Farty McBland

Six days into the Elimination Diet. Or should I say one? I keep accidentally stuffing it up by not reading ingredients labels properly, so I’m not sure if one mouthful of a banned substance means I need to start again. At this rate forget ten days, I’m going to be on this thing till Christmas.

So what’s it like? Well, I’m sure we’ve all watched enough episodes of The Biggest Loser to know that for the first few days of any diet you’re mostly losing water right? What? Isn’t the television where you learn everything about life too? If the number of trips to the loo are any indication, it seems I’m losing the Indian Ocean. Middle of the night peeing used to be because I’d had too much Jack Daniels, now it’s because I’ve had too much Apple and Elderflower juice. That’s not cool, that’s just embarrassing.

Among an endless and varying list of no-no’s (depending on whose version of the diet you follow) I’m not allowed to have yeast, dairy, corn, eggs, beef, potatoes, onions or garlic, so ingredient checking has become my new hobby and I pretty much have to clear a whole afternoon to go to the supermarket. As a by-product of this new hobby I think I may have figured out why so many people develop a yeast intolerance these days. Have you got any idea how many things in the supermarket have yeast in them? 134,987. Trust me, I’ve checked. Or if there’s no yeast, there’s potato starch or corn starch or maize starch, the latter which I learnt on day three’s stuff up, as I quickly spat out the Mango chutney, is bloody corn too. Arrrgghhh, why didn’t I know that? Why don’t we learn these things in school? Scrap Pythagoras and throw in some nutrition will ya? Except for poly-amorous couples, I’m yet to meet anyone obsessed with triangles. Continue reading

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The Design Experiment

The only designer piece I’ve ever owned came into my life today. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I managed to get my hands on an original, straight off the rack, one of only half a billion ever produced, special edition JPG soft drink cans.

I didn’t quite know what to do with him. I mean it’s designer, it’s high fashion, it’s probably had lunch with Madonna. I wanted it to feel relaxed, comfortable, in familiar surrounds you know? So I chucked Jean Paul in the closet. Stupid idea. Just awkward.

If I’d thought about it properly I would have realised how silly it was, I mean Jean Paul’s probably not been in a closet since the 70’s. So after some wrangling with the door people, I managed to get him a spot on the biggest shelf in the fridge. It wasn’t easy. The damn Feta nearly ruined it all by refusing to be parted from the Halloumi.It said it was degrading for the Halloumi to be put back on the shelf once it had reached door status. Bloody elitist salty cheeses!

But it all went wrong there too. The half finished cream confided in me that no matter how nice he tries to be, Jean Paul is just intimidating. He somehow makes the other fridge lodgers feel like supermarket trash, except maybe the cucumber, which is after all the food equivalent of a super model; long, thin and only a couple of calories.

I don’t know what I was thinking… me… designer labels?? Pfffft, no, even my food revolts from being fashionable. Pity though. I can see designer food really taking off and some Prada popcorn would have gone really well with that coke. Then again that would be too easy. If you slapped some poo in a pretty tin and put a designer label on it, millions would buy it and lather it on themselves without a second thought. Faeces for your facies???

But I must give Jean Paul his due. Even if he didn’t cut it in my frigidaire, he did once say “it’s always the badly dressed people who are the most interesting.” You’re alright in my book JPG. You’re alllllll right.

Weird stuff I done seen today #3

I’m the first to admit I’m pretty clueless when it comes to girly things (I only just found out what threading was a couple of months ago) but today I was well and truly gazumped. I snapped this quickly (notice the word quickly – this is to facilitate the thought process that this is such a terrible shot for a reason) from one of those beauty shop place thingos that most females like to empty their purses in.

Now I know what a Brazilian is and I know what a blow dry is, but if you put the two words together like that, I have no idea what the bloody hell you’re on about. I mean, once you’ve had a Brazilian, if they have the slightest clue what they’re doing there aint gonna be anything left there to blow dry. For some reason my first impression was that it was a kind of gangster slang, like Glasgow Grin, but I doubt you’d be able to advertise something like that so blatantly in the window. Maybe a small flyer in the back, yes, but the window???

So all the way home I thought about it and here’s the only three things that would make sense to me:

1) It’s ironic slang – it means bald men can have their head waxed there.

2) It’s a normal Brazilian but with the added extra of someone actually blowing on your giney until the pain of the wax strips goes away.

3) It means you come out looking like Gisele…

The exact moment she realises she could really do with landing a Rexona campaign

 

Ode to the tasty buds

It’s about four days till I have to start the elimination diet. There’s no surprises here, it is what it sounds like. You take away everything that could possibly upset your digestion for a while so it’s out of your body and then reintroduce food one at a time to see if you have a negative reaction to it.

To prepare for this monumental deprivation I’m doing what any sane human being would do: eating just about everything I’ve ever put in my mouth “just one last time”, because I know there’s a chance I won’t be able to have it again if it proves to be something tummy can’t handle. Mostly that means my diet this week consists of sugar, alcohol and things I haven’t had in years, so they couldn’t be the source of the problem anyway.By the way, do you know how hard it is to find fairy floss on a whim?

I wish this kind of prep was suitable for other challenges in life. If this is what you did before a marathon I’d be giving Eddie Izard a run for his money. If this is what you did before a wedding, I’d be giving Zsa Zsa Gabor a run for her money. If this is what you did before moving to Adelaide… ahhh… actually, sorry no, silly me, who voluntarily moves to Adelaide. Are you mental?

But I’m not happy Jan. This diet thing doesn’t leave any room for vices. Seriously, man must have one really bad thing in his life, a thing that’s naughty and forbidden and bound to lead to a colostomy bag by middle age. It’s what makes life exciting, what makes you feel like you’re walking on a tightrope instead of being strapped into the kiddy seat of life. If I follow this diet, that’s pretty much everything gone. The only thing left to get a thrill from each day will be picking my nose, but fark, I’m probably intolerant to mucus too. Continue reading

Bloody Burgers and Posh Chips

I like movies. They teach me about the world, about life, about love. “The Princess Bride” taught me that your one true love will always forgive you for pushing him down a hill, “Requiem for A Dream” taught me that diet pills are a great way to get all the housework done. And “Blood Diamond” taught me that white men from Zimbabwe don’t like it when you think they’re South African. So naturally when Kevin Costner taught me that if you build it they will come, I left my job. I left the stable, responsible office job that not only gave me a regular pay cheque but a pretty regular case of the shits too. I decided there was to be no more daily grind for me, I had a plan. I planned to make money doing what I love.

That was six weeks ago, and that statement is about as far as the plan has progressed. I plan to make a living, but I don’t have a clue how. I don’t have an action plan, a business plan, or even a back-up plan for when all my savings dry up. And strangely enough, as much as I enjoy writing on this blog, so far no money has popped out of the disc tray when someone has hit the “like” button.

What I do have is scatterbrain ideas, one of which probably around a billion kazillion people are already doing and won’t make me any money for a long long time. And maybe not even then. But of course I am shrouded under the veil of naivety, conceit and lifelong love of uplifting and preposterous film scripts, so I’m sure my version will be the one in a billion kazillion that is successful. It’s a travel website of sorts, in the vein of Timeout, but cooler, more street, more in the know. Unfortunately I’m not cool or street and I don’t know anything. Continue reading

A chequered past that won’t stop haunting me

Fashion and me don’t get along. We don’t understand each other. It’s like the universe looked at me when i was a baby with my nappies hanging around my knees and granted us a lifetime divorce. Irreconcilable uselessness. So I have no idea why I keep on commenting on fashion when I have no aptitude or expertise on the subject. People who can’t do something well shouldn’t have an opinion right? But then what the hell would anyone ever talk about? We’re drawn to things we’re no good at, like me and fashion, and me and cooking shows and Madonna and acting.

I had to go shopping yesterday. I needed jeans. I only have one pair of jeans and those I bought four years ago. Two gaping knee holes and three crotch patch jobs later (don’t ask) I came to the conclusion they were now costing me more money to keep than it would be to simply buy new ones. Other than public speaking and giant reptiles, shopping is probably my biggest fear. Nothing ever fits, nothing ever looks good and no styles are ever “in” that I like. Why does everything have to have puffy sleeves, or diamontes on the bum and pleats in the front or be skin tight, cropped, jeggings, leggings, tapered, trimmed or friggin shimmering? Give me plain. Give me simple. Give me Amish for god’s sake. Well, actually no, I don’t like their stoopid hats.

So anyway, as if the mere burden of shopping wasn’t enough, the nightmare was made worse by, I swear, every single shop I went into (ok maybe not Boots) having a version of this…

Ahhhhh. WTF? Flannelette shirts are back in? Oh god why??? Why why why must they come back every few years? They’re indestructible. If there ever is an apocolypse, it won’t just be cockroaches roaming the earth, it’ll be cockroaches decked out in flannel. Continue reading