freckle juicer

My internal monologue, immediately upon waking:

When do I have to get up today?  Oh yeah it’s Sunday.  Ahhhh.  Ugh I’m thirsty.  Oh shit.  I drank four beers last night.  Oh my god.  Jesus Michelle.  Beer?  Four beers?  How could you do that?  Gwyneth’s going to be so pissed.

My “I can’t believe I did that last night” morning shame-a-thons are pleasantly rare since I settled into blissful domestic partnership five years ago.  Still, I felt really guilty.  I figured skipping my breakfast blueberry smoothie completely reversed the delicious beer damages of last night.  That makes sense right?  Right.  So, back on track.

I went to a beginners yoga class this morning.  It was pretty great.  The best part might have been the instructor’s tie-dyed spandex pants.  Yoga seems like something new-agers and hippies could have it common, so I guess the pants make sense.  I learned to downward dog.  I’ll be back.  Good call, Gwyneth.

I picked up a piece of salmon for lunch at the fancy prepared foods deli on the way home from the gym.

I had a hair in it.  A blond one.  Yuck.  I still ate it.

The salmon kept me nice and satisfied until dinnertime.  The menu called for Detox Chicken, the same thing I accidentally marinated in balsamic vinaigrette on day two.  I had a chicken breast but it was in the freezer.  It was frozen it there.  Oops.  Should have thought about that.  Back on day two I grilled two pieces of chicken with the idea that my boyfriend would eat the other one.  He politely declined and it had been sitting in my refrigerator ever since.  I called my mom.  Was it safe to eat?  She said yes.  It sure didn’t look appetizing.  

I ate it cold.  I think I’m reaching the end of my GOOP rope.  Good thing I only have to suffer through one more day.

There’s part in Kathy Griffin’s stand up special Allegedly where she lays into Gwyneth Paltrow for being a condescending ”big bag of bullshit.”  She goes onto describe Gwyneth’s annoying lack of self-awareness during the promotional tour of Shallow Hal and their awkward encounter on the red carpet: 

Of course she’s humorless, SHE’S STARVING!  My crabbiness is manifesting a little more like Chris Farley:

Lay off me I’m starving,