Traumatization.

For the very first time in my life today, I ran (literally) out of the bathroom without washing my hands.

It all started out innocently enough. I was in a stall in the bathroom at work, happily slathering lotion on my preggo belly, when I heard a sound not unlike a stampeding rhinoceros explode into the restroom and lock itself into the stall next to me. And that, my friends, is the point at which VERY BAD THINGS transpired next door. All of a sudden, my fight-or-flight response kicked in, and I realized I could NOT stick around for the grand finale. I yanked up my pants mid-slather and bolted outta there faster than you can say irritable bowels!

Due to the volume and timbre of the grunting and wheezing, I immediately knew PRECISELY who I was up against. And you don’t wanna mess with that beast. She is a notorious repeat restroom offender, a most dreaded lavatory foe. She is large and in charge. And trust me, my friends, you don’t want to be within a country mile of her when she gets going. We all have signals for each other to detour our fellow comrades when she’s been spotted in the area. I’m not even joking.

This time, however, I got caught unawares. There was nobody to warn me, I was all alone. And she came barreling through like a freight train. There was simply not enough time to evacuate!

I think I might be all right, in time. With each passing day, you begin to forget. And then—only then—there might come some glimmer of hope that I can move forward with my life and put such horrors behind me.

I did manage to find my way to the kitchen in my harried state and wash up there. It was too late, however. I’m afraid the damage is done.

Although I am badly shaken, I must continue on. After all, there is work to be done. So I shall sally forth and attempt to sing a happy song. As soon as I can remember one.

Mommy....

Maggie the Elephant Not Interested in Using Treadmill

So what happens when you shell out $100,000 for a custom treadmill for an elephant that refuses to use it?

I knew elephants were smart animals. If I weighed 8,000 pounds, I wouldn’t be interested in letting a couple of stupid humans tell ME what to do, either. Much less heft my carcass up onto an f---ing treadmill!!!

I say ‘Bravo’ to Maggie the African elephant, who is too big to be bossed around. You tell ‘em, sister!

Apparently they’ve been trying to bribe Maggie with food to get up on the treadmill and do workouts, but she’s not having it. She’s lazy, and she likes it that way!! And I can’t say that I blame her.

If I had Maggie’s figure, I would probably lie around under a tree all day and sleep until somebody brought me something to eat. No wonder all the animals in the zoo are so lethargic! They don’t have to lift a claw, and they get 3 square meals and plenty of naptime! Those animals have got it right.

Especially the baboons, who occupy themselves by having sex with each other all the live long day. If reincarnation is real, they must let the really good people come back as baboons.

Except there’s the whole big-red-butt thing. That wouldn’t be so nice.

I need a twelve-step program.

My name is Hildy, and I have a problem. I am positively addicted to the Food Network.

Granted, I hardly watch any television at all, but when I do, you can bet it’s Food TV. It’s so addictive! Don't talk to me about 'Lost' or 'Gray's Anatomy' or whatever other crappy shows are hot at the moment. Give me Bobby Flay anyday!!!! Filet mignon, salt-encrusted flounder, homemade popovers---you name it! And I can't walk away. After waking up to my favorite shows on Sunday morning, I went on a rampage and whipped up homemade crepes for breakfast, French onion soup FROM SCRATCH for lunch, and beef fajitas with all the fixin’s for dinner. And I loved every friggin’ minute of it!!!!!

This is not normal. People should not be this happy about slaving over a hot stove all day. But, then again, I certainly never claimed to be even remotely average, so there you go....

On a related note, Martha Stewart, fresh out of prison, has a new “cooking show” whereupon she invites celebrities onstage to ‘cook together’ and proceeds to suck up to them for a half hour. How very cozy. It’s really weird watching her try to pass off this new fake ‘fun-loving’ personality as if its her own. Sorry, Martha, I’ve seen all your old pre-big-house programming, and I know EXACTLY what a stuck-up prima donna you are. You can’t fool me! Hey, Martha, I think you have a bit of chocolate ganache on your nose there. Oh wait, that’s no ganache!

Anyho. Enough about that. I am happy to report that I am once again BACK ON CHOCOLATE. Hallelujah! It’s been a loooong 3 months or so. I’m back, baby!!!!!!!! Nevermind the acid reflux it brung along with it.....we won't talk about that.......

If you’ll excuse me, all this ganache-talk has given me ideas.....