Day 2 (okay, it’s day three, but I was busy on day two…)

So I previously posted about this new “getting healthy” plan from my insurance company and how I’m supposed to answer these stupid questions everyday for a week or so.  Today’s question:

Day 2:
My relationship to my body
“If my body could talk to me, what would it say?”

I think my body would say, “Damn stupid mother-fucker!  What the fuck have you been doing to us?  Is there some kind of reason you’ve been putting us through this horrible abuse for the past 20-something years?  You don’t eat right.  You smoke like a blown radiator on a cold day.  You don’t sleep nearly enough to keep me even slightly happy.  What gives?  What did I ever do to you?

“Oh, that’s right, I only make sure you’re lungs work (even though you treat them like shit…what kind of asthmatic smokes a pack or two EVERY FUCKING DAY?) and your heart beats and your food gets digested… Oh… Wait…  Are you pissed off because I refuse to be happy with eggs and milk products again?  Well too fucking bad you little shithead!  Daddy’s gotta get his revenge somehow, right?  You treat me like shit, I’m gonna make you feel like you’re gonna shit your pants every time you eat something that tastes even remotely good.  Don’t like it?  TREAT ME BETTER!

“Remember that ex you wish you’d treated better?  That one you wish had never gotten away?  I’m gonna be like that.  Now our spine’s fucked up.  You may or may not have had a myocardial infarction AT TWENTYFUCKINGTHREEYEARSOLD!  Haven’t you learned anything?  SLOW DOWN!  CALM DOWN!  Enjoy the ride we’re on.  Take care of us!  Eat better and exercise!  And for the love of all that is clean and fresh QUIT FUCKING SMOKING!”

At least, that’s what I think the world wants me to think my body would tell me.  I think it would simply say, “DUDE!  REALLY?  GET US FUCKING LAID ALREADY!”

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It ain’t no Pepsi Muffin

While it may not be as good as nibbling on a muffin, Pepsi flavored or otherwise, it’s still insanely tasty and just happens to be this weeks blog post!

What is it?  Why, it’s Kung Pow Tofu, of course!  Now, I understand some people might be all, “That’s not Kung Pow!  Peanuts do not a Kung Pow make!” and to them I reply, “Well, what is Kung Pow other than the hardest thing in the world to eat with chopsticks?”

It’s simple, really.  All you need is:

1lb well pressed Hard Tofu (Chinese or Cotton tofu)*

1 small package frozen broccoli florets

sracha sauce

chili garlic sauce

peanuts

soy sauce

oil

In either a wok or deep skillet, sauce pan, or whatever it is you happen to prefer cooking something in, heat some oil.  I happen to prefer spicy sesame oil as it’s, well, spicy.  None of that woosy olive oil for me, no sir, I like my taste buds to bleed.  Crumble to tofu into the oil.  Follow the microwave directions for the broccoli, but only cook it halfway or so.  Basically, kind of follow the instructions, but pretend your extremely stoned and hungry and too impatient to wait the 8 or 9 minutes for it to cook.

Add some soy sauce to the tofu, and maybe a little salt or whatever.  I think soy sauce is plenty salty, and my food is delicious.  Trust me.  I have about 50 pounds to lose, so I must know good food.  Stir it around every couple of minutes.  You want it to be nice and kind of golden brown or whatever.  It doesn’t really make a difference to me if you want to eat it raw.  Hey, it’s your dinner, not mine, but I happen to like my tofu nice and cooked thoroughly.  When the timer goes off on the broccoli put it in with the tofu.  You may have to drain the broccoli.  The directions on my store brand said so, but you ritzy people with your name brand broccoli might not have to.  And while you’re at it, send some extra money my way.  Or, better yet, stop being so full of yourself.  It’s a freaking vegetable.  What difference does it make if you spend an extra $1.50 on it to get the name brand versus the store brand?  It’s all G-d’s brand, anyway!

Next, add that garlic chili sauce to it that you find in the ethnic aisle at the grocery store.  Stir everything around a bit.  You probably didn’t add enough, so add a little bit more along with some sracha so everything is coated nice on top, and then stir everything around a bit more.  Then add some peanuts and sesame seeds or celery or whatever.  Then stir it around some more.  Put it into a vessel and consume.

I’d post a picture of what it should look like, but I ate my portion.  Besides, this post is about cooking, not eating.  Maybe next week I’ll post the follow-up with strict instructions on how to consume the amazing food I just explained how to make.

*Remember, folks, Bing is your friend.

Rant and Rave! Rant and Rave!

You know what ticks me off?  The way people look down on bisexuals.  I mean, really, whether you want to call it “switch hitting”, “AC-DC”, or whatever, it shouldn’t be up to YOU to judge OTHER PEOPLE who want to say they are bisexual.  I like both sexes, genders, and whatever.  I guess you could say I’m “omnisexual”, although I’m not progressive enough to use such a term as that.  I just feel silly.  But, honestly, I don’t give a crap if you’re genderqueer, FTM, MTF, male, female, or any other part of any kind of spectrum.  If you’re a cool person, then cool.  Because it doesn’t matter what’s in your pants, it matters what’s between your ears.  And you know why?

Spoiled milk.

I read this post on a forum once about dating exes again.  This wise, wise person said something along the lines of “if you pull the milk out of the fridge and it’s spoiled, then put it back in the fridge, if you take it back out a few months down the line, does that mean it’s not spoiled anymore?  NO!  It’s still spoiled milk.  So why date someone again if you know it didn’t work the first time?”

Granted, I don’t look at relationships that way because people are people and can grow, unlike milk.  Ok, so, maybe milk can, in fact, grow.  How else do you explain cheese?  But that’s not the point of what they were saying, I don’t think.

In either event, people are people.  Period.  That’s it.  So stop telling me, when I tell you I’m “bisexual” that you “used to be bisexual, but then I got tired of sleeping around”.  Uh, hey, thanks!  Because what every person wants to hear is how their sexual orientation/preference/whatever is basically a synonym for “skank”.

I am not a ho, thank you.  I don’t sleep with anything that moves or has tits or a penis or what have you.  That doesn’t mean I couldn’t.  I mean, sheesh, I DO have hormonal urges, but that’s why they make clown porn.

So I settle for telling people I’m “half gay”.  They usually look at me like I’m stupid unless they aren’t straight, and then they just look at me and go, “Ooooohhhhh….so you’re bisexual.  I used to be bisexual, but then I got tired of sleeping around.”  It kind of sucks.

And you know what else totally ticks me off is the lack of consideration the working world has for Special Ed kids.  I’ve got this employee at work, it’s his first job, he’s ADD with a learning disability, and everyone wants him gone because he’s not picking it up fast enough.  No one’s willing to work with him to help him and I rarely work with the kid to help.  It really kind of sucks and pisses me off all at the same time because some high falutin retail VP guy has decided that people only get one week (that’s five days or 40 hours) to learn everything they are ever going to need to know about doing the job.  That’s just insane.  I can’t teach everything you’re ever going to need to do the job in 40 hours.

So, you know what world:  You can fucking go to Hell.  Really.

And I now concede the soap box to the next Ranter.

And what do YOU wanna be when you grow up?

I want to be a DINOSAUR!  RAWR!*

Actually, I want to major in Physics and Art.  Yeah, I know, what a great way to become independently wealthy.  But at least I won’t have to be a starving artist, like now, working at some dead-end job and spending all my money on art supplies and praying I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday.*  I can go work for NASA and spend all my money on art supplies and pray I have enough ramen noodles to last until next payday!  How much more exciting would that be, eh?

But actually, those are my two passions, and that’s what I would like to do, go to school for Art and Physics.  I keep trying to misspell “Physics” as “Physicalics”, which, thankfully, isn’t as bad a Freudian slip as, say, “Phallics”.  I think if I were to start typing “Phallic” all over the place I’d just shoot myself because, honestly, if things were that bad, I’m obviously either too psycho to even qualify for a desperate one-night-stand, or too ugly.  But thankfully there is porn and I’m okay with that.  Porn doesn’t tell me to not drink so much, clean up that mess, do the dishes, or scream at me because I didn’t buy the right brand of toilet paper even though I saved $3 fucking dollars by buying the BETTER quality toilet paper and I really don’t give a fuck about “toilet paper” lint being left on my ass because, HELLO, it’s better than having SHIT left on my ass because the MORE EXPENSIVE BRAND you INSIST upon using doesn’t wipe NEARLY as clean as the stuff I grew up with you stupid, ignorant, bitch! Whew, sorry, flashback to a prior relationship.  I should really get some help with this whole PTSD thing from her, but, meh.

And, yes, that actually WAS a real argument I had with someone I date and it actually lasted for a good solid month before I finally explained, “FUCK YOU I HAVE MY OWN FUCKING BATHROOM AND WILL USE THE TOILET PAPER I SO CHOOSE TO WIPE SHIT OFF MY ASS UNLESS YOU WANNA LICK IT OFF OF ME YOU FUCKING WHORE!” and it was settled.  And there might have been about twenty more expletives than that in the actual argument but my memory kind of fails me because I was black-out drunk at the time and that was about the point I came to and then I said something about being hormonal and horny and having low blood sugar and to not cross me anymore when it came to my bunghole because that was my own personal space nobody messed with and the last person who tried wound up in Guatemala and nobody’d heard from him for the past two years.  That’s also kind of a true story.  The Guatemala thing.  The toilet paper thing is TOTALLY a true story.

*RAWR means I love you in Dinosaur.  G-d, don’t you people, like, read and stuff?

Somebody is making a rather big mistake, I think…

No, I live in Texas, and, if I’ve learned one thing from living in Texas, it’s that Texans like to drink beer.  They’ll drink whenever and wherever they can.  The Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission, or TABC, is the ruling body concerning alcohol.  For people who work in a convenience store, they are the bogey man.

Having read this story and having worked in a convenience store and spent plenty of time hanging out in different convenience stores with friends, I can clearly state that this is the worst idea I have ever heard.  Now, granted, I have never had the pleasure of visiting Pennsylvania, nor do I even have any idea what the area around this convenience store is like.  Maybe you live there or have been, or maybe you know someone who has.  Maybe it’s a really nice area.  I don’t know.  But I know that, at least in the three states I’ve lived in, this would never work.  There’s a reason why that scene in those movies where the characters are brown bagging it outside 7 Eleven always precedes a scene involving a police chase or some other such trouble.

While grocery stores and the like get the grouchy “I haven’t had my morning brew yet” people, we get the fall down, gotta lean on my friend the wet floor sign because I can’t stand up on my own, hit on you because I don’t know you and oh I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were a dude and why are you three guys staring at me like that, drunks.  So, of course, it would just be an even better idea if the state were to force us to serve them beer in our stores!

Okay, enough of that.  I just checked Wikipedia for answers and apparently Pennsylvania as a 1984 style control system over alcohol and you can only buy liquor from the state of Pennsylvania and cannot buy beer from convenience stores or grocery stores.  I guess we should call Pennsylvania the Ministry of Spirits.  I wonder if they sell anything other than Freedom Wine and Freedom Tequila?

On parenting parents

So my dad woke up about 5am and was fine. He turned the heat up, went back to bed, and woke up not so fine anymore. His left leg is completely numb and he can barely move it. My former Cub Scout dad, raised by a former Girl Scout, was prepared and had a cane. But he’s having a minor attack of vertigo and can barely use it.

Mom and I have told him to call the doctor, but he won’t. He’s too stubborn. He also feels obligated to stay home and care for my recovering mom.

He already feels helpless, having been forced to retire in June due to his disease. So being laid up now is not an option to him. I can completely understand where he’s coming from. After all, everything I know about being a good man I learned from him.

But I also learned about being a responsible adult from my mom, who argues the point, “How can you take care of me if you’re dead?” A very valid point since my dad is currently experiencing symptoms of a stroke.

My grandparents are the same way. They refused the nurses hired to help care for them, and went so far as to call the police to file kidnapping charges on the assisted living home the court ordered them into.

This is why I can’t leave. I don’t want to get that 4am phone call telling me Mom fell or Dad had a stroke. I don’t want to see them turn into my grandparents, with my dad being forced to relieve himself on the floor because he can’t make it to the bathroom and them having their home condemned.

So I stayed, pretending their helping me by saving what I would pay for rent in an account for retirement or school.

But all pretense is now put aside. I make enough I could move out and still save money, so I had to tell them. That was a mistake. Now the little things I did for them I can’t do. They’ve lost that feeling of being the parent and gained the feeling of being parented. And it sucks. For everyone.

Who the hell are you and what are you doing inside my brain?!?!?!

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