Not To Be Trusted With Knives

{November 12, 2008}   I admit it. I like Nickelback.

Apparently, at least according to the radio station I listen to most, no one will admit to liking Nickelback1, but yet somehow their songs always do really well.  Well, I’m here to admit to a dirty little secret.  I like Nickelback.  With the notable exceptions of Rockstar2 and Photograph3.

Here’s their latest song, Something in Your Mouth.  (And yes, it’s exactly like it sounds).

I mean, I know that the lyrics are stupid. (Seriously, if you saw a girl in a club dancing around sucking on her thumb, wouldn’t you be concerned for her? Like, you’d check to see if she was having a brain hemorrhage or something?) And I don’t even know what “if Hollywood hadn’t caught her she’d be gunnin for ya holler” means. Seriously, can someone help me out on that?4

But the tune is catchy. And it makes me want to dance.  And to gun for ya holler. Come on.
1zomg, Nickelback’s site makes me angry. Apparently you can only access one page for their site right now, a giant ad for their new album with links to buy it on iTunes, Amazon & WalMarta. All the other links to their site return an error message. Even though they have a little site map (I think that’s what it’s called) when you Google them, all the links there = FAIL. Nickelback make Beth angry.
    azomg, I hate Nickelback’s site. I wrote most of this blog posting yesterday and what I wrote above was true. And now that I’m finishing the blog posting, I went back to the site and now it’s different. Still can’t get to the lyrics page, so it’s still a FAIL. But it’s making me look like a liar.
2That song makes me want to puncture my own eardrums so that I never have to hear it again.
3I think Dave says all that needs to be said about Photograph.
4At least, that’s what the majority of lyrics sites claim the fourth line of the song saysb. One site listed it as “if Hollywood had called her she’d be gone before ya had her,” which at seems to make more sense, although when you listen to the song, it really doesn’t sound like that’s what they are saying.
    bAnd since Nickelback’s freaking site is pooched right now, I can’t consult *their* lyric page to find out for sure.


At last! Someone has combined two of my biggest pet peeves – pointless, annoying Facebook apps and ridiculous spelling errors!

All they needed to do was make this “Is spiders and the Calgary Flames really ment to be yours?” and it would be perfect.

Name and profile pic have been blurred to protect the annoying.

</Monday morning bitching>

Also, my apologies for not posting this week’s installment of my prime ministerial series, which I know you are all dying to read, yesterday. I blame (a) too much exam marking this weekend, and (b) my first hockey game of the spring season¹. I’ll try to get it up posted tonight, although I have a nerd meeting to go to, so we’ll see.

¹The game, which was an exhibition game, ended tied 2-2.

{April 17, 2008}   D’oh!

I get into the office this morning at 8:30 a.m. Turn on my computer. Open my Outlook¹ and a message pops up, reminding me that I registration for the workshop I was supposed to be at started half an hour ago. A workshop downtown. And I, as you’ll recall from 3 sentences ago, am in my office. Which is not downtown.


Fortunately, I was able to get a cab to come to get me and whisk me downtown pretty quickly, so I only missed the first few minutes of the first session, but boy did I feel stupid! Why hadn’t I put that workshop in my Palm Pilot calendar? Or set the Outlook reminder to remind me yesterday before I went home, instead of for this morning?

¹Yes, I use an evil Microsoft product. Not by choice.

{April 7, 2008}   Hockey Tournament Recap

This is our goalie, Megs, at dinner on our first night in Vegas. Her shirt (and she had those shirts made up for everyone on the team because she *totally friggin’ rocks*!) pretty much sums up our weekend at the Lady Luck Cup hockey tournament in Las Vegas.

Highlights of the trip:

  • the U.S. border guard who asked us to explain what a “hockey tournament” is. Seriously.
  • these randoms from Ottawa who met some of our team on the Thursday night showed up to watch our game on Saturday morning. Apparently when it’s 6 a.m. and you are still in the casino after a night of drinking and gambling an idea like “hey, we should go watch those girls play hockey!” sounds like such a good idea that you wake your friends up and drag them off to the arena. Unfortunately, these dudes ended up at the wrong arena¹ and after a $100+ cab ride trying to find the arena, they showed up after our game had ended. We let them ride back to the Strip on the bus with us² and I’m sure that at this very moment, they are bragging to all their friends “… and then we were on the bus with a hockey team full of hot chicks!”
  • Speaking of $100+ cab rides, one of our players accidentally paid $109 for a $10 cab ride by mistaking a $100 for a $1 bill³. She more than made up for it, though, by winning $2300 on friggin’ slot machines!
  • The buffet at Paris was so ridiculously awesome. Crème brûlée4 to die for!
  • Picture this: there’s about 2 minutes left in our first game, we are down like 9-0 and our one an only fan yells out at the top of his lungs, “There’s plenty of time left!”
  • Apparently the other teams in the tournament, all of whom were from Canada btw5, went to Vegas to actually play hockey. We, however, thought the competition had more to do with maximizing the consumption of alcohol containing beverages while minimizing the number of hours slept. Thus, things like going to the arena, putting on our gear or moving in such a way as would result in skating-like motions/stick handling/shooting pucks anywhere near the opposing team’s net were not among our favourite events of the weekend. Some of our more stellar moves in the tournament included:
    • when our two defenceman were fighting over who had to go and get the puck: “No, you go and get it.” “No, YOU go and get it.”
    • the defenceman who would just stand and wave at the other team as they went by on a breakaway. Buh-bye!
    • the way the goalie would break out into laughter every time the other team scored. She was to explain later that her thought process was something like this: “Oh hey, there goes a puck. Wait, I was supposed to stop that, wasn’t I?”
  • At the Shark Reef Aquarium at Mandalay Bay5 they let me touch a stingray!

Lowlights of the trip:

  • Nuh uh! What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, so you aren’t getting any of the good dirt from me here!

I’m relatively certain that I’m forgetting a tonne of other things (some of which I’m not even intentionally leaving out to protect the, uh, innocent), but I’m way exhausted and must go to sleep RIGHT NOW! If I remember anything else of note, I’ll post an update. Srsly, must sleep now!

¹Who knew that Vegas had more than one arena. Or, as they like to call them, “ice centres.”
²Which may or may not have been because they bought us a couple of cases of beer.
³Stupid American money that all looks the same!
4No relation to Gilbert.
5Seriously, we went to Vegas to play teams from BC and Alberta. There was a team from Saskatchewan in the women’s division, but we didn’t play them.
6Check out my photos from the Aquarium, including some person dipping their 5-year-old into the tank to touch the sting rays, here.

{October 24, 2007}   Trying Another One On For Size

In response to this morning’s posting, Dave did waaaaaay too much work sifting through my old blog postings not to use one of his suggestions for a new blog title. And seeing as how I just sliced the hell out of my thumb making dinner tonight, I laughed my ass off at the thought of naming my blog “Not To Be Trusted With Knives.1” And seeing as the point of this blog, as far as I can tell, is to amuse myself, let’s go with that and see how it works out.

1For reference, this is the blog posting to which this title refers.

{October 17, 2007}   Now I have two, two ouchies!
So I come home from Third Tuesday last night and, realizing that a Bellini and a few nachos do not a dinner make1, I decide to cook some pizza. Now, since I lack a proper oven mitt2, I took the pizza out of the oven using a dish towel. A very thin dish towel. And when I discover3 that it’s rather hot and going to burn me through said dish towel, what do I do? I touch the damn cookie sheet with the index finger of my other hand, like as if I’m going to grab it with my bare hand because it’s too hot to hold with a dish towel. Ya, that’s right, skin directly on metal.

So now I have a burnt index finger to go with middle finger that I slammed the door on the day before. I think I may have burnt my fingerprint right off my finger. I’m now contemplating going on a crime spree in which I commit said crimes with only my left index finger, since they won’t be able to get any prints.

So, yes, now I have two, two ouchies! The Count would be proud.

In a tangentially related story, when we were little, my sister was afraid to go in the basement because she believed the Count, who she was afraid of, lived in the drier in the laundry room. Which is funny, because it would have made more sense to be afraid of those things that really did live in the basement.

1For the record, I was planning to get something to eat, but the people at 3T were too fascinating and I got all caught up in conversations and didn’t get around to actually ordering any food.
2Note to self: put “oven mitt” on Christmas wish list.
3I say “discover” like I really didn’t know that when taking a cookie sheet out of a 450 degree oven the cookie sheet is going to be, well, 450 degrees.

{October 16, 2007}   I have an ouchy

You know what is a really good way to take your mind off your injured foot?

Slam the door on your finger. Don’t just close it, but really slam it good and hard. Seriously.

{October 9, 2007}   Limpy

So apparently you really are supposed to train for a half marathon.

Yes, once upon a time, I registered to run the half at the Royal Victoria Marathon under the mistaken assumptions that:

(a) registering and (b) announcing to the blogosphere that I have registered should be sufficient motivation to get me up off my butt and back into running.

Note to self: the above assumptions are incorrect. Two weddings (and all the associated events), a softball league, wisdom teeth extraction and my general delinquency this summer all combined to give me sufficient excuses to not train adequately. And by “adequately” I mean “at all.” But I registered, dammit, and I was going to run come hell or high water.

Another incorrect assumption was my belief that carrying one’s CareCard with them during events in which they have the potential to become injured will protect them from injury. As it turns out, carrying one’s CareCard only prevents injuries of the severity that require use of said CareCard. Injuries that don’t quite require medical attention are fair game.

Also, when someone says something like “If you injure a foot, Beth, make sure it’s the left one. I’ve injured my right foot, so if you injure your left, we can drive Lauren’s car together – you on the gas and me on the clutch – if Lauren happens to injure herself” is just tempting fate.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. First things first. I should tell you about how we were 15 minutes late starting the race. There were 6 of us staying at my old roommie1 Dani’s new place in Victoria. Another lesson learned on this trip: 30 minutes is not nearly enough time to get 6 people up, dressed, fed and out the door for a race. But the time we arrived, the start line looked like this:


Just a few volunteers standing around. The thousands of people running the half marathon – long gone.

Figuring “thank goodness for chip time!” we took a quick photo and headed out:

Jo, Dani, Sheila, me, Lauren & Tim.

Well, Dani and I headed out. Tim went in search of the bag check to leave his jacket before he started, Jo and Sheila, who were going to run the 8K2 rather than the half marathon went in search of its start line and Lauren, who ran the full marathon which didn’t start for another 45 minutes, went with J & S. We ran 3 km before we caught up with the slowest of the half marathon walkers, that’s how far behind we were. And we were reported by the cops… as we ran past one of the cops stationed along the route to control traffic we heard him say into his walkie-talkie “10-4, I’ve got two runners coming along here.” I said to Dani, “They are onto us! Quick, run!” Hee hee.. running humour.

Around about the time we caught up with the walkers, I told Dani to go on ahead of me. I’m not nearly as fast as her and knew if I continued to try to keep up with her, it would spell trouble, so she went off on her way and I continued to run at my slower pace. The route was very pretty, going through Beacon Hill and then out at a road along the water. My body started to realized that I was really, truly going to make it keep running and, for a while, seemed OK with this decision. Then a pain showed up in my left foot, but it decided to try out my right foot to see if it preferred that location, and next transferred itself to both my knees simultaneously, followed by my lower back. A slight headache showed up, but I’m pretty sure that was because they had very poorly spaced water stations and I was getting a bit dehydrated. I grabbed two cups of water at the next water station, and then found there there was another water station very soon after. Weird. Finally, the pain decided it liked my left foot best out of all the places it had tried out and took up permanent residence there. At first I figured it would go away as it had before and kept running. When it firmly stood its ground, I decided that perhaps a 2 minute walk (instead of my usual 1 min walk for every 10 minutes of running) would help. It did not. Finally, around about the 15 km mark I asked myself, “Is it worth continuing to run on this foot that is clearly unhappy about being run on and risking a more serious injury that could put you out of hockey?” Once I phrased it that way, I knew what I had to do. I had to walk, or rather limp, the last 6 km of the race. After all, any form of exercise that isn’t hockey is just off-ice conditioning, in my opinion. And so I limped. And limped. And limped. I limped so much that my right hip and ankle started to hurt from overcompensation. And yet I continued to limp. Because really, what else are you going to do? I certainly wasn’t injured enough to stop at the medical stop (although I did think about it) and I had to get to the finish line, where my friends would be waiting for me.

As I continued on my way, I started to resent the volunteers who were positive, cheering on the runners and walkers with a “good job!” When I ran the Vancouver half, I found these cheers to be really motivating, but as I limped along, berating myself for not having trained more, all I could think is “You people are so insincere! I’m not doing a good job! I’m doing a terrible job!!” A few volunteers along the way did seem to notice my limp and the grimace that I’m sure was on my face and gave me a sympathetic smile and that was muchly appreciated.

In the end, I hobbled over the finish line, got my medal and, surprisingly, found my friends who had finished a half hour before me. And that was the end of the race I never should have run!

My plan now, as I sit here icing my feet4, is to take a small break from running. I may do the occasional run if the mood strikes me once my feet are healed, but winter is time to focus on hockey and skiing. Come the new year, I’ll start thinking about the Scotiabank half marathon, which happens in June. But I’m going to train for it. No really, I’ve learned my lesson!

1Firefox’s spellcheck tells me that “roommie” is not a word, but suggests that I actually mean “commie” here.
2I say “were going to” because they didn’t, in the end, get to run. As it turns out, the start line for the 8K (which started at the same time as the half) was already taken down by this point.
4I’m icing my left foot, which was the main injury, and my right ankle, which feels strained from having limped on it for 6 km, as well as everywhere else I’ve had to walk since then. My feet are the thermostat to my body however, so making them cold is making the rest of me cold too, despite being in my warm bed with two blankets and a warm laptop on top of me!

{August 20, 2007}   Name My Gadgets

Anthropomorphizing1 my iPod and my Palm Treo in yesterday’s blog posting got me to thinking… I really should name them. My iPod and my Palm Treo, I mean.

Do you have any good ideas for what I should call them? The only rule is that you can’t use Vancouver Canucks player names. I have some other, um, electronics that I’ve named after Canucks.

1or would that be technopomorphizing?

{July 7, 2007}   7/7/7

While not as exciting, imho, as 6/6/6, today is 7/7/7. So happy 7/7/7 all y’all.

And to all those couples who are getting married today because they think it will bring their marriage good luck… um, good luck?

OK, now I’m off to a Jack & Jill for Erika & Paul (that sounds really weird… shouldn’t it be called an Erika & Paul?) at a cabin somewhere out near Mission. And I’m supposed to be getting ready instead of blogging. Stupid half year resolution! I’m outta here!

I was talking to my sister today and she was telling me about how she really wants an iPhone, but she is hestitant to get one when they come out since she is “dropper of all things valuable.” I think this trait must be genetic, because I am also a DoATV. I drop my iPod on a regular basis (thank dog for the protective rubber case I have on it). I’ve dropped my digital camera a couple of times (always onto my carpeted floor though, so it’s been ok so far). I even dropped my beloved new phone on the bus the other day (can anyone say “heart attack”?)! And then tonight, I broke the pot for my coffeemaker! Now, that might not seem to meet the V requirement of DoATV, especially when you consider that I had partially melted the handle of that pot in a previous episode of airheadedness, wherein I had left it sitting on the oven and then turned on the wrong burner1 when I went to cook something, resulting in fire and melted plastic all over the stove. And so the handle was only very tenuously attached to the pot itself and I was pretty sure that I would one day spill a pot full of boiling hot coffee all over myself. So really, it’s probably better that I knocked the pot off the pile of dishes in the dish drying rack, as opposed to getting third-degree burns over significant portions of my body. However, it does leave me in a bit of a predicament. I have a perfectly good coffeemaker, but no pot in which to make said coffee. What’s a girl to do? Can you replace the coffee pot? I mean, you’d need to get the exact right model, or it wouldn’t fit. But do they sell just the coffee pot part? If so, where? It would seem quite environmentally unfriendly to trash a perfectly good coffeemaker and get a new one just because you went and smashed the pot. People of the internets, I need your help! What do I do??

Also, on the topic of my airheadedness, I lost my key no fewer than once per day for the last three days. On Sunday I went for a run and so I had taken my key off the keychain to carry it in this little wrist band keyholder thing I have. I returned home from my run, absentmindedly put my key down and went about my day without thinking about it again until I went out. At that point, I checked my purse to make sure I had my keychain, which I did. But I had forgotten that the key was not attached to the key chain. So I locked myself out. Had to borrow the landlords’s key to get back in. Spent hours looking for my key. Which turned out to be sitting underneath my laptop the entire time. *Sigh*

Oh man, it’s so late right now. I’m up way past my bedtime. I have to be up in five and a half hours. And, of course, I won’t be able to make myself any coffee in the morning!! Arrgh!

1I constantly, despite my best efforts to avoid it, turn the wrong burner on. If I want to turn the front burner on, 9 times of out 10 I’ll turn the back burner on. I believe I suffer from stove dyslexia.

This delightful piece of spam somehow escaped my spam filter and ended up in my inbox. I usually just ignore things like this, that are obviously spam, but for some reason I read this one and couldn’t help but laugh:

Dear Sir/Madam,

RBC Financial Group always looks forward for the high security of our clients. Some customers have been receiving an email claiming to be from RBC Financial Group advising them to follow a link to what appear to be a RBC Financial Group web site, where they are prompted to enter their personal Online Banking details. RBC Financial Group is in no way involved with this email and the web site does not belong to us.

RBC Financial Group is proud to announce about their new updated secure system. We updated our new SSL servers to give our customers a better, fast and secure online banking service.

Due to the recent update of the servers, you are requested to please update your account info at the following link.

RBC Financial Group
Security Advisor
RBC Financial Group

The spammers have now taken to trashing spammers in their spam. And you just know some people get this email and thought, “Ya, it’s about time the bank warned us about spammers trying to get us to go to false websites where they steal our banking info! Now I’m going to click on this link and type in all my banking info! That’ll show you, spammers!”

For the record, that’s not actually a link there… I took out the link and just made it blue & underlined… those spammers will be getting no link love from the likes of me!

Now that I’m gainfully employed, not only do I have to get up before noon, but I also have to wear something other than jeans & a T-shirt or my PJs. And since I have this complex wherein I believe that no one will take me seriously because I’m so short, I dress up in business attire for work to try to appear more like a professional and less like a kid. Which means heels. And nylons. Today, I have a bone to pick with nylons.

This is the size chart for a typical pair of nylons:

Do you notice anything funny about the sizing? Why the f is there no size “A” in nylons?? There’s B, C and D… but no “A”! I fall within what would be the “A” category if there was one. Basically, this means that, unless I gain 20+ lbs*, it is impossible for me to get nylons that will actually fit me. And if they had called the smallest available size “A” instead of calling it “B,” I might have said, “OK, I’m just an abnormally short person.” But they didn’t. They called the smallest available size “B” – it’s pretty much like they are saying “we know that there are people smaller than those for whom we are willing to make nylons – this is implied in the “A” category that we haven’t included – but we just don’t want to make nylons for you “A” people. Suck it, shorty!”

Why am I so pissed off about nylons you ask? Because I inevitably rip every pair of nylons I ever own, because they are always too big for me and I’m constantly having to pull them up, whereupon they rip. And so I spend a stupid amount of money buying friggin’ nylons. And I don’t have a lot of money because, despite being gainfully employed, most of my money is going to be going to pay off my student loans!

Speaking of which, that’s the other thing that pissed me off today. As you may recall, I had gone into the bank on the weekend to try to get info on paying back my loans, but they couldn’t get through on the phone to their own student loan centre, so they arranged to call me back once they had talked to the student loan centre. Here’s a list of the things that pissed me off in this transaction, in chronological order:

  • I get to my office after a meeting and there is a message from the bank to call them back. I call back and am asked, “Are you aware that we have a special account manager for health care professionals?” I’m pretty sure they asked me this because when they left a message on my voice mail, they heard that I’m “Dr. Beth.” I explained that I’m a Ph.D., not an M.D., but then I asked why health care professional get their own special account manager – do they get some special perks? “Health care professionals are very busy and can’t always come in during bank hours, so they have an account manager who can provide service for them.” Now, this strikes me as elitist. I have nothing against health care professionals, but other people are busy too!
  • I am then informed that the bank’s student loan centre didn’t have my updated addres, so I have to call them to tell them my new address. “Wait,” I say, “You have my correct address, but you don’t give it to your student loan centre? I’m supposed to tell them separately?” How was I supposed to know that? It’s the same bank, just a different office! And she was talking to them on the phone, why couldn’t she just tell them my new address??
  • I am also informed that she can give me an estimate of how much I will have to pay per month for Ontario student loans and how much for Canada student loans, but she can’t tell me how much I need to pay on each of the individual accounts (you may recall that I have 14 separate loans with the bank, because that’s how they handed out the student loan money – 2 or 3 separate loans per term). “Wait,” I say, “I’m expected to make 14 separate transactions every single month? Why can’t they all be put together?” “I don’t know,” she tells me, “You’ll have to call the student loan centre to find out what they can do.”
  • So I call the bank’s student loan centre. Somehow they have my updated phone number, but not my updated address. How is it possible that they got the new phone number, but not the new address? I mean, I got the new phone number on the exact same day as the new address! I know that I have never called the bank’s student loan centre ever before, so they had to have gotten my new phone number from the regular part of the bank… why didn’t they get my address too?
  • The person I talked to at the student loan centre seemed completely unaware of how student loans work, how they are to be paid off or what the loan forgiveness program is. She was unable to tell me if I have to make 14 individual payments every single month or not, and the totals she gave me for my Ontario and Canada student loans do not match what it says in my account on the OSAP website, nor do they match the numbers listed in my online banking. And from the length of time it took her to calculate these numbers, I’m pretty sure quantum mechanics were involved, which may explain why nothing in this whole situation makes sense.

*for the record, I am NOT going to gain 20 lbs for the sole purpose of being able to have nylons that fit me.

Of late, I seem to be having trouble in the safe operation of the simple kitchen knife. And I have no fewer than three self-inflected knife wounds on my hands from the last two days. One of which spontaneously started bleeding on the bus today (and, of course, I did not have a band-aid on me. An iPod, a notebook, a travel mug, an umbrella, several pens, a book – all these things were at my disposal, but band-aids, not so much).

Now, you might be wondering, “didn’t she learn after the first time that she should be more careful? or after the second time??” I’m a scientist people! We require replication to have any confidence in anything!

Hypothesis: cutting your hand hurts.
Replications: 3.
Conclusion: I accept the hypothesis (p < 0.05*).

*sorry. The nerd in me required a statistical analysis, albeit a completely made up one.

OK, so it’s not totally crazy. For example, it’s not as crazy as making your life a Choose Your Own Adventure where your blog readers get to vote on things you do in life so that you end up showing up to a blogging conference in a dragon costume, like so:

So, I’m not that crazy. The crazy undertaking of which I speak is that, starting tomorrow, I am following the Food Guide. For a month. And recording everything I eat. Danielle and another friend of ours, Sheila, who is also in the Dietetics program, have decided to do this since, as dietitians, they will be telling people to follow the Food Guide, so they really should see what it is like to do it themselves. And I, as usual, am tagging along for the ride. I even made my own personalized Food Guide (.pdf), using some of my favourite foods as examples (you can play along at home and make your own personalized Food Guide by going to the Health Canada site). As a female, age 19-30*, I am allowed the following number of servings in a day:

And “Food Guide Servings” are a heck of a lot smaller than what you or I usually think of as a serving. For example, one English muffin = 2 servings. 50g (or 1.5 oz) of cheese (that’s a piece of cheese about the size of your thumb) = 1 serving. And 6 spears of asparagus = 1 serving**. And for you meat eaters, 1/2 cup of meat = 1 serving – that’s just 125 mL or 2.5 oz of beef!

The plan is to record everything we eat and try to actually consume the recommended number of servings. Now, the amount of food that the Food Guide allows us looks like it is going to be a fair bit less than what we usually eat – not overly surprising, seeing as how the Food Guide is meant for the “average Canadian” and I’m pretty sure that training for a half marathon is slighty more activity than the “average Canadian” gets… not to mention the fact that, compared to Danielle & Sheila (who regularly run half marathons, are training for a triathalon, are hardcore utli players and bike to school every day) I look like a sedentary couch potato. So, we’ve decided that if we do, indeed, end up eating more servings than the Food Guide recommends, we’ll try to make those from the Fruit & Veg group. Danielle & I made up booklets in which to easily record all this and I dug through my many boxes of dishes to find my extra sets of measuring cups, as I think we’ll be doing a lot of measuring to figure out how many servings of things we’ll be getting. As well, I’m sure that we’ll be consuming things not included in the Food Guide***, and those things will be recorded and duly noted as well. The point is not necessarily to follow the Guide rigidly (as it is a guide, not a hard and fast program – and we nutritional scientists are fond of saying “things are OK in moderation!”), but to get a sense of how easy or difficult it is to follow the Guide.

As I’m sure you are all *dying* to know how this goes, I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

*I better enjoy this year, as next year I enter the 31-50 age range (omg, how depressing is that!) and I’m only allowed 7 servings of Fruit & Veg and 6 servings of Grain Products! That’s TWO less servings of food every single day! =(

*um, wtf? Who the hell only eats 6 spears of asparagus???

*** coffee, Diet Pepsi, sweet sweet alcohol, I’m looking in your direction

et cetera