Lie To Me

Last night I failed at dinner. Totally and utterly failed. This upsets me because I take my cooking personally. I like to try new recipes when I have the time which is usually Sunday. Except this Sunday seemed to get away from me as I attempted a magnificent Lemon Chicken with Croutons. You can find the recipe at the link below, (which pisses me off because I spent $50 on the cookbook).

What followed is too hurtful to post in detail. Let’s just say I underestimated the cook time, maybe burned my hand more than once, glued my hot, expensive pan to a plastic cutting board and had an adult sized pre-menstrual tantrum while Homer tried to avoid eye contact while slapping sandwiches together.

I announced I was too pissed to eat, grabbed a chocolate cupcake and walked past my family to go watch the Oscars. After a breather (two hours) and a glimpse at George Clooney, I went back and finished the dish and put it in the fridge for later.

Tonight I warmed everything up and served the dish as planned. The kids ate in between smart ass comments and Homer raced in the door, panicked to get the boy to hockey practice and ate fast before trying to make a getaway. It was then I noticed the crouton part of his supper still on his plate. I also noted he had left his plate on the table but this isn’t about that. This time.

So I asked, “Are you done?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you not going to eat the croutons?” Thinking he must be trying to cut out Carbs and silently wondering how long it would last.

“I didn’t like them.”

All the sound was sucked from the room. He didn’t like them? Really? This man witnessed my mental breakdown yesterday after trying to piece this meal together and he dared to say he didn’t like every last morsel?

He said it all nonchalantly too, like it was no big deal. Of course it was no big whoop, he didn’t have to make it. Yes, I like to cook but we aren’t siding with Homer right now and it adds nothing to the story. Besides like I said I was in no womanly condition to take criticism; I’ve been dieting, and haven’t had a class of wine in two months.


But, I’m fine.

The kids ran for cover.

“What? Do you want me to lie to you?”

Fair question. Here’s the answer. Yes. I do. I wanted him to eat everything and say it was the best thing ever…even if it wasn’t. And I mean that with every fiber of my being.

This reminded me of a couple of years ago when I was over at a friends house for lunch. She’d made us burgers and served chips and veggies on the side. I ate all of it. Then as we were talking, she brought up the subject of friendship and honesty. I started to get uncomfortable because she always had a reason for bringing up such topics.

“I think friends should always be honest and give their opinions.”

I nodded (I didn’t agree, but at least I didn’t lie out loud). I didn’t know where this was going so I was being cautious.

“For example,” she said.

Oh shit. Here it comes.

“I’ve noticed you have put on a few pounds.”

What? WHAT? Did she actually just say that to me? How did she expect me to respond? Was I supposed to thank her?

She was clearly confused between telling the truth when asked a question and just sucker punching someone in the face! What really threw me was she just volunteered the information. Did she think I didn’t know?

Oh my God, you’re right. I never noticed the waist of my jearns was trying to severe me at the torso. It’s a good thing you brought this to my attention before it got out of hand.

“I would want you to tell me.” She smiled sweetly.

I cocked an eyebrow and looked around for hidden camera’s before I told her how I felt about lying to friends, which is the same thing I said to Homer tonight and I will repeat here just so everyone is clear.

If I ever ask your opinion on how I look, how my cooking was or if I looked ridiculous in the short shorts and cowboy boots I wore to your cousin’s wedding, I want you to look me in the face and lie. Don’t ever, EVER tell me the truth. I want you to tell me I look fantastic. Always. Lie to me. I do not care. I give you permission to blow smoke all the way up my ass. You will not fry for your sin. Didn’t God want us to do unto others? I would never tell a friend she put on weight, not in a hundred million years. I will lie to your tripled chinned face and I expect you to do the same.

AND if you cook me dinner, I’m going to eat it, or spit it in my napkin, but make no mistake, if you ask me how it was I’m going to tell you it was fanfuckingtastic!

Ms. Honesty and I aren’t friends anymore. Not because of her obvious craziness, but because of her not so obvious craziness. One day I emailed her to tell her we couldn’t make it to a Christmas party (our daughter was TRUTH), she never returned my email and I didn’t pursue an explanation. I haven’t seen her since. Which is totally better than being around her and all her honesty.

So what do you say? Do you want the truth? Be honest now.





The Bachelor Canada (Muffs & Pucks Edition)

This Fall The Bachelor is coming to Canada. I have to admit, I’ve never been a fan. Although, I really can’t say I’m not a fan because I’ve never watched more than a few episodes. There‘s just something about women competing for one man that just drives me bat ass crazy. I don’t get it. If he didn’t pick me up front, right out of the limo, there isn’t a chance in hell I’m sticking around to see the end.

Not up in here, stud.


Now I don’t want to make any enemies with the regulars. I’m not judging and I can’t very well take a moral high ground; being the biggest Big Brother fan ever really leaves me no room for criticism. But even though I have already determined this isn’t for me, I can’t help but think how the Canadian version will compare with its counterpart in the United States.

I can’t imagine it going over very well unless this guy is sporting some serious hockey hair and has a signed contract from the NHL in his back pocket.

Canadians aren’t exactly known for their cunning, conniving ways. How interesting will it be to tune in to a bunch of Canadian women hanging out in their Uggs and pyjama bottoms, drinking Double Doubles (that’s coffee, for the U.S. readers) while politely discussing who should be the lucky one to get a private date?

“Oh, no, you should really be the one to go, you haven’t gone yet.”

“No, I think he really likes you.”

“No, you go.”

“You really should go.”

“No, you go.”

“But I’ve already had time with him.”

“You’re so sweet, but I totally see you two together.”

“You’re so pretty.”

“I love your hair.”


Even more entertaining will be watching these snow bunnies be stripped of their Lulu Lemon and poured into some Spanks and high heels. It makes me wonder what the criteria could possibly be to be cast in this spectacle.

  1. Must love hockey.
  2. Must understand and prove she knows the rules to hockey.
  3. Must support boyfriend who plays hockey.
  4. Must love to watch hockey…Constantly.
  5. Must be prepared to put manners aside and act like a complete fool for the sake of ratings.

Wouldn’t it be fun if the rose ceremony was in a pub with beer and wings instead of wine and tapas? Also, for promotional purposes all the girls could wear Roots sweatpants with their first names spelled out across their asses.

Although I’m not holding out for a Canadian ratings winner here, I do think we could pull ahead from the U.S. version in one distinct way. Let’s face it, there hasn’t been a whole lot of romantic success for the “winning” couples from past shows, however I truly feel the couple of The Bachelor Canada will be together forever, if only because they don’t want to hurt the others feelings.

But, just for shits and giggles, if you want to try out for the Canadian cat fight I’ve put a link to the site here. At the very least you could score box seats to an NHL game on one of the dates; the stuff Canadian girls’ dreams are made of.

Bad. Ass. Dimples.

Whoever said dimples are cute has obviously not seen the ones on my ass. I was prepared for many things when I hit and rolled over 40; gray hair, saggy stomach, laugh lines, but I gotta say ass dimplage wasn’t even on the radar!

I have to admit, I haven’t exactly been pushing myself the last few years. I work out regularly but I eat and drink enough to cancel out my efforts. Yes I have stamina, but I also have ass dimples.

After my wine and food binge this weekend I was in a rush to get back to the gym. While dressing I quickly realized that in my gluttony haze over the weekend I neglected to do my laundry. I had one pair of shorts to wear to step class. Light grey, cheap material; I think I actually paid $7 for them. I hate them, but they had to do. Flash backs of the McDonald’s I’d inhaled in the Sobeys parking lot yesterday (don’t judge) shamed me into them.

Today is my new beginning. My fifth new beginning this year! I put on the shorts and got to the gym all motivated and repeating positive mantras to myself.

Nothing changes if nothing changes. You have to be strong. Only good things to eat; No alcohol (Lord help me). I know what you’re going to say; One glass of red wine is good for you. Well, here’s a heads up; I can’t drink just one glass of wine. I don’t see the point. I’m very much the same with chips. If the bag/bottle is open, I’m done. No self control. And if I start in with the wine, then the carbs are only moments behind. I like a little bread to soak up the alcohol.

Achem, where was I? Right…

At the gym the regulars gave me the once over and I took my punishment and held my head low as I got set up. The instructor was petite and I noted, older than me. It was then that I made the biggest mistake a person can make when getting back to the gym; Never ever underestimate the abilities of someone older than you. She ripped her jacket off to reveal a stomach so tight I think I gasped out loud. I never knew a stomach like that was possible at her age. Magnificent! That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to work out so hard people are going to gasp when I walk in a room. Of course, it didn’t occur to me this woman has been doing this for years, is extremely dedicated and probably doesn’t drink a bottle of wine and wash it down with a jumbo bag of Lays…but I digress.

So we get going and I’m feeling pretty good. Some of the routine was complicated and involved but I managed. And I think at one point I actually smiled. I was swirling around that step like no body’s business, that is, until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Now I know, it’s a classic mistake but it happened and I can’t take it back. Clearly, I wasn’t as smooth as I felt. Just as I was doing the “revolving door” I saw my ass in these cheap shorts and there it was… A huge butt crater.  I wish I was kidding. It is gianormous and glaringly obvious in the pale coloured pants. I’m the first one to say Lulu Lemon is way over priced, but at least I can’t see butt dimples in them and to me that’s worth the $1000 dollars a pair!

Horrified, I beat hell out of there and went home to stare in judgement at my naked self. I think I actually pulled a back muscle twisting around. As it turns out I just don’t have one, but several.

Oh. My. God. How did this happen? I mean, they had to have been there for a while but I normally don’t go inspecting my ass cheeks on a regular basis. Why hadn’t Homer said anything? Oh, poor Homer! How do I get rid of them? Will diet work? Is there a wrinkle cream for dimpled asses?  Botox?  I always said I wouldn’t go the Botox route, I don’t want to look frozen but does it matter if my ass has no expression? I think not! In fact, it might give it a lift. Am I the only one who has thought of this?

Now I’m trying to talk myself back into a positive state of mind by looking for a bright side, but for the life of me I can’t come up with one situation where someone would want to have ass dimples.

Ughh, I gotta go make an egg white omelette and eat it with NO BREAD..sigh

The Blahness That Is Low Carb

If you may recall I started a very popular weight loss program. You know the one with Valerie Bertinelli and J-Hud? You count points? You got it now, right?

Anyway, I followed my allotted “points” for two weeks only to be disappointed when the weight just didn’t budge. So, I removed all alcohol from my diet (I can’t express enough what a HUGE sacrifice this is) and I still lost nothing. Are you kidding me? I gave up wine? Really? I should’ve been rewarded somehow, right? Yet, I got nothing, nada, zip..whatever.

As a result I had to have a meeting with myself. The way I saw it I could do two things; go to the liquor store for something to wash down the Big Mac Combo with or I could examine what the hell is going on with my body that reducing my calorie intake isn’t enough this time.

I’ve increased my activity long before this. I workout quite hard and pretty much daily, but I cannot dedicate two or more hours at the gym, or even downstairs in my dark basement with Kathy Smith…so I crossed increasing activity off my list. The only thing left was food. Oh, whine, whine, whine. I love food and one look at my food journal will tell you that I also love bread and even though the bread I eat is always whole grain or dark rye, it was clear I still eat too much of it.

So last week, I decided to take bread out of my diet Monday to Friday to see if I could make the scale move. It was a really long week but alas, I lost 3 pounds! So, awesome! I guess I hit the mark and shocked my body.

Here comes the problem. I don’t know what the hell to eat now! Low carb food is soooo boring. I’m really having a rough time. The only thing keeping me going is thinking about hitting the scale on Friday morning. My friend told me to trick my mind. When I want a sandwich (mmmm, sandwich) I should make it using lettuce as the wrap/bread. I never thought I would resort to such a thing, yet there I was yesterday (and today) eating a lettuce wrap and thinking the whole time I should’ve wrapped the lettuce around a steak.

I have to admit it tasted okay, I spiced it up with hot peppers and such but I was starving an hour later and looking for another low-carb snack. But what? I’m sick of carrots & celery. I’m not a big fruit fan but I will scarf down an apple if I must. And I still need to watch my fat intake or I would just sit around and eat bacon and cheese all day.

So I googled low carb snacks and checked five or six sites. Here are the things they suggest.

1. Turkey & Cheese Roll Ups – Been there, done that at lunch with my “wrap.”

2. Salad With Hard Boiled Eggs – I usually have a salad every night with dinner. The eggs I like, but one can only have so many eggs in a day if you know what I mean.

3. Large Artichoke – Um, no.

4. Avocado & Shrimp Cocktail – Am I having company?

5. Peanut Butter & Celery – PB I enjoy, especially on toast (mmm, toast). Celery makes me gag.

6. Jerky – This is great if my goal is to have a heart attack or want to be a cowboy.

7. Raw Veggies – Of course! Why did I think of that? (She says with a sarcastic undertone.)

If these are my choices, I’m doomed. See how negativity slipped right in there? But you know what I’m positive about? I am positive I’m eating the shit out of a big, crusty bun this weekend.

So, if by chance you have any suggestions on low-carb meals or snacks, please for the love of God have a heart and post it in my comments section. This girl is hungry!