Posts archived in Nutrition Nazi

August 16, 2006

Infomercial

iRock. Will uRock too?

Today we interrupt our typical trash-talking, blither blathering, ice cream-mister whipple-wunky pickle-chicken nipple-type tomfoolery to bring you something *really* special.

No, I’m not talking about a super-secret duet between me and mr. hotpants. That shit’s strictly on the hush low, y’all.

What I’d like to talk about today, dear hannihaus readers, is my ass … or more specifically the state of my ass.

I’ve been seein’ a little ‘celly. Booty and belly need some working ooooooout.

It’s recently occurred to me that—while I’ve been rocking this blog like my name was Gwen StepHänni—I’ve been rockin’ my bod like my name was … well … Dom DeLuise.

But that all’s about to change. And I’ve got 21 days to prove it.

Twenty1days is one of my (many) new (and exciting!) blog projects. It’s an LJ community dedicated to starting some habits—specifically the good ones. The first tweny1day challenge will be to rock your body with 21 days of fitness.

For all who are interested, twenty1days to rock your body starts next Monday, August 21^st. To participate, go here.

… And to tell me what a nerd I am for talking about my ass on the Internet, leave that love in comments.

Til next, dear hannihaus readers, adieu.

20 comments

May 11, 2006

The Show Must Go On!

Yesterday my baby sister, Spanky made a plea in comments that I *not* participate in the American Idol Cocktail Countdown.

And she’s right. As a New Age Mama/hardcore Nutrition Nazi, the *last* thing I should do is flood my veins with alcohol.

After all, I hear shooting organic raisins intravenously is much more fun.

But yeah, I love my sis so much. And I really value what she has to say.

Sure I was jealous of her when we were small. Back in 1985, when we didn’t have running water, I had to do it like they do on the Discovery Channel and drop trau in an Alaskan outhouse. My sister, on the other hand—the baby of the family—got to do her bizness indoors.

That’s mostly because she was always crapping her pants in the house.

… But she was in diapers in 1985 so I digress.

And it’s true, as we grew older there was some division between us. Although she always wanted to, I didn’t hang with Spank much when I was a teenyrocker.

When I was 15, she was 10 and her little jacket pockets were just too small to hold the amount of contraband needed to effectively toilet paper a high school parking lot. Because you don’t wanna squeeze the Charmin, I had to hang with kids my own age—they had roomier pockets.

These days, now that we’re adults (don’t laugh), Spanky and I are like lemon and lime. And I don’t wanna do anything she doesn’t want me too…

But there again, I do remember the time I made her eat dog food. Sis *definitely* wasn’t into that…

but I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy it!

That being said, you know I love you sis, but the Internet has spoken. Every day ~~thousands~~, ~~hundreds~~, ~~ten~~ a couple of you vote in my poll. And I appreciate that. Plus, I rarely miss an opportunity to do something that will likely result in me freak dancing with strangers.

AI Countdown to Cocktails is oooon. The finale is May 24th and I hope you all will join me in my debauchery by playing at home. Game details will be posted soon.

15 comments

February 5, 2006

Poop du Jour

Whilst cutting up a hormone-free, antibiotic-free, grass-fed piece of beauty beef, I was sure to save a strip for the kittinks.

(Don’t freak. It’s good for them. Acidic by nature, cats’ stomachs do better with raw meat than Meow Mix … Who knew, right? The Nutrition Nazi, that’s who! Mwa ha ha.)

But anyway, as I watched the cats circle like hungry vultures to road kill, like sharks to their prey, or like Mariah Carey to a buffet line (hee), I just knew that the savory sirloin would really rock their socks.

It would be like Christmas. I would be a wise man. I’d come bearing beef.

So, after a few minutes I’d cleared the butcher block and it was time to present the succulent selection. For Bella, I chose the juiciest, reddest, and most mouthwatering morsel of meat ever seen by man or cat.

Eyes wide with anticipation, my darling Belle sniffed her steak twice, batted once … and then – without so much as giving the thing a lick – sauntered her ass right out of the room.

It was insulting really. Especially since yesterday I caught her barfing up 36 inches of shoelace, most likely fished from a stinking bag of trash.

Oh yeah, and this is gross too:

This morning, after accidentally bumping into it, Bella totally licked her brother’s butt. And that’s bad, because there’s a reason we call our boy “Stinky Sphynxy.”

________________________________________________________

Today is the last day to enter the Randy Jackson What’s Up Dawg Contest. Don’t forget that in addition to the grand prize, I’ll also be awarding boobies!

You like boobies, right? Well, if you love boobies, you should send me an e-mail telling me so. And in that e-mail you should also include your guess for how many times Randy will say “dawg” on American Idol this season! Woo!

16 comments

January 25, 2006

Nutrition Nazi De-Crucifies the Cruciferous

Want to get my attention?

To solicit a lecture from the Nutrition Nazi on why you need to eat more veggies all you need to do is:

Pick through the crudite platter, cock your head sideways, and ask “What’s up with the white broccoli?”

Before thrashing you soundly about the head, I will tell you nothing is wrong with the white broccoli… mostly because it’s cauliflower.

21 comments

January 11, 2006

Nutrition Nazi Eats Green. Sees Red.

I am – as many of you know – a hardcore Nutrition Nazi. A firm believer in the beauty of complex carbohydrates, I eat multiple pounds of vegetables every day. And just in case I don’t get enough nutrition from the sweet potatoes, swiss chard, squash, and celery, I add some good old fashioned plant pigment – that’s liquid chlorophyll for those who speak hippy – to my Evian

Resultantly, I’m so fiber-rich it isn’t funny (except when getting a rectal exam, of course).

So yeah, because I’m a Nutrition Nazi, I couldn’t resist accompanying my coworkers to the Sweet Tomatoes salad buffet for lunch. If you’ve never been, this place is a regular Shangri-la for Veg Heads like me, because literally 85% of the offerings include garden-fresh greens.

And that pretty much rules, being that roughage rocks my socks (and my buttocks) … but I digress.

Anyway, in addition to some really stellar salads, Sweet Tomatoes also has pasta, soup, fresh baked breads and frozen yogurt. It’s the latter item, the cold confection if you will, that caused the Nutrition Nazi to get a wee bit heated.

It started out innocently enough. Manuel, plopping himself into the booth, held in one hand a homemade sundae. It was beautiful really – A perfect peak of vanilla yogurt was crowned by crunchy, crushed oreos and then drizzled with a ribbon of golden, gooey caramel.

I was cool with the caramel. What got me was the sprinkles. They were freakin green.

“Manuel,” I said, “why do you suppose the sprinkles are green? Saint Patrick’s day is like three months away.”

With a mischievous grin and without missing a beat, my clever coworker said, “The sprinkles are green because they’re healthy.”

And then, because my eyebrows weren’t raised dangerously high enough, he followed up his initial bit of blasphemy with “All green things are healthy.”

…. Um yeah. And Mariah Carey is *not* shoving food in her pie hole any time songs aren’t coming out of it.

Yes it’s true dear hannihaus readers, there are lots of healthy green things, spinach, apples, and split peas, just to name a few. But for every “good” green thing, I can think of a whole slew of others that are not only unhealthy, but are downright nastay.

Let’s take for example:

gangrenous limbs,
snot,
mold,
and soylent green (it’s people!)

I just want to get something straight here folks. Sprinkles are *not* healthy, even if they are a pleasant shade of pine…. That being said, I will admit there are worse things that you could consume.

16 comments

December 20, 2005

Salad Shooter

First off, I just want to let everyone know, I am indeed, alive. I want to thank all my hannihaus readers for their kind words and thoughts during this harrowing time, and would like to announce that having gone four days now without eating hospital food, my spirits (and goodly-functioning bowels) have been restored.

Second off, and on a related note, I want to let everyone know, if you’d like to freak out your ob/gyn do the following:

Eat about 2.5lbs of carrots in a 24-hour time period.

If you’re like me, you’ll want to do this because you’re a Nutrition Nazi who knows that carrots have the awesome ability to clean your liver and rebalance your body after it’s experienced the trauma of – let’s say – explosive diarrhea made possible by hospital hospitality.

(Because nothing says “We care” like a colon-blowing cocktail of Crystal Lite + Barium, but I digress.)

But yes, even if you’re not like me, you may still want to make like Bugs Bunny and scarf some carrots, because if nothing else, it makes things pretty entertaining in the powder room, if you get my meaning.

(Know how if you put a tree in a wood chipper it’ll spit out perfect little nuggets of wood? Carrots work the same way. My Indian name is she-who-makes-big-carrots-turn-into-baby-carrots, but I digress – again!)

So yeah, the ob/gyn… if, after having eaten copious amounts of carrots, you should find that your doctor requires a rectal exam, don’t sweat it. The finger in the kiester is not that bad, and the resultant conversation is even better!

3lbs carrots (organic, of course): $3
Office visit to ob/gyn to figure out cause of mysterious malady: $15
Hearing your doctor, post finger-in-fanny, stop mid-sentence to ask “uh… what did you eat today?”: Priceless

10 comments

November 23, 2005

What Price Childhood Obesity?

$29.95.

Because kids in America just aren’t fat enough, various retailers throughout the country are marketing the shiny, happy Hostess Snack Oven as the toy to have this holiday season.

It’s fairly ironic that I made this discovery while sitting on the toilet; Flipping through sales circulars, I stopped when I saw the pint-sized artery-clogging contraption. My immediate reaction: this is straight up, crap.

“Bake your own twinkies and cupcakes!” the glossy ad commanded of me.

“Yes, let’s!”, I thought, “And hey, while I’m at it, I could also swallow some razor blades, shoot my eyes out with bb guns, or drop trau and light my farts on fire!”

…Because nothing says good clean fun like childhood obesity … and singed butt fuzz.

But I digress.

captain cupcake

Makers of the Hostess Snack Oven, the Nutrition Nazi wants you to do what’s right for America. I implore you, if not to help ease the fast-increasing fat-bastardization of our youth, for Gods sakes remove the finking oven from the market before Richard Simmons is forced to (inevitably) create a Sweatin’ to the Nursery Rhymes series.

Seriously, I die inside a little just thinking about a grown man in sequined booty shorts screaming “Crunch! And crunch!” while the Itsy Bitsy Spider plays in the background.

12 comments

October 23, 2005

Because it’s Whistle Blowin’ Sunday

A few days ago, too tired to cook four ourselves, Angelface and I made the unfortunate decision to go foraging for fast food.

And I know what you’re thinking. You’re panicked, because the Nutrition Nazi ate food that was not organically grown and omega3-enriched. Well, if it makes you feel any better, we chose a “healthier” chain that offers vegetarian and wheat-free options for more conscientious patrons, like moi.

And if you really want to click your heels with glee, you’ll be interested to know the fact that I was “good” and didn’t have a full-on, bust-your-gut and damage-your-liver hogfest, didn’t mean a thing. At the end of the night, after enduring a series of unnerving theatrics, I still had that good old fashioned, fast food feeling. You know the one – It starts with guilt and remorse, and then inevitably ends up with you riding bareback on the porcelain pony, making rapid-fire deposits from your six-shooter into the toilet bowl.

But I (and my diarrhea) digress.

So I think it should’ve been a red flag that when I walked into the store, the first thing I saw was an entire seating area taken up with trash. The makeshift landfill was littered with leftover napkins, food containers, utensils and plastic trays. Even the freaking garbage can had overflowed, giving it the appearance of some sort of trash-eating monster that had vomited all over itself.

Despite having witnessed the health hazard fast escalating in Seating Section B, Angelface and I still ventured towards the register. The pimply faced 16-year-old stationed there didn’t immediately take our order. He was too busy complaining about how hungry he was and how he was supposed to be done working a half hour earlier.

And I felt guilty. After all, I knew what it was like to be hungry –while Zitty Face and another employee, we’ll call him Stir Shit Up, (because that was his only discernable job function), participated in a lengthy discussion about how much working late sucks, I was fairly starving.

So yeah, at long length the discussion died down and I was able to put my order in. While waiting for said order, an argument broke loose between the night manager and that stupid ass, bobble-head, Stir Shit Up.

Apparently dumb-as-bricks, SSU, thought that having someone “on the fries” at night, was not necessary, and must’ve felt it was a great injustice to be asked to perform this task, because he yelled across the kitchen at his manager that he wasn’t going to do it.

Night Manager, taking a page from his idiotic protégé’s book, yelled back that yes, damn it, someone had to be “on the fries” until 8pm each night.

Then the two of them proceeded to have a lengthy, verbal pissing match.

As I watched the two of them bicker back and forth like Jews in a gem store, I thought to myself “Oh good lord. If I had wanted to attend dinner theater, I could’ve gone to Medieval Times. At least there this type of battle royale is preceded by a visit from the Beer Wench.”

So in the interim of this bitchy little tiff, the production of Angelface’s hamburger by the night manager had come to a halt. Only when Angel yelled into the kitchen, “Hey can you stop arguing long enough to make my sandwich?” did the bickering stop.

And then, because it needed to be done, I yelled “You – freaking back-talking, plebian employee, take off your paper hat. You’re fired buddy!”

…Well actually, I didn’t really yell that. But I sure did want to.

Anyway, even after receiving our food, a myriad of horrors continued to occur, the most disgusting of which was witnessing the french fry scoop being used as a tool for trash compacting. When I saw the scoop go into the trash, and then back into the french fry, well it made my stomach churn… And then, when I saw that same scoop being used to put fries in a container that was handed to a customer, I had no choice but to throw up in my mouth a little.

So I’ve written my grievance down and sent it to the restaurant headquarters. I’ll keep you all posted, dear hannihaus readers. In the meanwhile, why don’t you share some of your horror stories with me? I need something to cheer me. Hurricane Wilma’s headed this way, and I’ve got house cleaning to do. Double d’oh.

17 comments

October 19, 2005

Sugar Shock

I really wanted to keep quiet about this, but I just can’t. You see, the words won’t fit in my mouth. Even though yesterday I kind of said it was okay, I can not, in any circumstances, condone soda drinking.

Drink martinis if you must, but for God’s sakes, stay away from the mother loving soft drinks.

They will rot your teeth.

They will make you fat.

They will dance the flamenco on your kidneys, and flood your veins with saccharine swamp gas. (And let’s face it, folks, if you’re anything like me, you don’t need the extra gas. You can only exclaim “thar she blows!” whilst emitting noxious broccoli fumes but so many times a day.)

And I know I’ve got some naysayers reading this right now. Faithful members of the Church of Coca Cola, you think that no matter what I say, you won’t quit drinking the ‘Pibb. You, dear die-hard Tab fan, you think I can not covert you to my Nutrition Nazi ways.

Well open up baby birds, because I’m about to deliver a nice, juicy worm:

soda is bad

Erm, okay so baseballs don’t contain sugar, but like seriously, look at the freakin picture. One tasty little beverage contains a shit load of sugar!

And by the way, unlike Tara Reid’s boobs, this is real. The picture are looking at was taken by a friend of a friend who is a pharmacist, and by virtue of her profession, knows how to do uber cool things like extract chemicals from cola.

Oh and if that’s not enough to keep you off the hooch, well the fact that you could lose your eye sight, well you should take that into consideration. You see, loss of vision has been linked to diabetes, which of course, is linked to excessive sugar consumption.

What that means is, just like masturbation or Viagra usage, if you partake too much in the sweet stuff, well, you might just go blind.

But I digress.

13 comments

October 18, 2005

Nutrition Nazi in the Dog Eat Donut Workplace

One thing about working where I do is, any time management decides they want to spoil us working-class grunts, they do it with food. Usually the food is tied to a celebration. It’s like “Oh! It’s so-and-so’s birthday – let’s have cake!”, or “Ms. Whats-Her-Name graduated night school. To celebrate, let’s all shove a bagel in our pie hole!”

Lately things have been a little more celebratory than I, she-whose-diet-consists-of-85%-organic-veggies, would like. Yesterday we got an e-mail to announce that – woopie –the Big Guns hooked us up, because the pop machine is now selling Mr Pibb for 25cents! And while we have avoided such a monstrosity for many months, today a large, Funyun-wielding vending machine appeared outside the men’s room on the second floor.

And even though I’m anti, even though I’m so totally against processed foods and their excessive consumption, I have to admit, being given the opportunity for pants-splitting gluttony is great.

Yes, I am a Nutrition Nazi, but I appreciate that the bosses at a Very Hip Software Company like their employees enough to pony up for pizza every once in a while. I mean, where I used to work, my old boss, he was so tight, you could put a lump of coal up his ass, and after a fortnight, you’d probably have a diamond.

Seriously – this dude was so cheap that around the holidays, instead of throwing a party, he forced his egregiously underpaid employees to purchase and prepare various foodies for a mandatory, Christmas pot-luck. This 60 minute intestinal adventure in the cockroach-infested den of iniquity known as the company kitchen, well it was meant to satiate us.

I don’t think any of us were fooled.

As we chewed through the beef jerky that Helen insisted was meatballs, we knew that other companies were throwing real Christmas parties, the kind you don’t bring a crockpot to, the kind where you drink too much and then photocopy your unmentionables.

Yeah, because I worked for Ebenezer Scrooge, we never had that party, and that’s a real shame. After all, nothing says Celebration of Christ’s Birth quite like a Xeroxed set of butt cheeks.

But I digress.

So in conclusion, I won’t be drinking that swill, but the 25cent soda was a nice gesture. It makes Hänni happy. Good job Big Guns!

And good job to you too dear hannihaus readers. If you’re reading this, you’ve made it through another marathon post. I’m on a freaking roll this week – woo.