I'm Having Blogger's Block

My husband reminds me that he is a REAL writer because he has TALENT. He sometimes encounters writers' block. But me, the blogger, who writes, uh rather, whines, about having to eat gluten free, is just a blogger. Not a real writer. So, I'm having bloggers' block today because I can't think of something great to write about.

You see, my husband believes that we, in the blogger world, engage in narcissistic rants. Online diaries. Not real writing. Real writers are talented, trained professionals. We bloggers are basically trained seals.



Ah, showbiz, now there's something to write about...

Do not for one minute think that showbiz folks are hip and cool. They aren't. Here's proof. I told my showbiz pals that I started a blog. Here's their responses:

"Wow, that's great. What's a blog?"
"How much did it cost to get this done for you?"
"What are followers?"
"Do I have to COMMENT? DO I HAVE TO USE MY REAL NAME???"

Yes, you have to use your real name so 6 zillion people will start sending you their scripts and resumes. This you see, is their great FEAR. The fear of being discovered. Of being tortured with "can you pleeeeeeezzzzzeee get me a job in showbiz??"

My showbiz pals live in their bubbles. Often behind secure walls with Ivy league secretaries. (They prefer "Assistants," but hey, a rose is a rose, right? Are they not schlepping coffee, rolling calls, taking notes? Why is it so demeaning to be called a Secretary, anyway?)



My showbiz gal pals are skinny and tough. However, I find it amusing that they hide cigarettes and God knows what else, in drawers and sneak puffs on rooftops, in order to maintain and perpetuate the image adhered to by John Molloy's "Dress for Success" disciples.



I'm still unclear about all this; do women have to act like men to survive in showbiz? Or can they be their voluptuous sexy selves? What would men like to work with in the workplace? (Ha-ha this oughtta be interesting!)



Lunches with my skinny girlfriends in showbiz starts and ends with salads. The kind with no dressing, no bacon, no egg, no cheese, no asparagus, no radishes, no anchovies, light on the chicken, but "could we have a little, just a VERY little balsamic vinegar? Oh, but ON the side, please? Oh, and an Arnold Palmer please, but very, very light on the lemonade, almost like an iced tea, but not quite, ya know? Okay? Could you read it back, please?"

Is it any wonder waiters suddenly have tons of fodder for their encyclopedia-like tell all books they are hawking on the morning talk shows now?



I'm especially intrigued with the way my pals EAT salads.

Step one: Dip fork into dressing on the SIDE. Ah, but just a little dip. NOOOO do NOT drench it. Hey, NO drenching the fork!! That's CHEATING.
Step two: Plunge fork quickly into salad while keeping micro drop of dressing ON the fork. (This oughtta be a Reality Show, I swear, "Anorexics on Parade.")
Step three: Now into mouth, but slllooowwwwlllly; you want to enjoy the rich and tart TASTEFULNESS of your delicious salad. --- sans bacon, egg, beans, radishes, peppers, cheese, chicken, dressing....I'm sitting there thinking enjoy WHAT TASTE? What is left in there to TASTE??

Meanwhile, I'm completely intimidated. I'm looking at everyone's salads, including mine, which looks dreadful. They are all eating in unison, step one, step two, and step three. What is wrong with me? I'm dying for a hamburger. A gigantic one with a whole bunch of french fries swimming in a bottle of catsup.



And these gals aren't even suffering from being the "gluten for punishment" newbie that I am, and STILL there is NO bread at this table. The waiter was shoved aside with threats of violence should a basket of bread appear within our zip code.

I'm starving and miserable, however suddenly thoughts of the new gluten free Red Velvet Sprinkles cupcake are invading my brain with excitement and pleasure.



I will soon be free. Free to EAT my heart out. My thoughts are only on the cupcake. Maybe not just one. Maybe two? It's GF free after all...(I know, I know, GF is NOT fat free, I discovered that on the scale...) But after suffering through this lunch, I deserve at least two cupcakes. My loins are on fire, my heart is racing, and I'm already figuring out the fastest route to the nearest Sprinkles.

There's a gal in my locker room at the gym who is clearly anorexic. Her bones protrude everywhere. I'm dying to just force a Whopper down her throat to save her life. I overheard her say, "Everyone thinks I'm anorexic. But, I'm not. I eat like a horse." Really??? I've seen horses eat, and she's no horse. In fact, she probably had a salad for lunch. ...or what is sometimes referred to as a salad....

Healthy Eating Sucks!

Today I’m eating at my very fancy schmanzy country club, amongst my fellow anorexics who daintily eat their finely chopped salads. I’m chowing down a Cobb salad; hold the bacon, cheese, avocado, egg, and wait, what’s left???? Forget it, put them all back in. But dressing on the side. Well, wait, what kinda dressing is it? Creamy…mmmmm, that sounds sooooo good, creammmmy dressing. The word itself adds five pounds. But no, the recently fired Nazi Nutritionist who is still dancing around in my head jerks me into reality and screams, balsamic vinegar! Yuck. Fine, I will drench my woes in tasty tangy vinegar.

The Nazi Nutritionist words continue to batter my brain with things like, “You can’t eat whatever the eff you want anymore. That’s just life. You're older.”



I’m eating alone, with a book in front of me, but who can read when there's such juicy conversation (and hopefully some good gossip) at the next table. Three elderly woman-but please don’t tell them that-because clearly they are in a war with aging.

I carefully and surreptitiously tilt my head in their direction and listen as these women talk giddily about their new plastic surgeons. One gleefully announces that she is in fact 82. The others are flabbergasted drenching her with compliments, adding that she looks 55. Wow. Well, I can’t stand it, I need a FULL view of this “82 is the new 55.”

Our eyes lock and I see a woman’s face with but a few lines, and long straight white hair. Admittedly, she doesn’t look 82. But 55 is a bit of a stretch. Now the conversation turns to...DIET. They speak of their good fortune to be alive and able bodied. But they are STILL watching their caloric intake. At 82. Ugh. (I was planning on tapering off around 70, I figure I’d earned a Big Mac and fries, and could dump the gym by then.)



Thirty long minutes have passed, and I’m famished and trying to ignore the aroma of hot buttery raisin bread at the next table. Finally my salad arrives.

But boy would I like that raisin bread. Nooooooo cracks whip of the Nazi Nutritionist inside my head sharply jerking it around into my glorious salad full of rich and healthy green vegetables. Yuck. What I really want is that darn raisin bread. In fact, my mouth is salivating for it.

But then I see “82 is the new 55” jumping, (literally) out of her seat (due to her personal trainer who trains her every morning; part of my skillful eavesdropping) and out the door with her fellow plastic surgery-ites. I glance over at their half eaten salads, with NO trace of bread or even crumbs on the table. Boy are they disciplined.

Suddenly, my salad is looking a little better.

Truth is YOU CAN lose weight if you really try. Here are three Easy Steps:

• Keep a food diary. I’m not kidding. Try it. It works.
• Remember to enjoy your food. Even a Cobb Salad tastes pretty darn good.
• Plan your meals. If you’re eating out, decide what you want to eat before you get there.

“Overcoming Your Fear of Frying” Great article with recipes about how to bake traditional fried foods. http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/02/19/beyond-french-fries

Day One of My Eating Blog

I just fired my Nazi nutritionist. I couldn't do it. I couldn't live in a world of deprivation. I can't resist a cupcake, chocolate cake, a snickers bar, oh and did I mention cotton candy? I'm hopeless. I will forever be FAT!!....NO, this photo is not ME....YET.


EVERYONE has an idea, a plan, a diet to share with me. And I appreciate that, but trust me, I've tried them all. But today I'm really gonna try and start to lose, well, let's be conservative: 10 pounds. I mean how hard can THAT be, right? Ha-ha. And, I'm going to try this monumental effort on my own, without my Nazi nutritionist telling me perhaps I need a "sugar cleanse." Gonna start with shedding ten pounds and then we'll go from there...

Oh, and this is what I intend to look like...I figure what...should take like 8 weeks or so??



I live in Los Angeles, if you haven't figured that out yet. Land of the anorexics. And, suffice to say it's a struggle to fit in, to be beautiful and thin all the time. I also work in show biz. The business of anorexics with botox, and a lot of "quick, hide the cigarette, I don't want anyone to see that I don't eat, and smoke instead."

In the meantime, I'm going to post articles, advice, any kind of so called help that MIGHT assist me in my quest. So, below is a nice link to Dr. Oz who has some "Advice to Lose Weight." Let's see if it means a darn thing...

Fasten your seatbelts, here we go! And, please tell me I'm not the only one having a difficult time with this. There's gotta be more folks like me out there, right??



(Uh, this photo is not me either...she's way too thin..However,we are both consumed with anxiety...I dunno her problem, she's thin; isn't life supposed to be fantastic when one is thin? What the heck is her problem??)

http://www.oprah.com/health/Dr-Ozs-Advice-to-Lose-Weight