WHAT PART OF 31 FLAVORS DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?
Tonight I had the pleasure of helping my friend Teresa, who owns a Baskin-Robbins ice cream franchise. It was "Free Scoop Night" and I was a "celebrity scooper." Pass up an opportunity to be that close to so much ice cream? Not on your life.
I had a great time, and those BR workers earned every penny, we were jammed for 4 hours. It amazes me how long people will stand in line to get a $1.50 worth of ice cream for free. Folks danced outside in the cool spring evening to music so loud I thought I was back in college at a frat smoker. Kids held tight to balloons; the ones who let go wailed, but were rescued by a teenager who painted their faces with sparkly art. Lots of nice people donated money to buy new books for our local library.
My book, The Big Girls' Guide to Life, was a door prize...very appropriate, since we were at an ice cream store. One winner was a tiny elderly man, a man so thin I think he might have weighed 92 pounds...that's if we had soaked him in water and filled his shoes with concrete, bless his heart. Give that man as many Free Scoops as he can eat, and a side order of cheeseburgers!
But if I'm gonna stand in a line that stretches from say, here to eternity, when I finally reach that counter, and when a cheerful Baskin-Robbins employee finally asks what I'd like FOR FREE, it ain't gonna be Vanilla. But as I scooped ice cream, I was amazed at the number of folks who did just that...here's the chance to get ANY FLAVOR for FREE, and they asked for Vanilla. In a cup. Not in a sugar cone, not in a cake cone, in a cup. Plain. Not even French Vanilla. Just plain, old Vanilla.
It was almost physically impossible for me to grant their requests, these Vanilla-lovers. I tried to sell them on Chocolate Mousse. Begged them to taste Peanut Butter & Chocolate. Almost made headway with the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, because it's mostly Vanilla and appearances are deceptive. But man, these Vanilla people, they are headstrong. They can't be persuaded or coerced. Don't mess with their Vanilla, or there will be hell to pay.
I momentarily considered whether I've lived my life on the wrong side of the Chocolate-Or-Vanilla Highway, and that I should reassess the merits of Vanilla ice cream as a taste treat. Now any good scientist worth her weight in cholesterol knows that in order to test one's theory, one must perform a bit of research. When there's food involved, I'm always first up to the plate, so to speak.
So on my break, I scooped myself some Vanilla. I stared at that Vanilla, prepared to taste its full essence, appreciate it as a ground-breaker in Life's Flavor Myriad. But that Vanilla didn't speak to me. It just sat there, so plain, so uninviting. Maybe that's the simplicity of its appeal, I mused. Perhaps Vanilla isn't really boring, or dull, or lifeless. Perhaps Vanilla is the penultimate Nirvana.
One taste of that Vanilla whacked my theory to bits faster than a baseball bat on a wine glass. I tried a second bite, with no Great Sensation of Vanilla Completeness. All you Vanilla lovers, you do what you have to do. Me, I slapped a generous portion of Hot Fudge on that puppy, and let's just say that orgasmic doesn't even begin to describe how much better that Vanilla tasted. So here's my conclusion: God made Vanilla purely as a carrier for Hot Fudge. Anybody who doesn't add Hot Fudge to their Vanilla ice cream commits a mortal sin. The devil is in the details? Go, devil, go, pour on the Hot Fudge and burn, baby, burn!
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Bunkie Gets the Blahs
It is raining. It is humid. It is Thursday and I've been dragging my hind end around all day. Am I suffering from "iron-poor, tired blood" or did the adrenaline rush that was last week finally crash land and I'm the casualty?
I came home from 6 consecutive "writer gigs" on Sunday uttering the vow that I was going to take some time off, slow down a bit. That lasted for 24 hours. By Tuesday, I was back and running: responding to requests for my time, wondering if I can complete my next novel quickly enough to please my agent, RSVPing for dinners, conducting some much-needed girlfriend chats, and overscheduling my family.
Yesterday I heard an interesting comment on a talk radio show; I've become a talk radio addict, at least, when I'm in the car. There's this guy, a PhD out in University Land, who recently did a study on whether people who watch political commercials have subsequent emotional responses. His conclusion was not really a conclusion at all: certain individuals' brains reacted more strongly to some types of ads more than others. Wow, there's an interesting phenom. How much cash did they shell out to learn this amazing fact?
But the PhD went on to say that he was frustrated by this lack of "tangible results" in this study, so he conducted the experiment on himself. He snuck into the lab, fired up the MRI, and scanned his own brain. He wanted to pinpoint how his brain worked at the precise moment when he came up with a new idea, or when he was inspired to do something creative.
What this researcher learned surprised him, to say the least. First of all, it was difficult for him to "be creative" or "think great thoughts" with all those electrodes sticking out of his skull. So he forced himself to relax, breathe deeply, and then he fell asleep.
At the precise moment he fell asleep, his brain wave patterns resembled a seismography report from the San Francisco earthquake! He awoke several hours later, refreshed, and immediately was seized with an idea for a new approach to his research.
Why did I trek down this tangent? Because what our grandfathers told us is true: we need to take a walk. We need to take a nap. We need to SLOW DOWN. It is not normal for our brains and bodies to be on call 24/7, and just because we have a cell phone doesn't mean we have to take that call.
The difficulty is for me to take my own advice. It's raining, so I don't really want to take a walk. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for my nap. Just as soon as I check my email....
It is raining. It is humid. It is Thursday and I've been dragging my hind end around all day. Am I suffering from "iron-poor, tired blood" or did the adrenaline rush that was last week finally crash land and I'm the casualty?
I came home from 6 consecutive "writer gigs" on Sunday uttering the vow that I was going to take some time off, slow down a bit. That lasted for 24 hours. By Tuesday, I was back and running: responding to requests for my time, wondering if I can complete my next novel quickly enough to please my agent, RSVPing for dinners, conducting some much-needed girlfriend chats, and overscheduling my family.
Yesterday I heard an interesting comment on a talk radio show; I've become a talk radio addict, at least, when I'm in the car. There's this guy, a PhD out in University Land, who recently did a study on whether people who watch political commercials have subsequent emotional responses. His conclusion was not really a conclusion at all: certain individuals' brains reacted more strongly to some types of ads more than others. Wow, there's an interesting phenom. How much cash did they shell out to learn this amazing fact?
But the PhD went on to say that he was frustrated by this lack of "tangible results" in this study, so he conducted the experiment on himself. He snuck into the lab, fired up the MRI, and scanned his own brain. He wanted to pinpoint how his brain worked at the precise moment when he came up with a new idea, or when he was inspired to do something creative.
What this researcher learned surprised him, to say the least. First of all, it was difficult for him to "be creative" or "think great thoughts" with all those electrodes sticking out of his skull. So he forced himself to relax, breathe deeply, and then he fell asleep.
At the precise moment he fell asleep, his brain wave patterns resembled a seismography report from the San Francisco earthquake! He awoke several hours later, refreshed, and immediately was seized with an idea for a new approach to his research.
Why did I trek down this tangent? Because what our grandfathers told us is true: we need to take a walk. We need to take a nap. We need to SLOW DOWN. It is not normal for our brains and bodies to be on call 24/7, and just because we have a cell phone doesn't mean we have to take that call.
The difficulty is for me to take my own advice. It's raining, so I don't really want to take a walk. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for my nap. Just as soon as I check my email....
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
I Can't Compete with Dolly's Breasts & Shania's Bellybutton
Tonight I will be a television widow. My husband, a lifelong, avid country music fan, will be glued to the 51" set to watch his heroine, the formidable Dolly Parton, host the CMT Flameworthy Awards. I will become invisible; my only function is to put our son to bed, so my hubby won't miss a single second of Shania's bellybutton, Dolly's breasts, or Alan Jackson's white hat. Oh, and I might have to bring him a refill on his iced tea.
Now I have nothing against country music. Some of those songs are great, although these days what is described as "country" was in my day known as "Southern rock," but whatever, it's ok with me. The glaring problem for me regarding country music is that there's just no good song about chocolate. And the fact that it used to be that country music was sort of the "safe haven" for wives. Women didn't mind if their husbands really liked Tammy, or Loretta, or even Dolly, because although the Sequined Dress Quotient was pretty high, and the hair was even higher, for the most part, the body parts were well-covered and left to the imagination.
You could leave the room when one of these women were on TV and know that your virtue was still intact, and you wouldn't necessarily be expected to put on your square dancing dress and twirl around the bedroom, so to speak. I was so sure that an affinity for country music was an innocent, sincere appreciation of an art form, I stopped paying attention. Man, did I ever miss a lot.
About four or five years ago, I happened to walk past the monstrosity that is our television set, and got a good gander at a Shania video. It was then that I realized I was living in the past, and that the "safe haven of country music" thing had long since flown out the proverbial window. Nudity and sex appeal are now as much a part of country music as a steel guitar. There ain't nothin' left to the imagination, honey, and for every sexy country diva, there's an equally sexy cowboy with no shirt, tight jeans, and the requisite hat. I can say this, of course, because I live in Nashville, and I know someone who knows someone who's next-door neighbor drives a tour bus, so work with me, here.
So now, here's Shania, who looks like 10 million bucks on a stick, and the Dixie Chicks, who even though they write and play their own music don't exactly represent the Girl Next Door. And then Dolly went and lost all that weight, had some plastic surgery the way God intended, and makes no bones about it. Hey, more power to 'em, sell those records, girls!
The challenge for me is how to convince my husband that Most Garden-Variety Women Who Work and Take Care of Everything can't possibly have breasts and cheekbones like Dolly, and we most certainly can't have a belly button like Shania's. Good grief, she even had a baby...did they remove her stomach, too?
Enough said. Enjoy your evening. Me, I'll be putting a young child to bed, then eating all the chocolate in the house while I read a trashy romance novel and try to ignore my husband's heavy breathing.
Tonight I will be a television widow. My husband, a lifelong, avid country music fan, will be glued to the 51" set to watch his heroine, the formidable Dolly Parton, host the CMT Flameworthy Awards. I will become invisible; my only function is to put our son to bed, so my hubby won't miss a single second of Shania's bellybutton, Dolly's breasts, or Alan Jackson's white hat. Oh, and I might have to bring him a refill on his iced tea.
Now I have nothing against country music. Some of those songs are great, although these days what is described as "country" was in my day known as "Southern rock," but whatever, it's ok with me. The glaring problem for me regarding country music is that there's just no good song about chocolate. And the fact that it used to be that country music was sort of the "safe haven" for wives. Women didn't mind if their husbands really liked Tammy, or Loretta, or even Dolly, because although the Sequined Dress Quotient was pretty high, and the hair was even higher, for the most part, the body parts were well-covered and left to the imagination.
You could leave the room when one of these women were on TV and know that your virtue was still intact, and you wouldn't necessarily be expected to put on your square dancing dress and twirl around the bedroom, so to speak. I was so sure that an affinity for country music was an innocent, sincere appreciation of an art form, I stopped paying attention. Man, did I ever miss a lot.
About four or five years ago, I happened to walk past the monstrosity that is our television set, and got a good gander at a Shania video. It was then that I realized I was living in the past, and that the "safe haven of country music" thing had long since flown out the proverbial window. Nudity and sex appeal are now as much a part of country music as a steel guitar. There ain't nothin' left to the imagination, honey, and for every sexy country diva, there's an equally sexy cowboy with no shirt, tight jeans, and the requisite hat. I can say this, of course, because I live in Nashville, and I know someone who knows someone who's next-door neighbor drives a tour bus, so work with me, here.
So now, here's Shania, who looks like 10 million bucks on a stick, and the Dixie Chicks, who even though they write and play their own music don't exactly represent the Girl Next Door. And then Dolly went and lost all that weight, had some plastic surgery the way God intended, and makes no bones about it. Hey, more power to 'em, sell those records, girls!
The challenge for me is how to convince my husband that Most Garden-Variety Women Who Work and Take Care of Everything can't possibly have breasts and cheekbones like Dolly, and we most certainly can't have a belly button like Shania's. Good grief, she even had a baby...did they remove her stomach, too?
Enough said. Enjoy your evening. Me, I'll be putting a young child to bed, then eating all the chocolate in the house while I read a trashy romance novel and try to ignore my husband's heavy breathing.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
THE METEORS ARE COMING! RUN! HIDE! EAT CHOCOLATE!
As a college-educated humanoid with a Bachelor of Science degree, and as the have-no-clue parent of a young child, I am committed to the observation of Natural Wonders in our life here on earth. This may include the removal of strange, gummy-like substances from the refrigerator door, or a cozy little gathering in the backyard, complete with flashlights, blankets, and refreshments (chocolate) in order to watch the many miracles inherent in our solar system.
This week we're smack-dab in the middle of the Lyrid Meteor Shower, and I urge you to get a front-row seat for this super event. Nothing humbles you like a good ol' fashioned meteor shower. If you've never witnessed one, set your alarms, grab the kids and a Super-size bag of Oreos, and head outside. I would advise you to wait until dark, that's sort of the point, because the good stuff probably won't happen until after 9pm, and the peak is around midnight. If you go out too early, you'll eat all your chocolate by 7:30pm and it'll just get ugly.
But aim your blankies in the direction of the Northeastern sky, tilt that chin up to the heavens, and let 'er rip. You can see up to 20 meteors streak across the firmament per second, this is Very Big Fun. It's free, it's an excuse to sit in your backyard and eat chocolate, but more importantly, it's visible proof to a child that there are Greater Powers That Be at work in our universe.
It's also very annoying to your neighbors to wake up and hear "MOM! LOOK! MOM! THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!" no less than three thousand times per hour, and any time I can annoy my neighbors, it's a good thing.
Now if it's cloudy in your neck of the woods, take heart: this space spectacular will continue through the 25th of April, so you have a couple of chances to act your shoe size and pretend that Vicious Space Aliens are attacking your hearth and home. I personally would welcome a Space Alien, of the non-violent sort, into my home, as long as we established immediate boundaries involving my chocolate. Keep your damned alien hands off my leftover Easter candy, and we'll be fine.
Ok, time to go Meteor Chocolate shopping and prepare for the show...personally, I plan to stock up on Mars Bars...
As a college-educated humanoid with a Bachelor of Science degree, and as the have-no-clue parent of a young child, I am committed to the observation of Natural Wonders in our life here on earth. This may include the removal of strange, gummy-like substances from the refrigerator door, or a cozy little gathering in the backyard, complete with flashlights, blankets, and refreshments (chocolate) in order to watch the many miracles inherent in our solar system.
This week we're smack-dab in the middle of the Lyrid Meteor Shower, and I urge you to get a front-row seat for this super event. Nothing humbles you like a good ol' fashioned meteor shower. If you've never witnessed one, set your alarms, grab the kids and a Super-size bag of Oreos, and head outside. I would advise you to wait until dark, that's sort of the point, because the good stuff probably won't happen until after 9pm, and the peak is around midnight. If you go out too early, you'll eat all your chocolate by 7:30pm and it'll just get ugly.
But aim your blankies in the direction of the Northeastern sky, tilt that chin up to the heavens, and let 'er rip. You can see up to 20 meteors streak across the firmament per second, this is Very Big Fun. It's free, it's an excuse to sit in your backyard and eat chocolate, but more importantly, it's visible proof to a child that there are Greater Powers That Be at work in our universe.
It's also very annoying to your neighbors to wake up and hear "MOM! LOOK! MOM! THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!" no less than three thousand times per hour, and any time I can annoy my neighbors, it's a good thing.
Now if it's cloudy in your neck of the woods, take heart: this space spectacular will continue through the 25th of April, so you have a couple of chances to act your shoe size and pretend that Vicious Space Aliens are attacking your hearth and home. I personally would welcome a Space Alien, of the non-violent sort, into my home, as long as we established immediate boundaries involving my chocolate. Keep your damned alien hands off my leftover Easter candy, and we'll be fine.
Ok, time to go Meteor Chocolate shopping and prepare for the show...personally, I plan to stock up on Mars Bars...
Monday, April 19, 2004
Why I Need My Fans, by Bunkie Lynn.
Coming off of what was, without a doubt, the head-rushingest week of my writing career, I'd like to say a little "thank you" to my fans, the folks out there in Book Buying Land who make my world go 'round.
What an ego boost when somebody you might not even vaguely remember comes up to you and says, "Wow, I really LOVED your book! I laughed so hard I fell out of bed/the car/my chair. And your speech was hilarious, my stomach hurt, I laughed so much. So...when's the new one coming out?"
Ok, it's no secret some of us work better under pressure, myself included. But geez Louise, I've been going gangbusters now for nigh on 2 years, have 2 books under my belt, and you people want MORE? What about my six-month sabbatical, where I stay at my benefactor's estate in the Caribbean and imbibe an endless stream of umbrella drinks? Oh, yeah, I don't have a benefactor...yet.
So let's play a new game. WHO WANTS TO BE BUNKIE'S BENEFACTOR? You, yes YOU can watch obscene amounts of hard-earned cash go down the drain as Bunkie Lynn, infamous humorist and author, flits and cavorts around your Caribbean (or your preferred location) villa for a few months, all expenses paid by, you guessed it, YOU! Amaze your family, impress your friends with the damage one egotistical author can do in a few scant weeks of hedonistic pleasure.
You say you don't have a villa? Not a problem. How 'bout an apartment in the city? Oh, that's still a little steep for your blood? Why not spring for 3 nights at a cheap hotel in Branson, MO....Ok, look, I'm serious here, how 'bout a Chevy Van with a mattress in the back? Hey, I'm easy, I need a vacation, and I'm open to any and all possibilities.
What do you mean, what's in it for you? You want another hilarious, knock-your-socks-off book, don't you? You think I can just sit around the house in my pj's and think up this stuff? Give me a break, did you fall asleep in 3rd grade vocabulary class, or what? The word "recreation," roughly translated from the ancient, means "to send a promising author on a lengthy and absolutely free vacation, such that said author may rejuvenate, may recharge, may think brilliant thoughts and thereby put pen to paper, to engender laughter among her audience, to wit." (Man, those ancients had a way with words, didn't they?)
Look, you want me to create, I gotta recreate. Hey, nobody ever said being a fan was a picnic, bub. Now, are you gonna shirk your responsibility, or are you gonna step up to the proverbial vacation destination plate and fork over the goods?
Oh well, it was worth a try. Let's do lunch...you buy, I'll fly?
Coming off of what was, without a doubt, the head-rushingest week of my writing career, I'd like to say a little "thank you" to my fans, the folks out there in Book Buying Land who make my world go 'round.
What an ego boost when somebody you might not even vaguely remember comes up to you and says, "Wow, I really LOVED your book! I laughed so hard I fell out of bed/the car/my chair. And your speech was hilarious, my stomach hurt, I laughed so much. So...when's the new one coming out?"
Ok, it's no secret some of us work better under pressure, myself included. But geez Louise, I've been going gangbusters now for nigh on 2 years, have 2 books under my belt, and you people want MORE? What about my six-month sabbatical, where I stay at my benefactor's estate in the Caribbean and imbibe an endless stream of umbrella drinks? Oh, yeah, I don't have a benefactor...yet.
So let's play a new game. WHO WANTS TO BE BUNKIE'S BENEFACTOR? You, yes YOU can watch obscene amounts of hard-earned cash go down the drain as Bunkie Lynn, infamous humorist and author, flits and cavorts around your Caribbean (or your preferred location) villa for a few months, all expenses paid by, you guessed it, YOU! Amaze your family, impress your friends with the damage one egotistical author can do in a few scant weeks of hedonistic pleasure.
You say you don't have a villa? Not a problem. How 'bout an apartment in the city? Oh, that's still a little steep for your blood? Why not spring for 3 nights at a cheap hotel in Branson, MO....Ok, look, I'm serious here, how 'bout a Chevy Van with a mattress in the back? Hey, I'm easy, I need a vacation, and I'm open to any and all possibilities.
What do you mean, what's in it for you? You want another hilarious, knock-your-socks-off book, don't you? You think I can just sit around the house in my pj's and think up this stuff? Give me a break, did you fall asleep in 3rd grade vocabulary class, or what? The word "recreation," roughly translated from the ancient, means "to send a promising author on a lengthy and absolutely free vacation, such that said author may rejuvenate, may recharge, may think brilliant thoughts and thereby put pen to paper, to engender laughter among her audience, to wit." (Man, those ancients had a way with words, didn't they?)
Look, you want me to create, I gotta recreate. Hey, nobody ever said being a fan was a picnic, bub. Now, are you gonna shirk your responsibility, or are you gonna step up to the proverbial vacation destination plate and fork over the goods?
Oh well, it was worth a try. Let's do lunch...you buy, I'll fly?
Friday, April 16, 2004
Howdy, ya'll. I'm livin' in my SUV this weekend as I journey back and forth to Bowling Green, KY from my humble home in Tennessee, for my appearances at the Southern KY Book Fest. It's Big Fun and if you're reading this, and you're in the vicinity of Bowling Green, come to the SOKY Fest Saturday at the Sloan Convention Center, and holler at me.
Let's just spend a moment discussing the virtues of gambling. I admit it, I can't help myself. I mean, I am not a Player in the big league sense of the word, but on the few times when I've been downwind of a slot machine, I can't help but throw money in it. Once I won $200 in nickels. Do you have any idea how heavy $200 in nickels is? Good grief!
Tennessee has our new Lotto, but no Powerball, which is a shame, because my car automatically drove itself to the Kentucky LottoLand this afternoon, and as a ten-dollar bill fell out of my wallet, I found myself stepping out of my shy persona and asking the clerk for 10 Qwik Pik PowerBall tickets. Hey, jackpot's 75 million! Lump sum payment, after tax, would set me up nicely for the rest of my life, and I'd take all my friends to the Caribbean for a huge party. I could call my agent and editor and everybody else and tell them to write their own danged books, I'm on permanent vacation.
Sure, that's what I tell myself. But let's face it, 75 million, in a lump sum would be around 30 million, so after tax would be 15 million, or less.
Now I can run through the cash, believe me. The requisite Caribbean party would cost at least a couple hundred grand. I'd buy a bus for my church, because we don't have one, and every church worth its salt has a church bus. And I'd have to pay off the mortgage and my other debts, in order to feel good about myself, like Dave Ramsey says. So when it comes right down to it, that 15 mil wouldn't last very long, I'd have to invest the rest, make it work for me, put myself on a budget...after spending at least a couple mil to restock the wine cellar, buy a kick-ass stereo, a new hot laptop, and a beach house. Oh. And maybe a Rolex. I've always wanted a Rolex, the ultimate non-essential accessory.
Gee...I guess if I really do win the jackpot, I'd better not piss off my editor and agent, huh...15 million really doesn't go that far, does it? Maybe I'll drive back to Kentucky next week if there's no winner....I need to clear at least 50 million....
Let's just spend a moment discussing the virtues of gambling. I admit it, I can't help myself. I mean, I am not a Player in the big league sense of the word, but on the few times when I've been downwind of a slot machine, I can't help but throw money in it. Once I won $200 in nickels. Do you have any idea how heavy $200 in nickels is? Good grief!
Tennessee has our new Lotto, but no Powerball, which is a shame, because my car automatically drove itself to the Kentucky LottoLand this afternoon, and as a ten-dollar bill fell out of my wallet, I found myself stepping out of my shy persona and asking the clerk for 10 Qwik Pik PowerBall tickets. Hey, jackpot's 75 million! Lump sum payment, after tax, would set me up nicely for the rest of my life, and I'd take all my friends to the Caribbean for a huge party. I could call my agent and editor and everybody else and tell them to write their own danged books, I'm on permanent vacation.
Sure, that's what I tell myself. But let's face it, 75 million, in a lump sum would be around 30 million, so after tax would be 15 million, or less.
Now I can run through the cash, believe me. The requisite Caribbean party would cost at least a couple hundred grand. I'd buy a bus for my church, because we don't have one, and every church worth its salt has a church bus. And I'd have to pay off the mortgage and my other debts, in order to feel good about myself, like Dave Ramsey says. So when it comes right down to it, that 15 mil wouldn't last very long, I'd have to invest the rest, make it work for me, put myself on a budget...after spending at least a couple mil to restock the wine cellar, buy a kick-ass stereo, a new hot laptop, and a beach house. Oh. And maybe a Rolex. I've always wanted a Rolex, the ultimate non-essential accessory.
Gee...I guess if I really do win the jackpot, I'd better not piss off my editor and agent, huh...15 million really doesn't go that far, does it? Maybe I'll drive back to Kentucky next week if there's no winner....I need to clear at least 50 million....
Thursday, April 15, 2004
After being on a little holiday and eating everything in sight for days, including an obscene amount of chocolate Easter candy, I returned home today and stepped on the scales, head hung low, fully expecting the Diet Police to whip me with their Shame Canes.
WHAT? What is that number? It can't be right. (Step off the scale, move it around the floor, step gingerly back on).
You've GOT to be KIDDING. I LOST WEIGHT? I LOST 5 POUNDS? (find screwdriver, open battery compartment on scale, replace battery, re-weigh).
Oh my gosh, it's TRUE! I LOST WEIGHT EATING CHOCOLATE! Somebody call AMA, this Big Girl's got some mind-blowing research to report, a medical/nutritional miracle has occurred in my humble bathroom.
Visions of Nobel-prize winning speech delivery dart around my brain...yes, I'd like to thank my husband for the gigantic bag of Peanut M&Ms, my friend Carol for the Cadbury caramel cremes, oh, and my mom for the sinful chocolate cheesecake. Was exercise involved? Of course! I did at least 50 Chocolate Arm Curls to get to those M&Ms. And every time I ran out of chocolate, I was forced to get up off the couch, don't tell me that doesn't burn calories! Yes, there's no doubt in my mind, chocolate is a weight-loss miracle worker, and I'm living proof...
Man, this puts a whole new spin on the diet thing...let's see, eggs for breakfast, salad for lunch...I think a Peanut Buster Parfait for dinner makes sense, don't you?
WHAT? What is that number? It can't be right. (Step off the scale, move it around the floor, step gingerly back on).
You've GOT to be KIDDING. I LOST WEIGHT? I LOST 5 POUNDS? (find screwdriver, open battery compartment on scale, replace battery, re-weigh).
Oh my gosh, it's TRUE! I LOST WEIGHT EATING CHOCOLATE! Somebody call AMA, this Big Girl's got some mind-blowing research to report, a medical/nutritional miracle has occurred in my humble bathroom.
Visions of Nobel-prize winning speech delivery dart around my brain...yes, I'd like to thank my husband for the gigantic bag of Peanut M&Ms, my friend Carol for the Cadbury caramel cremes, oh, and my mom for the sinful chocolate cheesecake. Was exercise involved? Of course! I did at least 50 Chocolate Arm Curls to get to those M&Ms. And every time I ran out of chocolate, I was forced to get up off the couch, don't tell me that doesn't burn calories! Yes, there's no doubt in my mind, chocolate is a weight-loss miracle worker, and I'm living proof...
Man, this puts a whole new spin on the diet thing...let's see, eggs for breakfast, salad for lunch...I think a Peanut Buster Parfait for dinner makes sense, don't you?
Friday, April 09, 2004
Easter Bunkie here, with the Best Candy in the Basket Rating for 2004:
10) Yellow or pink Peeps. Yeah, I know they're mostly made of chemicals, but they're so danged cute! It's big fun to smash them together in a wad and see how long it takes for them to puff back up.
9) Egg bubble gum. Not a perennial favorite, mind you, but the colors are nice.
8) The Inevitable Chocolate Bunny. Why, you may ask, is it so low on the list of faves? Let's be perfectly honest, kiddies, how many truly delicious chocolate bunnies have you ever tasted? Oh sure, it's a hoot to do your best Hannibal Lector and bite off the eyes or remove the facial area, but that stuff's not exactly Ghirardelli, now, is it?
7) Malted milk eggs. The first dozen or so are WONDERFUL. Throw the rest away, or you'll be on the toilet for a very long time.
6) Cadbury Creme Eggs (the original, gooey ones). These are not my personal favorites, but in honor of my baby sister, who could consume mass quantities of this little item, it makes the list, simply because those Cadbury guys got the inside of the egg looking so real, you're ready with the skillet and a rasher of bacon. Not my idea of a tasty candy, however.
5) Cadbury Hard-shell Eggs. Now we're talkin'. These dandies have yummy chocolate centers surrounded by delicious crunchy candy shells, in beautifully speckled patterns. I'll take 5 pounds, please.
4) The Reese's/Snickers/Butterfinger/You-Name-It Eggs. Capitalism at its finest. Take your respective best-selling candy bars, shape them into eggs, and voila, Easter sales boost.
3) Jellybeans. How can you go wrong with these tiny little bursts of pure sugar? And what other candy lasts so well in the bottom of the Easter grass, a full year or two after it's been lost there? Easter Bunkie loves the orange ones; green ones are the work of the devil.
2) Cadbury Caramel Creme Eggs. A play on the original, without the nasty realism of the raw item.
1) The all-time best Easter Candy as rated by Chocolate Expert, Easter Bunkie: Solid chocolate eggs. The perfect size to hide in your mouth, it takes an origami master a month to wrap those little suckers in pastel foil, and it's pure, unadulterated chocolate. I'm in love!
Happy Easter from the Easter Bunkie!
10) Yellow or pink Peeps. Yeah, I know they're mostly made of chemicals, but they're so danged cute! It's big fun to smash them together in a wad and see how long it takes for them to puff back up.
9) Egg bubble gum. Not a perennial favorite, mind you, but the colors are nice.
8) The Inevitable Chocolate Bunny. Why, you may ask, is it so low on the list of faves? Let's be perfectly honest, kiddies, how many truly delicious chocolate bunnies have you ever tasted? Oh sure, it's a hoot to do your best Hannibal Lector and bite off the eyes or remove the facial area, but that stuff's not exactly Ghirardelli, now, is it?
7) Malted milk eggs. The first dozen or so are WONDERFUL. Throw the rest away, or you'll be on the toilet for a very long time.
6) Cadbury Creme Eggs (the original, gooey ones). These are not my personal favorites, but in honor of my baby sister, who could consume mass quantities of this little item, it makes the list, simply because those Cadbury guys got the inside of the egg looking so real, you're ready with the skillet and a rasher of bacon. Not my idea of a tasty candy, however.
5) Cadbury Hard-shell Eggs. Now we're talkin'. These dandies have yummy chocolate centers surrounded by delicious crunchy candy shells, in beautifully speckled patterns. I'll take 5 pounds, please.
4) The Reese's/Snickers/Butterfinger/You-Name-It Eggs. Capitalism at its finest. Take your respective best-selling candy bars, shape them into eggs, and voila, Easter sales boost.
3) Jellybeans. How can you go wrong with these tiny little bursts of pure sugar? And what other candy lasts so well in the bottom of the Easter grass, a full year or two after it's been lost there? Easter Bunkie loves the orange ones; green ones are the work of the devil.
2) Cadbury Caramel Creme Eggs. A play on the original, without the nasty realism of the raw item.
1) The all-time best Easter Candy as rated by Chocolate Expert, Easter Bunkie: Solid chocolate eggs. The perfect size to hide in your mouth, it takes an origami master a month to wrap those little suckers in pastel foil, and it's pure, unadulterated chocolate. I'm in love!
Happy Easter from the Easter Bunkie!
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Whew, what a week I'm having! Thanks to WBIR-TV in Knoxville for hosting me on the "Style" program on Tuesday. This Big Girl had Big Fun, particularly presenting The Professor to the crew. The Professor is an extremely large chocolate bunny with that familiar, higher education, glazed-over look in his eyes...you remember from your college days...too many papers to grade, too many holes in that houndstooth blazer...too few hairs to comb over...
Can't wait to entertain my Knoxville fans on Monday 4/12 at the Dogwood Arts Festival Luncheon; let's review how hard I've worked on my speech...you gals better LAUGH! Plus I make reference to chocolate no less than fifteen times in a half-hour period, so that alone should keep it going.
Only 3 MORE DAYS until Lent is over and I can consume mass quantities of CHOCOLATE, Food of the Gods. And yes, I am a certifiable Goddess...Bunkie, Goddess of Appetites. Did you fall asleep in World History, or what?
Here is Bunkie's No Fail Food Plan for Easter Sunday:
7am: Hit the snooze button, grope for a Hershey Kiss on your nightstand, unwrap that sucker and pop it in your mouth. Chocolate-Denial Season is OVER!
8:00am: Bounce out of bed (or if your knees are presently without cartilage, as are mine, limp)
Tear into the Snickers Bar in your bathroom as you wait for the shower to warm.
8:30am: BREAKFAST! Warm up those croissants au chocolate you happened to throw in your grocery cart yesterday and pour yourself a gigantic glass of skim milk...gotta watch those calories!
9:00am: Church. God made chocolate, so He won't have a problem with you sneaking a few Kisses during the singing of the extremely loud hymns, because let's face it, on Easter, it's always "Alleluia" ten thousand times over and over, and even God gets a little irritated, ok?
10:15am: BRUNCH! In order to prevent diabetic shock, you should probably order some bacon and eggs, grab a little protein here. But do enjoy a latte with a shot of chocolate...gotta keep the momentum going!
11:30am: Back home and time for EASTER BASKETS! If your significant other has half a brain, he will have showered you with every type of chocolate imaginable, or at least a 3lb bag of Peanut M&Ms. You don't want to hurt his feelings...try every variety, NOW.
12:30pm: SNACK. I'm thinking a few more warmed-up chocolate croissants would do nicely...you know they just don't taste as good after the first 24 hours...time for a nap...where are those Kisses?
3:00pm: ROAD TRIP! What a beautiful Easter Day, what a great reason to go for a drive...to Baskin Robbins! I'll have a 2-scoop sundae with extra hot fudge, please. Thank you God, for spandex, amen.
5:00pm: DINNER. Am feeling a tad sickish, better drive through DQ for a big cheeseburger and some fries and an obscenely large Coke. What's that? The Peanut Buster Parfaits are on sale? I'm not sure...I just had ice cream 2 hours ago...oh, well, if it will save me $0.53 cents, go for it!
7:00pm: INTENSE NAUSEA AND STOMACH SPASMS. NO, IT'S NOT FROM ALL THE CHOCOLATE. I SWEAR THAT KID IN FRONT OF US AT CHURCH HAD A VIRUS!
8:00pm: Ahh, much better. In my jammies, all tucked into bed with a People magazine, a Coke, and of course, the rest of the Kisses. What a great Easter day! Tomorrow, I vow to only eat chocolate twice...per hour....Happy Easter!
Can't wait to entertain my Knoxville fans on Monday 4/12 at the Dogwood Arts Festival Luncheon; let's review how hard I've worked on my speech...you gals better LAUGH! Plus I make reference to chocolate no less than fifteen times in a half-hour period, so that alone should keep it going.
Only 3 MORE DAYS until Lent is over and I can consume mass quantities of CHOCOLATE, Food of the Gods. And yes, I am a certifiable Goddess...Bunkie, Goddess of Appetites. Did you fall asleep in World History, or what?
Here is Bunkie's No Fail Food Plan for Easter Sunday:
7am: Hit the snooze button, grope for a Hershey Kiss on your nightstand, unwrap that sucker and pop it in your mouth. Chocolate-Denial Season is OVER!
8:00am: Bounce out of bed (or if your knees are presently without cartilage, as are mine, limp)
Tear into the Snickers Bar in your bathroom as you wait for the shower to warm.
8:30am: BREAKFAST! Warm up those croissants au chocolate you happened to throw in your grocery cart yesterday and pour yourself a gigantic glass of skim milk...gotta watch those calories!
9:00am: Church. God made chocolate, so He won't have a problem with you sneaking a few Kisses during the singing of the extremely loud hymns, because let's face it, on Easter, it's always "Alleluia" ten thousand times over and over, and even God gets a little irritated, ok?
10:15am: BRUNCH! In order to prevent diabetic shock, you should probably order some bacon and eggs, grab a little protein here. But do enjoy a latte with a shot of chocolate...gotta keep the momentum going!
11:30am: Back home and time for EASTER BASKETS! If your significant other has half a brain, he will have showered you with every type of chocolate imaginable, or at least a 3lb bag of Peanut M&Ms. You don't want to hurt his feelings...try every variety, NOW.
12:30pm: SNACK. I'm thinking a few more warmed-up chocolate croissants would do nicely...you know they just don't taste as good after the first 24 hours...time for a nap...where are those Kisses?
3:00pm: ROAD TRIP! What a beautiful Easter Day, what a great reason to go for a drive...to Baskin Robbins! I'll have a 2-scoop sundae with extra hot fudge, please. Thank you God, for spandex, amen.
5:00pm: DINNER. Am feeling a tad sickish, better drive through DQ for a big cheeseburger and some fries and an obscenely large Coke. What's that? The Peanut Buster Parfaits are on sale? I'm not sure...I just had ice cream 2 hours ago...oh, well, if it will save me $0.53 cents, go for it!
7:00pm: INTENSE NAUSEA AND STOMACH SPASMS. NO, IT'S NOT FROM ALL THE CHOCOLATE. I SWEAR THAT KID IN FRONT OF US AT CHURCH HAD A VIRUS!
8:00pm: Ahh, much better. In my jammies, all tucked into bed with a People magazine, a Coke, and of course, the rest of the Kisses. What a great Easter day! Tomorrow, I vow to only eat chocolate twice...per hour....Happy Easter!
Monday, April 05, 2004
Ok, so I've got to decide what to wear on my TV appearance in Knoxville tomorrow...let me just say for the record, I'm a Big Girl who hates to iron, but I LOVE wearing cotton and linen clothing. Last summer I spent a small fortune taking all my ironing to the dry cleaners, but this year have resolved to do the ironing thing for myself...ironing can be therapeutic, even though it can be hard on the ankles.
I've decided to take matters into my own chocolate-laden hands and follow the shining example of Pavlov and his dogs...every time I iron something, I get to eat a piece of chocolate. Let's review that there are at least 20 or 30 wrinkled things in that pile, so this could turn out to be a GREAT day!
There's still the matter of dog-hair to resolve...when you iron Big Girl Clothes with all their excess yards of material, they can't help but touch the floor. So you end up with a crisply ironed linen pantsuit with about a half-ton of dog hair on it...not necessarily a good look, but there's no way I'm going to vacuum the floor AND iron clothes on the same day...unless...maybe I could take myself to DQ for a Peanut Buster Parfait.....
Happy Spring!
I've decided to take matters into my own chocolate-laden hands and follow the shining example of Pavlov and his dogs...every time I iron something, I get to eat a piece of chocolate. Let's review that there are at least 20 or 30 wrinkled things in that pile, so this could turn out to be a GREAT day!
There's still the matter of dog-hair to resolve...when you iron Big Girl Clothes with all their excess yards of material, they can't help but touch the floor. So you end up with a crisply ironed linen pantsuit with about a half-ton of dog hair on it...not necessarily a good look, but there's no way I'm going to vacuum the floor AND iron clothes on the same day...unless...maybe I could take myself to DQ for a Peanut Buster Parfait.....
Happy Spring!
Friday, April 02, 2004
TRAFFIC BITES! Today I had the privilege (and I'm being serious here) of driving 22 miles into downtown Nashvegas for a radio interview. Now I'm familiar with the whole "commuter traffic" thing, but thankfully it was smooth sailing despite the construction areas, despite the yahoos who drive like perennial bats outta hell, and I arrived 30 minutes early, to be exact. I even had the pleasure of meeting comedian Yakov Smirnov at the radio station, he's hilarious!
The problem began when I attempted to drive home, 2 hours later. By now it was late morning, the construction zones were in full lane-closure mode, but I, an Observant Big Girl in Need of Chocolate, wisely listened to the radio and quickly made a split-second decision to take an alternate route. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Let's review that it took me 95 minutes to go about 25 miles. And it wasn't simply a question of interstate delays...I'm talking, every danged street I turned on, there was a sewer being installed and it was down to 1 lane, there was re-paving and it was down to 1 lane, there was a moronic bulldozer operator who parked his cute little piece of equipment in the middle of MY lane while he took a cancer stick break...today I, Bunkie Big Girl, experienced the Ultimate Murphy's Law Occurrence in the Entire History of the Car-Driving World.
To make matters worse (I'm not kidding), the hunger pangs in my Big Girl Tummy reminded me that all that car-riding had forced me to skip lunch, which is an unforgivable, mortal sin in the World of Big Girls. I realized there was a McD's up the road, just a few miles...french fry salvation was at hand...until I saw flashing lights. Not one, not two, but three utility trucks BLOCKING THE ENTRANCE TO MCD's!!! In total Big Girl anger and frustration, I drove straight home, and ate no less than an entire box of Hostess Ding Dongs in one sitting. Nutritional value, you ask? Hey, I had a glass of milk with those puppies!
Have a great weekend...stay off the roads and you'll be fine.
The problem began when I attempted to drive home, 2 hours later. By now it was late morning, the construction zones were in full lane-closure mode, but I, an Observant Big Girl in Need of Chocolate, wisely listened to the radio and quickly made a split-second decision to take an alternate route. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Let's review that it took me 95 minutes to go about 25 miles. And it wasn't simply a question of interstate delays...I'm talking, every danged street I turned on, there was a sewer being installed and it was down to 1 lane, there was re-paving and it was down to 1 lane, there was a moronic bulldozer operator who parked his cute little piece of equipment in the middle of MY lane while he took a cancer stick break...today I, Bunkie Big Girl, experienced the Ultimate Murphy's Law Occurrence in the Entire History of the Car-Driving World.
To make matters worse (I'm not kidding), the hunger pangs in my Big Girl Tummy reminded me that all that car-riding had forced me to skip lunch, which is an unforgivable, mortal sin in the World of Big Girls. I realized there was a McD's up the road, just a few miles...french fry salvation was at hand...until I saw flashing lights. Not one, not two, but three utility trucks BLOCKING THE ENTRANCE TO MCD's!!! In total Big Girl anger and frustration, I drove straight home, and ate no less than an entire box of Hostess Ding Dongs in one sitting. Nutritional value, you ask? Hey, I had a glass of milk with those puppies!
Have a great weekend...stay off the roads and you'll be fine.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
April Fool's Scenarios I Wish Were True:
The President today signed into law Federal Statute BMI-35, making anyone with a Body Mass Index of less than 35 an automatic felon. A critical rider to this statute also calls for the immediate incarceration of any woman suspected to be the result of a genetic mutation between a pretzel stick and a silicone breast implant.
The hamburger chain McDonald's announced plans today to introduce its new "Death Wish" size drinks, French fries, and desserts. In a charitable gesture, these items will be served at no charge to inmates imprisoned as a result of the new federal statute, in an attempt to aid those individuals who, bless them, don't possess a Fat Gene, so they may attain the new ideal Body Mass Index.
In an amazing scientific breakthrough, hot fudge has been proven to cure cancer, Alzheimer's, tuberculosis, HIV, and a host of other communicable diseases. The new Recommended Daily Allowance of Hot Fudge is between 1/2 to 1 full cups per day, for adults. Of critical note is the proven medical fact that it is impossible to eat too much Hot Fudge. The Recommended Daily Allowance of Hot Fudge for Children After Dinner is directly proportional to the amount of sleep the child's parents require.
CBS, ever the trend-setting television network, has announced a new program for its fall lineup; the popular "Survivor" series will now feature ten supermodels who are forced to live in a 1982 Honda Civic and work as waitresses at Old Country Buffet. Any supermodel who refuses to consume a minimum of 3,500 calories per day will be voted out of the dining room and forced to wash dishes with a bleach solution; silk replacement nails and hand lotion are forbidden. The winner will receive a prize package that includes 52 visits to Red Lobster's Fried Catfish Fest, a size 18 tube top, and one year's worth of Toni Home Perms.
and last but not least...
It is now illegal in this country to utter the following phrases: low-carb, fat grams, calories, saturated fat, and "weigh-in." Violators will be forced to spend one night in jail accompanied by their choice of a) Martha Stewart, b) Saddam Hussein, or c) Richard Simmons.
Happy April Fool's Day!
The President today signed into law Federal Statute BMI-35, making anyone with a Body Mass Index of less than 35 an automatic felon. A critical rider to this statute also calls for the immediate incarceration of any woman suspected to be the result of a genetic mutation between a pretzel stick and a silicone breast implant.
The hamburger chain McDonald's announced plans today to introduce its new "Death Wish" size drinks, French fries, and desserts. In a charitable gesture, these items will be served at no charge to inmates imprisoned as a result of the new federal statute, in an attempt to aid those individuals who, bless them, don't possess a Fat Gene, so they may attain the new ideal Body Mass Index.
In an amazing scientific breakthrough, hot fudge has been proven to cure cancer, Alzheimer's, tuberculosis, HIV, and a host of other communicable diseases. The new Recommended Daily Allowance of Hot Fudge is between 1/2 to 1 full cups per day, for adults. Of critical note is the proven medical fact that it is impossible to eat too much Hot Fudge. The Recommended Daily Allowance of Hot Fudge for Children After Dinner is directly proportional to the amount of sleep the child's parents require.
CBS, ever the trend-setting television network, has announced a new program for its fall lineup; the popular "Survivor" series will now feature ten supermodels who are forced to live in a 1982 Honda Civic and work as waitresses at Old Country Buffet. Any supermodel who refuses to consume a minimum of 3,500 calories per day will be voted out of the dining room and forced to wash dishes with a bleach solution; silk replacement nails and hand lotion are forbidden. The winner will receive a prize package that includes 52 visits to Red Lobster's Fried Catfish Fest, a size 18 tube top, and one year's worth of Toni Home Perms.
and last but not least...
It is now illegal in this country to utter the following phrases: low-carb, fat grams, calories, saturated fat, and "weigh-in." Violators will be forced to spend one night in jail accompanied by their choice of a) Martha Stewart, b) Saddam Hussein, or c) Richard Simmons.
Happy April Fool's Day!
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