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This Message Brought to You from the Kingdom of Percocet


Note: Earlier this week I had my wisdom teeth removed. I spent most of the next seventy-two hours in what I named “the Kingdom of Percocet.” During that time I decided to blog. Luckily, I did not have the presence of mind to publish said blog entries. What follows is a version of what I wrote the day of my surgery with (most of) the inappropriate and some of the ridiculous commentary removed. (Also I couldn’t figure out how to add pictures into a post while I was on Percocet so if I had published them in their original state, they not only would have included lots of “LA LA LA LA I AM A GOOD SINGER LA LA LAAAAAAA” but they also would have said “ADD PICTURE HERE” whenever I wanted to add a picture.)


Hello dear subjects,

I am writing this missive from the Kingdom of Percocet, of which I am the sole, undisputed, puffy-faced but still completely endearing ruler.

I have some things I would like to discuss.

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Today, on the Springer Show


Full disclosure: I love trashy TV.

That is not to say that I want to watch a marathon of Jersey Shore any time soon (I’ve actually never seen a full episode but the fifteen minutes I did see was confusing. I did not understand their dialect of English…) but from time to time I can really get into some Toddlers and Tiaras or Celebrity Wife Swap, or even, yes, Jerry Springer.

Last summer Manfriend and I saw this really delightful episode of Springer where this one chick was angry because her boyfriend was cheating on her (but he may have been her husband, I’m not sure. He was at least the baby daddy) with her sister. Then they bring out the sister and she is just as obese and aggressive as her sibling and she says she don’t gotta justificate herself to nobody, etc. etc. Then she kind of lunges at the boyfriend/husband/baby daddy and tries to throw a chair at him and the burly guys in black t-shirts have to hold them apart. I think at some point the sisters teamed up on their two-timing boyfriend/husband/baby daddy. When he tried to defend himself against the two of them one of the dysfunctional sisters kept yelling, “Who is you? I’m her sister! You is nothin’!”

Manfriend and I were rolling with laughter. I wish I could have recorded it.

But here’s the catch: what makes these kinds of things funny to me is that they are so far removed from my life, so outrageous and unbelievable, so completely implausible – that I just have to laugh.

Last week, however, I fear that my entertainment at others’ expense (even if they did agree to be filmed) returned to torment me and I spent Friday trapped in an episode of The Jerry Springer Show. It was NOT. FUNNY. Continue reading

Locked Out of Heaven: How to Diet Like a Pro


Yesterday I heard Bruno Mars wailing “Locked Out of Heaven” on the radio. I can really relate.

No, this doesn’t have anything to do with pent-up sexual desire, unless my desire for chocolate and trans fats has some kind of sexual undertones of which I am unaware.

It has to do with dieting.

Hearing the song brings to mind “Be Our Guest”-type visions of Reese’s cups rotating with beautiful precision, surrounded by fudge squares and chocolate-covered pretzels frolicking in delight in front of waterfalls of white, milk and mint chocolate. There are cookies bathing under the mint chocolate waterfall. They become thin mints. They are beautiful. A glass of milk appears. I am salivating. YOU MAKE ME FEEEE-EEEEL LIKE, I’VE BEEN LOCKED OUT OF HEEEAAAAAVEEEEEEN!

Oh God, this is sexual, isn’t it?

Okay, well, regardless, the fact is I need to drop a few pounds. I haven’t been good lately about sticking to a calorie count or getting enough exercise to make sure that eating a little extra doesn’t really matter, so I decided to return to a method that worked when I was in high school – the dessert purge.  I would go two weeks without desserts to sort of cleanse my palette of super sugary foods so I could get myself back on track and cut out those extra calories too. In the past when I did it, it was only the first few days that sucked, and then I’d lose some weight and go back to eating desserts. No big deal, right?

Incorrect. Continue reading

My First Filling (or, Why I Can Never Wear Chapstik Again)


I’ve never had a cavity.

Don’t ask me how apparently spectacularly healthy gums and teeth have lived in my mouth for the last twenty-three and a half years, because I have no idea. Yeah, I brush my teeth twice or three times a day, and I floss whenever I remember, but I also went through a phase when I was in elementary school when I had spectacularly bad dental hygiene (Basically I was a grimy seven-year old with glasses who didn’t brush my teeth enough. Sorry world.) and I have always partaken of copious amounts of sugary foods and drinks. Yet somehow, miraculously, I have never had a cavity.


I had a cleaning last week and the guy goes, “Oh. You have a little cavity.”

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