Neanderpundit

that people have no idea what decent food is.

Just got back from my first postop meeting with the nutritionists- a group meeting, with about seven postop patients, and three preop hopefuls.

The nutritionist made several comments about food choices and etc, that were downright asinine- but that doesn’t surprise me, nutritionists for the most part have all the sense god gave possums.

On the other hand, when people in the groups suggested certain things, like eating foods we enjoy but which are on the ‘forbidden” list, she made noises that I thought were reminiscent of Chef’s succubus girlfriend from South park.

it became readily apparent that she had never had a good tasting meal in her life- she brought in some sugar free fat free pasteurized process salad dressing- said “it’s the best thing I ever tasted!” I smelled it, and thought it was shit. After tasting it, I’m confident I would have preferred shit.

This woman had obviously never had a decent meal in her life, and was trying to explain to a bunch of people who knew how to enjoy food, how much we should be eating like her.

Sorry, lady. You go out and eat my mom’s cooking for a year, and you’ll be lining up for bariatric surgery too.

when you step out of bed and find a moist, cold cat hairball. With your bare feet. When you walk into the bathroom and you sneeze, thwacking your head against the marble windowsill, and biting both your tongue and your cheek as you do. When you get three quarters of the way through your shower and while using the handheld showerhead on “pulse” while hosing your nads off, give yourself an involuntary and unexpected accidental enema. Then having to clench while rinsing the soap out of your hair. Then having to sit on the john wet and shit like a bird. Then using wet hands to wipe, and poking your finger through the paper. Then having to re-shower to get clean again. Then accidentaly leaning against the clean-shower thing and getting sprayed with Scrubbing Bubbles. Then showering AGAIN to get the scrubbing bubbles off you. Then chasing the dog around the house to retrieve your now-saliva-soaked last clean pair of underwear.

Yep, you know it’s gonna be a bad day. But hey, the bad ones help us appreciate the good ones, huh?

UPDATE: and a BAD DAY CAN ONLY GET WORSE when you have friends who do THIS to you.

Now excuse me: I must go blend my brain to make the bad image go away.