There was a very interesting article in the New York Post last week. Honestly, all the articles in the New York Post are interesting, even the ones that are true. Anyway, a college professor somewhere out in the middle of the country conducted an experiment in which he ate nothing but things like chips and Twinkies and donuts for a full thirty days. He kept his calorie count to 1800 calories a day and lost twenty pounds. His good cholesterol improved, his bad went down, and he feels great. I don't think I really need to waste my time reading or researching anything more on the subject to persuade me that this diet regimen is tailor made for me.
I do think I need to print the article out and laminate it, so that I can pull it out when people start talking to me about health and nutrition. I get really bored when people discuss those things, so bored in fact that I usually become agitated, and the agitation leads to me wanting to locate the closest fast food restaurant and stuff my face with fatty foods and sugary beverages. Do you think this is a sign of immaturity?
It's not the topic of health that I find dull, it's the unsolicited relaying of it to me, as though I'm some sort of moron who can't find these things out on my own. I sound bitter, don't I? I know. I'm trying hard to work on this. The truth is, I am quite a pleasant person and hardly ever snap at anyone when I am annoyed with them (unless I can be absolutely sure of never seeing them again.) I usually just smile and nod my head and then call my trusted, loyal husband and tell him of my irritations. His sage advice is always the same - "Cut 'em outta your life, you don't need that nonsense." I don't follow this advice, of course, as it would lead to having no friends, but it is refreshing and makes me glad that I married a man and not a woman. Men are very to the point and direct. None of the nonsense of worrying and wondering about other's feelings and definitely no ruminating over whether people are mad at you. Just do what you have to do and move on.
Speaking of marrying men, I was talking to someone last week and you know how people sometimes say they married their best friend? Well, I've never said that. My best friend happens to be a woman named Sue and since neither one of us is a lesbian I could not, in good conscience, marry her. By the way, I have nothing against lesbians. They really don't bother me unless they hit on me, but I wouldn't get anymore annoyed with that than I would if a man hit on me (unless the man was Jon Hamm - yum, hamm - Jon Hamm!)
Relax, I'm joking and merely trying to amuse myself. I'm sure writing a post wherein I spend time trying to amuse myself by talking about how I lust after a certain man constitutes some sort of sin, but I'm covered there as I plan on going to Reconciliation over the weekend. By the way, I much prefer calling it Confession, but that is another topic for another post.
I guess the best friend thing is just a matter of semantics for me. My husband is my husband and my best friend is my best friend and I never thought much about it until the matter was brought up. I do think Greg deserves the title of best friend as he is the person who has most patiently endured living with me and all of my little irritations, plus he happens to know when I've had enough of something/somebody and always comes to my rescue just when I need it most. By rescue I mean he starts making jokes about the matter that no one else but me would find amusing. Isn't that is how you know someone is your best friend?
Now onto two very important matters, because frankly this post is starting to bore me, so I can only imagine what it is doing to my readers. Happy Birthday to my non-spousal best friend, Sue. And also, Happy 45th Anniversary to my parents, who never referred to one another as best friends, but who definitely continue to patiently endure each other.