Let's Document a Master Cleanse, Shall We?

I know what you're thinking. Blogging about a Master Cleanse is rather cliche. Well, you have a point. Unfortunately, what I write about is not your call. And while I usually go for 10 days, this time I'm shooting for 15. That's 360 foodless hours. So if you were wondering whether or not I have an eating disorder, wonder no more.

A DAILY DOCUMENTATION

Day 1: Went on a long walk this evening. Stopped at every Starbucks to use the bathroom. That's 2 bathrooms per block. I'm exhausted.

 

Day 2: Fara Fawcett died. And then Michael Jackson died. And now people are saying Jeff Goldblum died, but it's just an internet hoax. 

Day 3: Didn't drink all day, came home and pigged out on the whole day's worth in an hour. Feelings of guilt.

Day 4: My apartment is spotless. Should file my taxes today but won't. (Relax, I filed an extension.)

Day 5: WTF, Billy Mays died too? 

Day 6: Walked home and ran into the set of Step Up 3. omg.

Day 7: Opened some mail.

Day 8: Manicure.

Day 9: Produced radio. Took advantage of all the free treats by drinking about 50 bottles of water.

Day 10: Transformers 2 should have been 45 minutes shorter and it actually wouldn't have sucked so bad.

Day 11: Fuck you.

Day 12: Fuck all you.

Day 13: I fucking hate people.

Day 14: Fuck me.

Day 15: Fuck this.

Final thoughts:

Jokes aside, I gained weight the last three days. Jokes on me, Body. Fuck. I'm sorry for writing this and I'm sorry I made you read it.

I Love You... But I Love Sports More

YOU: My friends, my heart is fluttering for this new one! She is fucking awesome. She's sweet as pie. She's funny. Laid back. Not clingy. She cooks and she cleans, and she actually enjoys doing my laundry. And guys - she loves sports.

YOUR BUDDIES: Whaaa?????!?!??!?!?! [heads explode]

..........

A FEW THINGS I KNOW:

--I know that there is a salary cap on the NFL, but not the MLB.
--I know that Barry Zito loves to surf.
--I know that Eli Manning said he'd rather sit out than play for the Chargers, but that they drafted him anyway.
--I know that the Chargers traded Manning to the Giants moments later.

--I know that if anyone can catch it, Jim Edmonds can.
--I know that Johnny Damon shaved his beard for charity.
--I know that now he can't even have a beard because the Yankees don't allow it.
--I know that Barry Bonds is an asshole through and through.
--I know that Giambi admitted to using steroids way before anyone was forced to and that he spent some time in the minors thereafter.
--I know that Harold Reynolds was fired for sexual harassment... and it even made me sad.

..........

I love sports. 

And I love you. 

And I love what we have. 

Because together we can cuddle up on the couch with cold beers and watch Sports Center. We can make out like teenagers and giggle our way through the internet, looking for game tickets and rare memorabilia. We can throw caution to the wind and make love all night, our shadow cast on the wall from the glowing light of Stuart Scott's lazy eye on your TV. Remember when he hosted "Dream Job"? And during our routine breaks from passion when we rest up and chug our Gatorades before going again, you can hold the remote in one hand and me in the other.  Hold me tight, count your blessings, and thank God for giving you the perfect woman.

I'm right here, Baby.

I'm your sexy girl to love and your best friend to hang out with, all in one. An angel with a breadth of sports knowledge already built-in. It's as if you've been blessed you with your own personal miracle, isn't it?

Only, my Love, I'm not exactly a miracle. I'm just an ordinary girl who used to have a whole lot of sex with some other sports-loving guy before you. Some of it was wild. Most of it was crazy. All of it was unprotected. But much like you, he'd fall asleep after marathon sex. I could never quite reach the remote so I'd just lay there and listen to Sports Center, not wanting to wake him - panting to catch my breath, re-playing the things he just did to me in my head. Anyway, eventually all this sports mumbo jumbo sank in.

So naturally, I used what I learned from sleeping with him to get you to love me, sleep with me, and buy me stuff. And everything sports related that I'm learning from you now? Well, that's stuff I'll use to impress the guy I'm inevitably going to leave you for.

I love how honest we can be with each other.

Death By Chair

If indecisiveness was sexiness, you wouldn't be able to keep your damn hands off me. I am constantly freaking out. For example, even though I have ordered the exact same thing at Subway for the past 20 years, I still get panic attacks when it's my turn to talk to the Sandwich Artist (white or wheat?! WHITE OR WHEAT!!... uhh, I should get wheat but what if I regret it, and it ruins my whole meal?! THEN WHAT?! Ohmygod.) It even took me a year to decide on what to call my blog, and I ended up going with MY NAME.

Anyway, so when my roommate moved out and took all the furniture, it's no surprise that I spent about a thousand hours obsessively scouring the Internet for good deals while breathing into a paper bag. How does one choose what to sit on, eat on, and look at for forever? How does one live with themselves should they choose poorly?

Listen, I'm going to spare you the anecdote of the eventual IKEA trip that took place, because it will bore you and could quite possibly propel me into another panic attack since I'll have to relive it.

Instead, I will share with you something that I did not buy. And the reason I did not buy it: this chair is evil.

It's a lot to know from looking at a .jpg I know, but I am certain of it.

It is alive. It is evil. And it is SUPER pissed off at you.

You had planned to come straight home after work. Kick back, take a load off, and watch a movie. A quiet night hanging out in your chair. But that's not what ended up happening. You actually ended up at happy hour because you have no backbone and your friends pressured you to go. And then happy hour turned into another bar and that bar turned into another bar... because you are a drunk. And now it is 3am, you're sloppy, your cell phone is gone, and you reek of stranger.

Well guess what, asshole. Chair waited up for you. Chair waited up for you all damn night. Chair can smell that stranger on you. And chair is fucking pissed off.

Since it's dark in the house, of course you don't notice Chair. You're just trying to make it to the kitchen for an eating session, when you step on a shitty part of your hardwood floor, and it creeks...

.....CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAKKKKKKK.....

Fuck fuck fuck!

Suddenly, a lamp switches on. You whip your drunken bobblehead around, terrified. Chair is there. And Chair is so upset that it won't even turn to face you. Chair is disgusted with you. You are so busted.

CHAIR: Nice of you to finally come home.

YOU: Uhhh

CHAIR: Let me ask you... how selfish can one person be?

YOU: (nervous shallow breathing)

CHAIR: There, there. Calm down, because you're going to pay for this. You're going to pay for this in the greatest way a person can pay for anything.

You: (nervous shallow breathing)

Chair: With your life.

YOU: Huh?

CHAIR: I'm going to murder you. You are going to die and I will go on about my life as a chair. Because the beauty of my evil plan is that I am just a chair. And only a crazy person would believe that a chair could kill. But you and I know that I am not just a chair, I am an evil muderous Chair. A very evil, very murderous chair.

YOU: (weeping) ...please--

SFX: GUNSHOT.


This is what flashed through my mind when I saw this chair online. And it's why I didn't buy it. Because I didn't want it to murder me. But other than that, I think this chair is absolutely beautiful: