The Baddest Bitch

If you watch this whole video, you will receive a pleasant surprise.

As with Justin, your patience will be rewarded.



So there's that,

Laura

A Crime Most Heinous

I was eating my favorite, amazing salad for lunch today - the "Lo-Cal" Salad from Pompei, an Italian restaurant that I can only unjustly describe as "cafeteria-style."

 

What's so great about this salad?  Well...

 

• It's huge.  YOOOOGE.  Falls off the plate when I try to cut it into manageable chunks.
• Spring Mix and Romaine lettuces - not iceberg (boo), nut just romaine (blah), but the pretty green and red lettuces, too.
• Big, grilled veggies:  thick tomato slices, up to FIVE spears of asparagus, 3 thick potato slices.
• Salty kalamata olives
• The lemony, red-wine-vinegary, tangy dressing.  It has too much oil in it, but I skim it from the top as best I can, then dip veggies.  But this salad is so good, it barely requires 1/4 of the dressing they give you.
• Grilled chicken that's kind of dry, but still good and grilly.  It's the kind of chicken that makes you think, "It's dry, but at least I know it's chicken and not hacked-up-and-plastered-back-together chicken parts (read:  McDonald's, Subway).
• One hard-boiled egg.

This thing...it's just beautiful.  It's what a restaurant salad should be - lots of veggies, no cheese, no croutons.  In fact, I personally feel ripped off by the Caesar Salads of the world.  Just romaine lettuce, croutons, cheese and dressing?  Oh yeah, big salad.  BIG health food.  It's practically a fucking deconstructed lettuce sandwich.

 

Why don't you get some balls, Caesar Salad? 

 

Caesar Salad?  More like, "tosses the salad."

 

Et tu, Brute?  Well, I'd fucking stab you, too, you pussy-ass excuse for a salad.  And I wouldn't do it with a fork.

 

Man!

 

Anyway...what was my point?  Oh yeah.

 

While I was eating this salad, I considered the grilled chicken and the hardboiled egg.  I was eating both the mama and the baby.  Isn't that perverse?

 

Now I'm no vegetarian, and I never will be, even if it comes to light that all meat is made of people.  Like, what if unwanted people are being put through a machine to come out looking like chicken parts and delicious pork tenderloin?  What if all them second-borns in China who aren't fit for the Olympics are put into spring rolls?  Delicious spring rolls?  And The Machine has been feeding us this big line of bullshit for years that "beef comes from cows, and cows look like this..."  How 'bout, "beef comes from the forgotten, housebound elderly."

 

No, I wouldn't believe that.  Because it's truly...unbelievable.  My imagination is farting or something today.

 

But anyway, what kind of world is this where a person can eat both mother and child on the same plate?  Granted, the chicken I was enjoying probably wasn't the parent of this egg, but that didn't stop me from thinking it.  I must be some kind of blessed to be able to enjoy two life-stages of beast in one moment.

 

Slide a little piece of boiled egg white onto my fork, then some (dry) chicken breast, then asparagus.  It's truly a top-of-the-food-chain experience.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

ICanHasCheezburger.com

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You will be there for hours.

So there's that,

Laura

Dear Subway

I went to Subway's website to check out the nutritional value of the sandwich I'm planning to pick up for lunch (the Melt...mmm).  While I was there, I thought I should say something about the lack of lite mayo in some of their stores.  I like me some mayonnaise, but a girl's gotta shave calories where she can.  I don't need full fat.  So I ended up ranting a little in the letter.

 

This was a long time coming.

 

Hello!

 

I commend Subway for emphasizing healthy eating, but to that end, why don't all stores replace full-fat mayonnaise with light mayo?  It doesn't really make sense to have both on hand; they both taste so similar (and obviously look so similar) that it would be easy for a negligent employee to fill one bottle with the other.  I know I would hate to get regular mayo when I specifically request light.

 

While I'm writing you, I used to work at Subway when I was a teen, and you know what I miss most about the way you used to do things?  I miss the U-Gouge - the method of slicing the bread in which the top is separated from the bottom.  And I miss having my sandwich built from the bottom up:  cheese, meat, onions, lettuce, tomato, pickles, peppers, olives.  Now with these side-sliced, meat-on-top sandwiches, I feel like I'm eating an unwieldy taco.  I have to instruct my sandwich artist to build it the way I want it, and when I do, they look at me like I've got a straightjacket on and pee running down my pant leg. 

 

I mean, is it so shocking to order a normal sandwich?  I don't want my meat sliding around over the top of my vegetables; I want it on the bottom, where it's a stable foundation. 

 

All right, there's my rant.  In short, I'd love to have light mayo in all stores, a sandwich built from the bottom up, and the u-gouge as a bread-slicing option.  All these breads with fancy sprinkles don't mean anything if its contents slide out onto your lap when you take a bite.

 

Sincerely,

 

Laura Meyer

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Shoo...SHEW!

First of all, I'd like to thank my family for giving me a great Easter weekend!  Second of all, I'd like to apologize to my family for getting inebriated on Good Friday. 

 

Notice, I didn't say "completely inebriated."  Because we all know from Easter 2005 what a completely inebriated Laura is like.

 

Hey Michelle and Mike - you 'member when we were laughing at Steak and Shake, and the management hassled us by asking us sardonically if it was "really that funny?"  Yeah, I know - fucking bitch.

 

 

 

Hey Michelle - QUACK wack wack wack wack!  QUACK!!!  Mighty Ducks?  More like Naughty Ducks.

 

Hey Manda - All Aboard Choo Choo Soul!!!

 

I got to go to Long John Silver's and Homestead Pizza.  I got to hang out with Ella and Cody.  I got to hang out with Dad, and had minimal interaction with Mom.  And she was sober for 75% of those moments.

 

Dad and I talked about poop, just like old times.  And thanks to Michelle, the catch phrase for the weekend was "Shooo!  SHEW!"  Which is apparently what you should say in a stinky bathroom, especially when the source of the stink is still in there, lest she not learn her lesson.

 

I'll post some recipes from the tapas party, but for now I gotta get back to it.  I love you guys.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Cocktease

Yeah. I know. I said I was going on a hiatus. Whatevs. I just had one more thing to bring to the table.

'Member when my doctor asked me if I thought about gastric bypass, when I was all distraught about my widely fluctuating weight? 'Member?

Well guess what? He had me get a blood test to make sure my thyroid was okay and and if I wasn't diabetic, etc. Looks like I'm pretty healthy.

I KNOW! I say this all the time.

He called me yesterday with the results and was like, "Your thyroid's where it should be, so we don't need to change your dosage. blah blah blah. Your cholesterol is shockingly low. It's amazing."

That's what he said - "shockingly...amazing." I have good-ass cholesterol. I ain't going anywhere. I defy all odds!

I'm not surprised about this, because I know I don't eat crap. And I don't drink all that often. And that's my choice.

Yet...I know from my body analyses that I have a couple dozen pounds of pure fat hanging on my frame. I'm not comfortable with that. Not because it could eventually do some damage to my joints or that it gives people reason to judge me, or it makes me uncomfortable on public trans. But because that shit is freeloading on my body.

That's right. I've come to see my fat as nothing but a stowaway. It's not hurting me - now - but it's not exactly helping me, either.

In Philip Roth's story, Goodbye, Columbus, the main character - Neil Klugman - lives with an aunt who has a strange aversion to pepper. Because she once read that black pepper has no nutritional value, she does not cook or season with it; she doesn't like the idea of a food product that gets a free ride through the digestive tract.

I always thought that this was laughably insane reasoning, but I think she and I have something in common. As of this moment, I see my fat the way she sees black pepper: It's just along for the ride.

Why should I spend the rest of my life bailing water out of a sinking boat while the fat sits back eating the rations? I should be sailing smoothly toward the horizon.

So there's that,

Laura

Hiatus

You know, it's a short week at work since I get Good Friday off.  With the three-day weekend sparkling on the horizon, I can't quite concentrate my attention on much else beyond going home to Indiana for a blissful weekend with my big family.

 

That said, I'm not very focused on posting this week, but check back with me on Monday March 24 for more posts.  I'm sure I will be a lot more interesting after a long weekend.

 

But before I leave you, I want to mention this:  Lane Bryant knows where I live.

 

Lane Bryant knows where I go when I'm online.  I know this, because every page I visit has an LB advertising banner on it.  If I were naive, I would believe that LB has just upped its marketing to a broader audience by advertising on cnn.com or theonion.com.  I know better than that; there's no way thin people would put up with full-figured advertising on their favorite pages.

 

Because my searches and interests are what prompt these ads to reveal themselves to me everywhere I go, I have grown ever-frightened of the internet over the past few years.  They're keeping tabs on me.  I'm not surprised, though; it would be foolish of me to think that this could never happen.  I mean, the world is run by advertising and media, right?

 

But the thing that gets me is, if someone were to search the web on my computer, they might be bombarded by a pair of triple-D's in a Cacique Intimate Wear ad.  This would practically shout to them, "Laura buys bras and panties!" which while completely normal, is kind of embarrassing.  I choose to not think about such things, instead pretend that people are naturally shapely and do not need underwires and cotton crotches.  I would expect others to suffer under the same illusion in regards to my underthings.  Heck, I can't even walk through a lingerie department without blushing.  I have to take shots of vodka to build up my courage before I go shopping for unmentionables.  Okay, not really, but still...

 

So, they're watching you.  Whether you're interested in Old Navy, PF Changs, or Dewar's Scotch, they will put a banner on you before you even realize it.  Then everybody will know your secret love of ugly Fair Isle sweaters, spicy chicken in soothing lettuce cups, and drinking alone.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura