Guess how much fiber an adult is supposed to consume per day?
25 - 30 grams
Guess how much fiber I ate last night for dinner?
55 - 70 grams
Guess what happens when you eat a lot of fiber?
You shit your brains out.
Guess what my day has been like so far?
Just a little public service announcement. You're welcome.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Gobblers
Here is some additional content, as requested (ever so politely, might I add) by my sole follower. Nay, FAN. That's right, bitches, I have a fan.
Ok, so I am not a nature enthusiast. At all. It's dirty and germy. Too many bugs. Too much sunshine. Too many hazards. It's just downright dangerous. Therefore, I don't spend a lot of time in the out-of-doors. This, I believe, is the reason that I was unaware of the existence of the wild turkey until recently.
My first encounter with a wild turkey was last fall. I was at work, in a ground-level conference room with several large windows. I was bored out of my skull, so I thought I'd kill some time looking out the window and daydreaming about winning the lottery or some such thing. That's when I saw it: the ugliest bird I had ever seen in my whole life. (Aside from the one-legged female Mallard that lives in our backyard and appears to be the "crazy cat lady" of her species. But that's another story.) Anyhoo, there was a whole gaggle (flock? group? gang?) of these ugly-ass turkeys running around in front of the building. They freaked me out, with all their ugliness. I thought they might be a sign of Armageddon or some sort of demon spawn. I interrupted the meeting to have the following conversation:
Me: OMG, what the hell are those things?!?!
Co-Worker: Those are turkeys.
Me: OMG, did they fall off a truck or something?!?
CW: What?
Me: Did they fall off a truck? Where did they come from?
CW: Probably the woods.
Me: Shut up. Turkeys don't live in woods. They live on farms. Or something.
CW: Are you serious?
Me: Are you?
CW: Dude, those are wild turkeys. They live in the woods.
Me: Can you eat them?
CW: Probably.
Me: What do they eat in the woods?
CW: I don't know - probably berries or something.
Me: They're so ugly. They probably eat their young.
At this point, one of the turkeys began to jump up (very awkwardly) into the lower branches of a tree, in an attempt to grab one of the few remaining leaves.
Me: Yeah, their young, and leaves. I'll bet if they ate cranberries they'd taste better at Thanksgiving.
So this morning, on my drive in, I saw another gaggle of these freakish birds. They looked downright crazed. They were partially blocking the entrance to my parking lot, so I had to wait for the damn things to move. (Even though they are super ugly, I can't just run them down. I'm an animal lover, some might say. Especially when they're on my plate and covered in gravy.) So these crazed (and probably rabid) birds notice that I'm slowly inching my way toward them, trying to entice them to move along. Now, I haven't googled this or anything, so I'm not sure if this is a factual statement about wild turkeys as a whole, or if this just applied to the evil turkeys I met this morning, but: Turkeys will try to kill you if you invade their personal bubble. Literally kill you. These things went mental. The sound of dull pecking thuds on the front quarterpanel of my car. The flapping of hundreds, nay thousands, of ugly turkey wings. The weird squawky-clicky sound the leader of the pack was making, egging on the rest of the gaggle. Like the William Wallace of the Turkey Kingdom. I'll admit that I don't speak ugly turkey gobble, but I'm pretty sure he was saying "Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!" Or something to that effect. I finally edged my way into the parking lot, found a spot, turned off my car, and slowly raised my eyes to my rear-view mirror. Were they standing there, waiting for me to exit my vehicle? Would they peck my eyes out? Would it hurt, or would they make it quick? Damn, why am I wearing heels? I can't run in heels!
Turns out, they couldn't care less about me or my car. They'd moved on. They'd already forgotten about the attack. WTF? Maybe they were all male turkeys. Like the rage-a-holic kind that totally freak out on something and then move on and act like nothing happened. Because if they were chick turkeys, they would have held a grudge, plotted some sort of revenge strategy, and full-on assaulted me when I got out of my car. Not enough to kill me, but just enough to mess me up and make me "think" next time.
Turkeys are scary.
Ok, so I am not a nature enthusiast. At all. It's dirty and germy. Too many bugs. Too much sunshine. Too many hazards. It's just downright dangerous. Therefore, I don't spend a lot of time in the out-of-doors. This, I believe, is the reason that I was unaware of the existence of the wild turkey until recently.
My first encounter with a wild turkey was last fall. I was at work, in a ground-level conference room with several large windows. I was bored out of my skull, so I thought I'd kill some time looking out the window and daydreaming about winning the lottery or some such thing. That's when I saw it: the ugliest bird I had ever seen in my whole life. (Aside from the one-legged female Mallard that lives in our backyard and appears to be the "crazy cat lady" of her species. But that's another story.) Anyhoo, there was a whole gaggle (flock? group? gang?) of these ugly-ass turkeys running around in front of the building. They freaked me out, with all their ugliness. I thought they might be a sign of Armageddon or some sort of demon spawn. I interrupted the meeting to have the following conversation:
Me: OMG, what the hell are those things?!?!
Co-Worker: Those are turkeys.
Me: OMG, did they fall off a truck or something?!?
CW: What?
Me: Did they fall off a truck? Where did they come from?
CW: Probably the woods.
Me: Shut up. Turkeys don't live in woods. They live on farms. Or something.
CW: Are you serious?
Me: Are you?
CW: Dude, those are wild turkeys. They live in the woods.
Me: Can you eat them?
CW: Probably.
Me: What do they eat in the woods?
CW: I don't know - probably berries or something.
Me: They're so ugly. They probably eat their young.
At this point, one of the turkeys began to jump up (very awkwardly) into the lower branches of a tree, in an attempt to grab one of the few remaining leaves.
Me: Yeah, their young, and leaves. I'll bet if they ate cranberries they'd taste better at Thanksgiving.
So this morning, on my drive in, I saw another gaggle of these freakish birds. They looked downright crazed. They were partially blocking the entrance to my parking lot, so I had to wait for the damn things to move. (Even though they are super ugly, I can't just run them down. I'm an animal lover, some might say. Especially when they're on my plate and covered in gravy.) So these crazed (and probably rabid) birds notice that I'm slowly inching my way toward them, trying to entice them to move along. Now, I haven't googled this or anything, so I'm not sure if this is a factual statement about wild turkeys as a whole, or if this just applied to the evil turkeys I met this morning, but: Turkeys will try to kill you if you invade their personal bubble. Literally kill you. These things went mental. The sound of dull pecking thuds on the front quarterpanel of my car. The flapping of hundreds, nay thousands, of ugly turkey wings. The weird squawky-clicky sound the leader of the pack was making, egging on the rest of the gaggle. Like the William Wallace of the Turkey Kingdom. I'll admit that I don't speak ugly turkey gobble, but I'm pretty sure he was saying "Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!" Or something to that effect. I finally edged my way into the parking lot, found a spot, turned off my car, and slowly raised my eyes to my rear-view mirror. Were they standing there, waiting for me to exit my vehicle? Would they peck my eyes out? Would it hurt, or would they make it quick? Damn, why am I wearing heels? I can't run in heels!
Turns out, they couldn't care less about me or my car. They'd moved on. They'd already forgotten about the attack. WTF? Maybe they were all male turkeys. Like the rage-a-holic kind that totally freak out on something and then move on and act like nothing happened. Because if they were chick turkeys, they would have held a grudge, plotted some sort of revenge strategy, and full-on assaulted me when I got out of my car. Not enough to kill me, but just enough to mess me up and make me "think" next time.
Turkeys are scary.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Welcome to my blog...
...The place where I will chronicle all of the mundane, stupid, random things I encounter throughout the day. Yes, I am that self-important. Yes, you DO care that I just had a VegOut sandwich from Einstein Bagels. And that I just got out of a super boring meeting, just like hundreds of thousands of other people around the world. And that I couldn't think of anything clever for my URL address so I just wrote "Frozen Tampon Popsicle" because I like that scene from South Park Bigger, Badder and Uncut.
Oh, you care, people. You care...
Oh, you care, people. You care...
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