfather: a tiny pistol with an ornate mother of pearl handle. And I do mean tiny. As in, so tiny that you could fit it in your evening bag. Should one ever fire said pistol, the best possibe outcome would be that you nicked your adversary badly enough for him to need a band-aid. I always imagined that the pistol even made a high-pitched sound when it fired, and envisioned it tucked into any one of Grandma's many color-coordinated evening bags.
I'll spare you the details of our favorite ladies lunch destinations, how we loved to share the beef nachos at Los Tios, or how time and time again we made her famous chocolate cake with the lemon icing that is virtually impossible to perfect. What I will say, however, is that Grandma was on a restricted diet in her final years. Because of all the medication she was taking, she was not permitted to eat salt, and she loved salt (well, just as much as she loved sugar).
When cleaning out her closet we made a curious discovery: she had stashed individual salt packets into her toiletry bag and we found a full size salt shaker hidden on the shelf in the closet. She was sassy to the end.
Douchebag Resurgence
After hearing "douchebag" be used by three different friends in distant parts of the US this past week (hmmmmm, I wonder in what context) I hereby announce the douchebag resurgence. Everybody start using "douchebag."
Thursday, March 20, 2008
My Makeover
So, my fabulous Lebanese stylist, Raymondo, was recently in NYC. As usual, he made a house call and gave me a haircut. Except for this time, it was not the usual haircut. The man who credited himself for helping me "find a husband" (uhhhm, thanks a lot) after transforming me from lesbian chic to plain chic, chose a couple of weeks ago to enact yet another transformation. Yet, it can't help but make me wonder if it was a sick joke. Either I'll be joining Katie and Suri soon, or Scooby Doo was indeed popular in Lebanon... 
(I actually have started to really enjoy the cut, so beware, I'm coming to Halloween 2008 as Velma and nobody had better steal my costume)
(I actually have started to really enjoy the cut, so beware, I'm coming to Halloween 2008 as Velma and nobody had better steal my costume)Single Again
Knowing how much you all enjoyed my brutal tales of the online dating world, I am tempted to go back. Then again, knowing what a freak magnet that site was, can I really sacrifice that much good time meeting another set of loonies?
I'll tell you what: I'm going to take a reader poll. Comment on this post if you want me to go back online
I'll tell you what: I'm going to take a reader poll. Comment on this post if you want me to go back online
Attention Single Males
If you have a Blackberry strapped to your belt, then please do us both a favor and don't bother flirting
Bebemoche Suffers From Foot In Mouth Disease Once Again
I live in Manhattan where talking to strangers is generally a sign of mental illness. However, one fine day back in December in the Houston airport, when a tall, handsome man in uniform (airline uniform, that is) plopped down next to me on the pleather bench in the gate area, I let my guard down a little bit.
He was accompanied by a stewardess. I was secretly plotting to be upgraded to first class thanks to my witty repartee with the two of them. I was making headway, and quite frankly, I was also exhausted, when the professional discussion began. I commented on the demeanor of today's airline passengers, after all, I no longer enjoy my bi-weekly cattle drive at LaGuardia. And then, I went a bit too far when I told my pals I did not know how they put up with passengers' crap.
A moment or two later I realized that I had just insulted the pilot.
Whoops.
Needless to say, when we crossed paths in the Richmond airport yesterday, I pretended like I had never seen him before.
He was accompanied by a stewardess. I was secretly plotting to be upgraded to first class thanks to my witty repartee with the two of them. I was making headway, and quite frankly, I was also exhausted, when the professional discussion began. I commented on the demeanor of today's airline passengers, after all, I no longer enjoy my bi-weekly cattle drive at LaGuardia. And then, I went a bit too far when I told my pals I did not know how they put up with passengers' crap.
A moment or two later I realized that I had just insulted the pilot.
Whoops.
Needless to say, when we crossed paths in the Richmond airport yesterday, I pretended like I had never seen him before.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Happy Valentine's Day!
Hopes crushed? Websites like Match.com allow sad, lonely women all over the country to invite pain and rejection into their lives with just a few clicks of the mouse
You never know when you will spot your soul mate across a crowded room
The case for settling for Mr. Good Enough
After all, you have so much to look forward to
If your spouse already bugs you now, the future is bleak
A Pox On You, Icing Sampler!
It was a cold and stormy night in January, and I was up late, frustrated with being confined to my apartment. Sweatpanted and showerless, craving sugar, I was midnight cupcake baking.I zealously pulled out my hand mixer, mixing bowls, and utensils and began to whip together tasty cupcake batter. Golden cake cupcakes with chocolate icing have been a staple of my diet and makeshift antidepressant since my graduate school days. The only difference between then and now being that I would be left alone to eat all two dozen cupcakes by myself. Still, I beat together the ingredients, laid out my colored paper baking cups in a symmetrical pattern, lovingly spooned out the batter into the cups, and then, as I waited for the oven to reach the proper temperature, sought out the icing, which admittedly, I purchase pre-made. (After all, I am more Lipstick Jungle than Martha Stewart)
I scanned the cabinet where I had found the cupcake mix and did not spot the icing. I thought to myself that there must be a mistake, that I must have stashed the icing with the canned goods, after all, OCD shoppers such as myself do not purchase cupcake mix without icing or paper baking cups.
My attention shifted to the canned goods shelves. I rummaged through spices, chicken stock, tuna, foie gras, canned tomatoes...but to no avail. There was no icing in sight.
The refrigerator was the last stronghold. Perhaps I had accidentally stashed the icing in the fridge?
And then I spotted it on the refrigerator door. The icing!
But then I peeled off the plastic top and was shocked and horrified to see that a pristine, luscious full canister of rich chocolate icing had been violated by the single stroke of a knife. Yes, some unknown visitor had scooped out just enough icing to have a taste and then stashed the container back in the refrigerator, only to crystallize and be lost forever.
My rage quickly turned to resentment, as I realized that I would have to either forego icing my cupcakes - the horror - or make a midnight run to the grocery store in my pjs in the freezing darkness - the horror.
I begrudgingly opted for the latter, all the time questioning the identity of and cursing the responsible party. A pox on you, icing sampler!
For Others
... short of millions and facing a brutal Manhattan real estate market: Click here for your enjoyment.
Thanks to N. for suggesting this post.
Thanks to N. for suggesting this post.
Savory Chinese Herb Flavor Approximates Licking Floor
I am pleased to report that the end of my health crisis is finally near; I have almost completely returned to normal thanks to the most repulsive and unlikely of remedies.
This all began in early December when I was once again beset by debilitating pain. In the weeks since, I tried everything to make the pain go away: multiple rounds of antibiotics, physical therapy, narcotics, acupuncture, bed rest, exercise, abusing other people to make up for my personal pain, compulsive baking, imagining I was mistress of the universe, etc.
Lo and behold, my acupuncturist provided a custom herbal formula this past week, warning me that I should not worry because "it goes down quick." It is a brownish orange powder that must be mixed with hot water to form some sort of foul tea. I might as well have scraped it off of the New York sidewalks it tastes so absolutely disgusting. I must even hold my nose when I drink it. But it appears to be either well-timed or actually working for me, so perhaps I will eventually develop a liking for that just scooped up off the floor flavor.
This all began in early December when I was once again beset by debilitating pain. In the weeks since, I tried everything to make the pain go away: multiple rounds of antibiotics, physical therapy, narcotics, acupuncture, bed rest, exercise, abusing other people to make up for my personal pain, compulsive baking, imagining I was mistress of the universe, etc.
Lo and behold, my acupuncturist provided a custom herbal formula this past week, warning me that I should not worry because "it goes down quick." It is a brownish orange powder that must be mixed with hot water to form some sort of foul tea. I might as well have scraped it off of the New York sidewalks it tastes so absolutely disgusting. I must even hold my nose when I drink it. But it appears to be either well-timed or actually working for me, so perhaps I will eventually develop a liking for that just scooped up off the floor flavor.
Micro Greens Delivered In Micro Package
In my never ending search for reduced cost salad (after all, most greens make it only as far as my refrigerator before they rot), I happened upon the "President's Pick" Micro Greens from Satur Farms while online grocery shopping. I expected the greens to be small, but not the package, which is about the size of a Big Mac container. So much for making anything but a micro salad.
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