Originally posted on Lindsey Out Loud:
(This blog post is dedicated to my fellow EpiPen-carrying, ingredient-label-loving, cafeteria-fearing FOOD ALLERGY SURVIVORS!)
HAPPY “NATIONAL PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY” DAY!
So, I’m not sure when today became a national holiday…but April 2nd has now officially de-throned Halloween as the hardest day to have a life-threatening allergy to peanuts.
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A few months ago I was faced with the brutal, yet honest truth: my parents are in better cardiovascular shape than I am.
They can bike, and jog, and jump and zumba…I can make pizza out of just about anything.
Their weeks are incomplete without numerous trips to the gym…My weeks are incomplete without numerous trips to the CVS candy aisle.
They’re not far from their second thirtieth birthdays…I’m not far from 24.
Needless to say, their fitness habits haven’t rubbed off on me.
It’s not that I don’t want to maintain a healthy life-style, I just have a slight addiction to delicious food and hate the gym more than Obama hates Fox News.
But last night, a miracle occurred.
When I was in high school, I often rocked an awkward hairstyle that my friends referred to as, “The Hipchick bun.”
(Long story short: “Hipchick”was my nickname because “Hipchick1812″ had been my AOL screen-name since third grade. Yes…third grade. And the “bun” was my method of bunching my long, curly hair into a giant, fluffy bird’s nest on the top of my forehead.)
The look was far from stylish or “feminine,” but I wore it that way because I always found my hair to be a serious distraction.
I couldn’t stand the way it felt on my neck and shoulders. I hated how it got in my face and blinded me like a shaggy-dog. If it was down, all I wanted to do was put it back behind me in a pony-tail and get it out of the way.
Luckily, as a fourteen-year-old sitting in biology class, it was perfectly acceptable to wear my hair in any manner I pleased. But let’s fast-forward nine years… Read the rest of this entry
Hi. How are you doing today? My guess is that you’ve seen better days.
It can’t be fun to be held responsible for the shutdown of the federal government.
It can’t be fun to know that congress approval ratings have plummeted to a historic low.
But don’t worry; I’m not here to write an uninformed angry blog post. There’s enough of that on the Internet as it is.
But I am here to do something crazy.
I know that the chances of you reading this letter are slim, and the chances of you listening to me are even slimmer – but hey! The federal government is already shut down. What do you have to lose?
If I have your attention, try this out:
For those of you who don’t know, Rosh Hashanah marks the start of the Jewish High Holy Days and the Jewish New Year!
It’s a day marked with age-old traditions.
Traditions like eating apples dipped in honey to symbolize a sweet new year….
Traditions like baking challah that is round – (instead of braided) – to represent the cyclical nature of a year…
And of course…
Traditions like the blowing of the shofar.
When I was in 7th grade, I made the mistake of watching the horror film, “The Ring.”
Throughout the entire movie, I squeezed my friend’s hand, covered my eyes, and yelled “Make it stop!” “I can’t watch!” “I CAN’T!”
And tonight, I found myself uttering these very words all over again.
Only this time, I wasn’t in a dark theater watching a psycho-thriller. I was on my own couch, in my own apartment, watching episodes 1 and 2 of Bravo‘s new series, “Princesses: Long Island.”
When the world inevitably stops watching the Krazy Kardashian Klan discuss which sister’s vagina smells better after guzzling pints of pineapple juice – (I kid you not, this was the plot of an entire episode) – the ‘k’ringe-worthy family will lose their contract with E! and be willing to do anything……ANYTHING…to remain relevant.
They’ll remove their (1,000 layers of) makeup.
They’ll kiss their mega-mansions goodbye.
And they’ll be shipped to a deserted island in the middle of the ocean…cut off from the rest of the world and forced to survive amongst the island’s natural resources.
No food. No shelter. No plastic surgeons.
Just the Kardashians…some sand…and a dozen hidden cameras.
INTRODUCING….STRANDED ON A DESERTED ISLAND WITH THE KARDASHIANS!
They’ve jumped out of our magical VHS tapes and landed in a world far more dangerous than the one created by Disney.
A world so alarming…so gruesomely terrifying that no fire-breathing dragon, no Ursula, no wicked-witch could EVER stand a chance.
The world I’m talking about of course is… HOLLYWOOD.