SPICY FOOD!

I've often received a questioning look whenever I have ignored an offensive bottle of hot sauce placed in front of me (purely by assumption).
     Spicy food and I have never gotten along – anything that deliberately sets out to ruin my experience of food is never welcome in my mouth!
     So I was at a party and after the courtesy greetings and meetings, I slithered over to the food table when no one was looking.
     Since I am a sucker for chips and dip, I quickly sighted the said items sitting prettily in the middle of everything.
     Predictably, I picked the biggest chip, topped it with a generous amount of dip and greedily scoffed it with little shame.
     At first I thought the room temperature had gone up, but when my body's entire liquid content started oozing out of my eyes and nose, I didn't know whether to spit or swallow.
     So I coughed.
     And the hostess flew over to roll me away from the food table, squeaking something about the other guests getting nervous.
     Then she chased me away when I tried to return and completely banned me from the vicinity when I tried to argue.
     Openly sulking in the corner, I attempted to fob off a heavily accented gentleman who was desperate to sell me net curtains... until his wife turned up carrying two plates.
     She had been standing behind me when I got banned from the food table, so I feigned interest in what her husband was saying, hoping she would be so kind as to hand me one of those plates – instead she dug into it!
     I had to leave... hungry, unhappy and with a lingering burn in my mouth!
     This is what happens when I am around spicy food.

Ella Roberts,

ellasbook.blogspot.com

TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 1

In every household there is a designated shopper, usually the mom because she generally has a great sense of what everybody wants and needs and she knows where to get it at bargain prices.
     Unfortunately, in my house hold that designated shopper is not me!
     This is because I do not like to shop (for clothes or anything else unless I REALLY need them) and of course I should never be allowed inside grocery stores because I have a minor issue... okay, the issue is major!
     I get so ridiculously overwhelmed at grocery stores that I forget what I am there for and end up wasting hours mentally crossing items off my list that I would like to buy but cannot because:

                    a) I am always on a diet.

                    b) I cannot afford them.
                    c) I have no use for them.

So I was at a grocery store recently (not WAL*MART after what happened last time) not because I had a burning desire to get lost in food, but because I had to.

     Yes, my household's designated shopper had important things to do that day and I was challenged to step up and be a woman, before we all starved.
     Fine I told myself, because I was more than prepared to take one for the team!
     And surprisingly, in this mind set I managed to overcome the cloud of confusion that usually meets me at the doors whenever I step into any grocery store.
     Instead, a different set of mental circumstances said hi this time…

CONTINUES: TRAUMA IN GROCERY STORES, Part 2

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

DGSA (Dollar Store Goers Anonymous)

I really don't enjoy shopping as much as I should, according to my gender specifications.
     And I generally don't accept invitations to go shopping with girlfriends, unless somebody mentions "lunch" afterwards.
     Maybe once in a while (like twice a year, months apart) it's fun to do but the idea of spending every weekend hopping from store to store, digging through racks for a bargain or trying on garment after garment and messing up my hair and make-up, only to buy nothing is tiring.
     Besides, I find myself envying the husbands and boyfriends who get to sit in the corner passing the time on their iPhones, but because I'm a girl and allowed in the dressing rooms I have to go in and participate.
     Now, take me to the dollar store and we have a different story!
     There, you will never get me to leave... or rather you will after having spent too much money on things I don't need, simply because they each cost a dollar – sometimes two for a dollar!
     Lately, my obsession has gotten ridiculous: I seem to have developed an antenna for locating dollar stores around the city.
     And get this, when I go into one looking for something specific and they don't have it I begin drafting a letter of complaint to the manager (in my head), asking why they don't have my item in stock!
     Worse of all now is that I have what I call "Dollar Store Snobbishness", meaning I do price comparisons between grocery store items and dollar store items – I know it's ridiculous but what obsession isn't?
     And apparently there's a group for "Dollar Store" lovers like there is for "Coupon Collectors" but I'm not ready to join yet because I don't want the stigma.
     Oooh, I wonder if they'll ever start selling clothes and furniture...

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

REALITY SHOWS - WHY CAN'T I STOP?

Hi, my name is Ella and I am a realityholic.
     I waste my days watching mindless reality fluff featuring perfect looking women that have too many problems for all that money they have.
     My particular favorites are the Real Housewives.
     Yes, this cesspool of bowel dirty bitchiness wrapped in Hermés & Louboutins consumes a little too much of my time.
     It is an addiction, and addictions don't make sense.
     In fact, I should be commended for the fact that I have acknowledged this unhealthy craving for drama that can only exist on television for me because it would otherwise get scratched out of my real life.
     Like all addictions, rock bottom will hit like a stray elbow in the night.
     But like a real addict, it also takes more than eight rock bottoms to quit the grease for good... in my case it has been closer to eighteen and I'm still not there yet.
     I hate the way it makes me feel to sit and cringe through every episode, while the logical part of me screams “change the channel you silly girl!”
     Every now and then I skip over an episode on the night it shows for the first time and feel joy and pride at the restraint I hope will continue long into the future...
     No chance!
     Because by the end of the week I am breathlessly scavenging for a repeat episode, short of itching, scratching, sweating or selling a family heirloom just for one chance to catch up.
      Please Help Me!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

DVD? GYM? TRAINER? 1

When one finally gets serious about shedding the unwanted padding around the midriff and thighs, very important decisions must be made regarding exactly how the burn should take place:

                    1. DVDs (or videos in some cases – we all have Tao Bo somewhere)
                    2. The Gym (it's been paid for all these years)
                    3. A Trainer (...!)

A long time ago (when I still considered exercise to be the second most hated form of self-inflicted cruelty after dieting) I remember watching an episode of MTV Cribs and wondering why on earth someone would want a gym in their home?

     Now that I understand, I also prefer DVDs because they do not intimidate nor do they yell or follow me home.
     In fact, have you ever been whooped so badly by a workout you needed to pray for the energy to get up?
     Now, imagine this happening at a gym... uh-huh, now you understand why I'm so intimidated?
     That and all the endorphin addicts flying around.
     How difficult is it to concentrate on sit ups while attempting to keep protruding stomach rolls hidden from Ms. Washboard on the treadmill?
     Or trying not to strangle Peacock Muscle Bags who insists on making more noise doing (5lb) reps than a lonely rooster on Valentine's day?
     Now sprinkle a trainer into the mix and we have a problem!
     At least with a DVD there is a pause button and with a gym there is an exit.
     With a trainer, there is no escape!
     And these folks know exactly who they are.

CONTINUES: GYM?  DVD?  TRAINER?  2

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

MY FIRST TIME!

My first time coming to the States as an adult was – now looking back – quite a laughable experience!
     I guess if you subconsciously base a trip to New York on "Coming to America", some stupid nonsense is likely to happen right?
     As we landed at JFK on that March Monday morning, I spotted some white patches on the tarmac that looked suspiciously like left over ice.
     So after the chaos of getting herded off the plane like cattle and learning how to reuse my knees, I remember stepping out of the terminal and getting slapped back inside to look for more clothes by the sharp biting wind.
     You should have seen me pitifully rummaging through my oversized (again "Coming to America") but under-packed suitcase in the middle of the terminal.

London 0-1 New York

The first sit down restaurant I went to served seafood and of course I wasn't familiar with the system of tipping servers, nor was I used to overly nice waiting staff who spent a lot of time smiling and coming over to ask if everything was alright.

     If anything, that made me suspicious as to what they would be putting in my food when I wasn't looking.
     My first experience of calamari was at a lovely family owned Greek restaurant in London two months earlier and it was scrumptious!
     So when I saw it on the menu in New York I excitedly ordered it – instead what I was served was fried snake!
     Or at least that's what I think friend snake would taste like...
     Anyway, needless to say I wasn't very happy with that but I didn't yet know that I could get even by making deductions on the tip.
     Instead, I walked out with a bitter resentment for all seafood restaurants in New York City and a slimy taste in my mouth.

London 1-1 New York

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com

 

AIN'T NO MOUNTAN HIGH ENOUGH!

“Ain't No Mountain High Enough” – this is lies!
     Forget the part that comes next; just pay attention to this one deceiving statement.
     For someone who was once blissfully unaware that they were not exactly fond of heights, these kinds of statements can give one the false confidence not needed to decide to go and climb a mountain.
     Anyone who has ever set foot in Las Vegas will have made an obvious note that mountains frame the perimeter of the city.
     Yes, everywhere you look, in every direction there are mountains!
     And since we all have subconscious minds that have no ability to determine what information is necessary to hold onto and what information should be discarded but instead holds on to everything it ever comes across and stores it.
     Is it any wonder that sooner or later one begins to entertain the “clever” idea that climbing a mountain is the thing to do?
     Going up wasn't a problem (getting into trouble never is), considering that all I did was look down at the two feet in front of me that consisted of nothing more interesting than a beaten dirt path.
     It was when my hiking buddies decided to play tour guides and point out the “views” that my sense of logic abandoned me, while I clung onto the idea that I was going to suddenly plunge to my death (even though both feet were firmly planted on the ground and if I lay down with both my arms above my head, every part of me would still be touching “ground” – not the point!).
     Coming down the mountain was yet another challenge: "how can a two legged person temporarily function like a four legged animal?"
     Never again!

Ella Roberts,

ellasbooks.blogspot.com