Sam and I always select our frozen crapola as a couple.

In this post: Costco, a Friday agenda, Doris Day.

It’s 10:30 Friday morning as I write this post and Sam is headed to Costco for our favorite weekly provisions, such as: 1) teeny chicken tacos; 2) breakfast burritos; 3) a lot of fresh blackberries; and 4) frozen crapola to be determined. For the record, Sam promised to call from the frozen food section so we can select our crapola as a couple. I haven’t been to Costco for a long time and don’t know what’s what any more.

Shattering news from the world of Mezzetta giardiniera.

In this post: Shipping error.

My six-pack of Mezzetta Italian Mix Giardiniera arrived yesterday from Amazon with one shattered jar that leaked broken glass, peppers, onions and pickled cauliflower all over EVERYTHING. I managed to salvage the other five jars but sent a message to the seller through Amazon to crab about their mentally ill packaging — crumpled paper! — and request a replacement or a refund for one-sixth of the purchase price. Watch this blog for additional developments but I hope you’ll feel free to continue your usual routine in the meantime.

A winter storm is closing in on Howdygram headquarters.

In this post: Too much weather, plenty of “Columbo.”

Hello, people. It’s 9:30 Thursday night and I spent most of the day involved in a variety of routine activities. For instance, I: 1) made homemade Hanukkah and Thanksgiving cards for young relatives and old friends; 2) ordered a lot of Vitamin D capsules for Sam from Costco.com; 3) slept through Goodbye, My Fancy (1951) starring Joan Crawford and Robert Young; 4) kept an eye out for UPS because shitty weather is moving in and I don’t want today’s deliveries to get pummeled with hailstones; and 5) I can’t think of anything else. An explanation for #4 follows for your possible interest.

Today is World Diabetes Day.

In this post: Diabetes has a holiday, TV news, crustless pizza, an adorable toddler.

First, before I forget, I’ve got a Howdygram public service announcement to share with you. This is WORLD DIABETES DAY, an event commemorated annually on November 14 by the International Diabetes Federation (IDF). The IDF’s campaign is designed to draw attention to issues of paramount importance to the diabetes world and keeps diabetes firmly in the public spotlight. In other words, stop eating crap like THIS or you’ll end up with miserable feet and a refrigerator full of insulin. (I speak from experience. Thank you.)

November 4 was the absolutely final no-more-horseshit deadline.

In this post: The client from hell (again).

Like nuclear waste, some deadly slime never goes away ... and my client from hell is certainly one of them. You may recall her never-ending sack of excuses lies regarding money she owes for website hosting dating back to October 1. Since that time:

OCTOBER 11. Her money order gets lost in the mail. She’s confused. She promises a replacement by the 15th.

OCTOBER 17. The replacement check doesn’t arrive. She’s VERY upset about the U.S. postal service. I take her website offline for non-payment.

One more thing.

In this post: Complete “Columbo,” classic Kors, annihilation for the client from hell.

So here’s the thing. When you drink half a gallon of sugar-free Hawaiian Punch 30 minutes before you go to bed you can bet the farm that you’ll wake up by 3 a.m. to pee. And so it was. Except instead of going back to bed I decided to horse around online for a while and ordered the complete set of “Columbo” DVDs — starring the unforgettable Peter Falk — from Amazon at a really-cheap-for-Christmas discount price of $52.49 with free shipping. Holy crap, I’m so damn excited I practically can’t stand it! (Don’t tell Sam, okay? I want to surprise him.)

The entertaining Civil War, 20th Century Fox style.

In this post: More clients from hell, Civil War entertainment.

Holy crap. My clients, again.

Another one sent me a frantic email this morning: “I see our website has been removed. Did we miss something? Do we owe you money? I don’t understand what’s happening!”

So I write back and tell her yes, your website is offline, and yes, you owe me money. I’ve been sending you emails SINCE THE FIRST WEEK OF SEPTEMBER to alert you to your fourth quarter web hosting payment that was due on October 1. I unpublished your website on the 15th for nonpayment and you now owe me a shitload of dough, including a $20 late payment fee and a $50 labor charge to relaunch your site. YOU ARE SUCH A DAMN PEST. PLEASE GO AWAY, STOP ANNOYING ME AND LET ME RETIRE ALREADY!

Maybe those weren’t my exact words, but they’re really close.

The World’s Best Vice President delivers muffins to the EPA.

In this post: Happy Halloween, Joe Biden delivers, Sam’s decadent desserts.

Here’s a hot one from the great neanderthal state of Florida, home of the legendary George Zimmerman.

Authorities in Palm Bay say Ron Nielson, 50, and his wife were assembling a burning cross as a Halloween prank when the gasoline vapors ignited due to insufficient ventilation and set Nielson on fire. A neighbor heard the explosion and found Einstein sprawled out in a ditch covered in burns. Police say he was also intoxicated.

You know times have changed if a well-intentioned white boy can’t even burn a cross without lousing it up! Too bad he forgot to wear his white hood for protection. (I’m just saying.)

There’s nothing quite like baby animals to get your mind off the shitstorm in Congress.

In this post: Hanukkah, hating Congress, staying up late.

It was my intention to start this post a few hours ago but I eventually got caught up folding a mountain of laundry for Sam’s trip to California, after which I designed a couple of birthday cards, ordered myself a cute new robe — as a retired person I consider these “work clothes” now — and watched today’s episode of “People’s Court” with dinner on my lap. This was

National Punctuation Day has always been one of my favorite religious holidays.

In this post: Watch those commas, understanding the Affordable Care Act.

Please forgive me for a serious omission from last night’s Howdygram post: I neglected to acknowledge that yesterday was NATIONAL PUNCTUATION DAY, which has always been one of my favorite religious holidays.

I don’t mind eating cake with a soup spoon.

In this post: Edible baking disasters, Emmys, Real Housewives.

Now that I’ve successfully dodged the FBI (see previous post) it’s time to get y’all up-to-date with the rest of my Sunday activities, all conveniently listed for you below.

Retirement, healthy toes and low-carb chocolate cake.

In this post: A retirement milestone, podiatry, assorted nonsense.

Holy mackerel, everybody … I JUST HIT A WHOLE NEW MILESTONE! About half an hour ago I unpublished my Ovation Creative website and launched a simple splash page in its place, announcing to the entire world that I’m no longer accepting new clients or any major projects and everybody should just GO AWAY and LEAVE ME ALONE. (Okay, maybe not exactly that, but you get my drift.) This brings me even closer to complete retirement, marking the first time in more than 25 years that I haven’t operated a business venture of one kind or another. It actually feels good to just STOP, finally. My goal for the next 25 years includes a daily afternoon nap, frightening quantities of Chinese food and fun with Sam ... but not necessarily in that order.

Colonel Sanders always scared the crap out of me. Now I know why.

I just received a crate of incredible crapola from Netrition.com, including a variety of exciting LOW-CARB DESSERT MIXES that includes low-carb chocolate fudge brownies, low-carb triple chocolate torte and low-carb key lime pie with its own handy-dandy graham cracker crust! Even better, the torte and key lime thingies require no baking whatosever, making them perfect for a hot summer day in Texas when the temperature is 106°. Such as today, for instance.

Incidentally, if you’re wondering how low these low-carb desserts really are, the torte and key lime pie have only two net carbs per serving and the brownies have four, which means, technically, I can park myself in front of the TV with a serving spoon and a quart of milk and eat the WHOLE DAMN PAN without raising my blood sugar. I think I’m having palpatations, people!

Before I forget ... I thought y’all might enjoy this psycho Kentucky Fried Chicken commercial from the mid-1960s. Colonel Sanders always scared the crap out of me. Now I know why.

Here’s some breaking news from our Annoying People I’d Like To Beat Up Severely With My Cane department. Most of you know I’m retiring this year and closing down my web design business. To speed it along I decided back in mid-June to discontinue my merchant account and stop accepting credit cards (see previous post) in an effort to save some money and piss off my remaining clients. Sadly, the customer service Einsteins at First National Processing (FNP) ignored the signed Close My Account form they received from me on June 18 and initiated $69.95 in bogus fees for the month of July, as pictured below. They even tried to collect the funds from my bank, twice, but fortunately Chase rejected both attempts because I closed my business checking account several weeks ago, too.

I called FNP today as soon as I saw this statement. They promised to fix the mess, but I have no confidence in these bozos whatsoever and guaranteed they would hear from me again if and when Chase charges me any penalties. Holy crap.

Some sad news to report. Gus Allegretti, the voice of all the popular sidekicks on “Captain Kangaroo,” died this week. Allegretti was the voice of the critters shown below, pictured with the Captain from left: Dancing Bear, Bunny Rabbit, Grandfather Clock and Mister Moose. Mister Green Jeans, pictured on the right, was not a critter. He was just an ordinary idiot.

“Captain Kangaroo” aired from 1955 (my era) until the mid-1980s. I was never a huge fan of dopey horseshit except for the Tom Terrific cartoons featuring Mighty Manfred the Wonder Dog and Tom’s arch-enemy Crabby Appleton, rotten to the core.

I think I’ll eat some dinner now and enjoy tonight’s episode of “Project Runway.” My feast will include a couple of cheeseburgers with no buns, six green olives, a hunk of homemade low-carb bread (nicely toasted) and sugar-free lemonade. I’d invite you to join me but I’m seriously hungry and there’s no time to screw around with company. Thank you for understanding.

Food peril in a modern world: Defending pickles & biscuits.

It probably won’t surprise any of you that the essential crapola in your refrigerator could kill you. The dangers du jour include: 1) overpriced cheese contaminated with Listeria courtesy of Whole Foods; 2) more than 50,000 pounds of ground beef at your favorite warehouse club store contaminated with E.coli bacteria; and 3) bagged salad containing the popular mix of romaine, iceberg lettuce and cyclospora parasites. Although the salad in item three has (so far) poisoned 350 people in 15 states, the FDA can’t exactly tell you which brand of bagged salad to avoid because it actually might be ALL of them.

From my viewpoint, the only safe and healthy meal left on planet earth is PICKLES & BISCUITS, my all-time favorite feast for every occasion. I refer specifically to easy little drop biscuits made from CarbQuik and water (the recipe’s on the box) and juicy Ba-Tampte half-sour pickles. If you care, I have to order my pickles from the KC Kosher Co-op because grocery stores in Dallas don’t sell anything Jewish. You can’t even find a stupid yahrzeit candle around here.

Big news, people ... I applied for my Social Security retirement benefits today! This makes it official: I’m a card-carrying, bona fide OLD LADY now, complete with a cane, corrective shoes, a monthly Social Security check and a leaky bladder. Tonight’s requisite celebration will include a bowl of chia seed pudding and the latest episode of “Project Runway.”

I’ve got a full and happy life. And (as always) another batch of new fonts.

Thank you for reading this.

I wish somebody would come over and make me a low-carb chocolate chip loaf cake.

I’m writing this post with a middle-of-the-night fever. Technically, I’m writing it with a keyboard, but I’ve got a middle-of-the-night fever and I feel like TOTAL CRAP. I went to bed at midnight with Sam and woke up three hours later sick. My joints hurt, I’ve got the chills, my head is throbbing and I wish somebody would come over and make me a low-carb chocolate chip loaf cake. I wouldn’t joke about this.

The fever thing, incidentally, is a form of autonomic diabetic neuropathy. For me, it’s usually a hypothermic temperature, such as 95.6°, which feels exactly like 102° except your skin isn’t hot, it’s cold. Welcome to the wonderful world of Diabetesland.

Before I try going back to sleep I’d like to offer my insights into last night’s premier episode of “Project Runway” season 12. I don’t know where they find these lunatic designers, but this season promises to be a doozy. The four dooziest appear below for your possible interest.

1. Sandro is an extremely loud and opinionated Russian (is that an oxymoron?) with no taste whatsoever. Try to picture Boris Yeltsin designing clothes for the Mafia.
2. Miranda spent eight years in the military obeying orders but refuses to follow instructions on “Project Runway.” She makes up her own rules for the first challenge and practically gets eliminated. I dislike Miranda’s face and teeth.
3. I’m not crazy about, Helen either. 
4. Worse than ALL of them, however, is Timothy, a self-appointed sustainable fabric artist (WTF?) whose clothes are made from trash, crap and leftovers. Timothy’s motto: “We have to save the forest to keep the unicorns alive.”

Timothy expands this sustainability horseshit to the point of absurdity. He refuses to use electricity, which means he won’t touch a sewing machine or allow the L’Oreal stylists to use a blow dryer or curling iron on his model’s hair for runway shows. He also won’t let her wear shoes, makeup or hair products of any kind ... yet HE shows up in four-inch gold pumps and apparently has no problem working in a building with overhead lights and elevators. The judges think he’s full of crap and rip him a new one. That was my favorite part.

The Tylenol is kicking in so I should probably go back to bed now. Nice of you to drop in.

The only real “plus” on Detroit’s pitiful balance sheet seems to be Howdy Doody.

I apologize for not writing a Howdygram post yesterday, but I’ve had a couple of tumultuous days, emotionally-speaking, and there are several valid and compelling reasons for this statement, as itemized below:

VALID REASON #1: VEHICLES. Since we really only have one driver in the family now because I have mobility issues and never go anywhere by myself, on Tuesday Sam and I figured out that we no longer need two cars and decided to get rid of our 2001 Saturn. This is our first experience with those “we buy any car for cash” outfits, but there aren’t too many options right now since the battery’s dead and we need somebody to come over and drag the Saturn out of our garage. In addition, the A/C is inoperable and can’t be repaired (the parts are no longer available) and it needs a wheel alignment, several gallons of power steering fluid and five or six tires. Okay, maybe just four tires. The cup holders, however, are still good as new. The car buyer dude will be here tomorrow morning at 10:30 with a tow truck, a fistful of money and a sense of humor.

VALID REASON #2: APPENDAGES. The little toe on my left foot looks shitty. If you have diabetes like moi, a shitty toe can make a person lose a lot of sleep.

VALID REASON #3: VERMIN. When our maid was here yesterday she found a tiny dead snake under the table in our foyer. That’s right — A SNAKE. Thank God she had no problem throwing it in the garbage because I almost had a HEART ATTACK and will probably have nightmares about this for the rest of my life. Holy crap.

Late breaking news from CNN.com ... the entire city of Detroit filed for bankruptcy today with $18 billion of debt and mountains of urbay decay, unemployment and crime. As a matter of fact, the only real “plus” on Detroit’s pitiful balance sheet seems to be Howdy Doody, the original marionette puppet from the insanely weird but popular 1950s children’s TV show. Apparently Howdy Doody is owned by the Detroit Institute of Art and could bring up to $500,000 at auction.

I don’t know about you, but I find it frightening that this freckled goon could be the face of Detroit’s salvation. I’d be much happier if it was Soupy Sales instead, whose “Lunch with Soupy” show was broadcast from Detroit throughout the 1950s and included a lot of pie-throwing and hilarious Catskill-era Jewish comedy — i.e., the Adventures of Philo Kvetch, private eye — plus some of the best puppet critters EVER.

And now I think I’ll bake a nice loaf of low-carb bread and park myself in front of the TV with some American cheese and green olives. Yesterday I recorded a couple of cute Tony Randall comedies — The Mating Game (1959) with Debbie Reynolds and Our Man in Marrakesh (1966) with Herbert Lom and Terry-Thomas — and the new season of “Project Runway” premiers tonight on Lifetime. I’m always a a sucker for fresh bread and “Project Runway.”

Thank you for reading this.

Wintergreen TicTacs and sugar-free Jello. The possibilities are endless.

This has been one hell of a day at Howdygram headquarters for two really huge reasons: 1) Sam arranged to refinance our house this morning and locked in a 15-year loan at 2.75%, which is Wells Fargo’s rock-bottom lowest Holy Crap Mortgage Rate; and 2) I downloaded another 20 fonts, all of them exquisite. TWENTY! I’m so excited I could puke!

My favorites? Dominique, Pocket Casual and Doggie Bag, with Cherry Cream and Scriptek as runners-up. (Fonts almost make me happier than Mongolian chicken.)

Don’t forget the “Project Runway” finale tonight on Lifetime! This is REALLY HUGE and I know you won’t want to miss it. Stanley, Patricia and Michelle are the three season 11 finalists. I personally think they all suck in their own special way, but it’s always a hoot to see who wins and who loses, plus adorable fashion icon Michael Kors will be on hand as a guest judge, which is great news because his critiques are some of my favorite one-liners EVER, i.e., “Her crotch looks absolutely insane” and “Mazel tov. She’s wearing the bar mitzvah dress from hell”.

I think it’s probably time to consider dinner. Tonight I’m making a pot of low-carb Dixie Diner’s Skinni Spaghetti, only three net carbs per serving, and it’s my plan to eat the whole damn package (12 carbs) with olive oil and parmesan cheese. For dessert I’ll improvise with wintergreen TicTacs and sugar-free Jello. The possibilities are endless.

The highlight of my week: A case of kosher pickles and 12 canisters of chicken soup mix.

By now you’ve probably noticed that I didn’t write a Howdygram post yesterday. This was due mostly to the fact that we had a lazy weekend and didn’t do very much. Sam needed a lot of sleep, which he got, and I made tuna salad. We also watched a few movies but I can’t remember which ones because I’m getting old.

One more reason I’m feeling my age: I read that Richie Havens died of a heart attack today. I loved this dude! Havens, who was 72, mostly recorded covers of other artists’ hits but turned them into his own personal triumphs with better vocals and instrumentals than the original recordings. Here’s Richie singing one of my personal favorites, George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun,” from Woodstock’s 40th anniversary back in in 2009.

I might be a little late to the picnic on this topic, but I’ve finally realized that the Internet is an appalling waste of time. After I dug up this terrific video of Richie Havens I spent THREE SOLID HOURS glued to YouTube watching a mashup of Judy Judy’s best cases. I think my favorite was a 40-year-old man suing a 13-year-old neighbor girl who didn’t pay him for the liquor and cigarettes he bought her. While this was probably worth three hours of my life, I haven’t eaten since 11:45 this morning and my blood sugar is plummeting. Holy crap.

For your possible interest, here’s what’s happening this week at Howdygram headquarters.

• The highlight of my week: Tomorrow is pickup day for my April order from the KC Kosher Co-Op. I have to drive into Dallas to meet the delivery truck at 5 p.m. in a ritzy Jewish neighborhood about a mile from George W. Bush’s house. This month’s loot includes a six-jar carton of Ba-tampte half-sour pickles and 12 canisters of Kosher Carmel chicken soup mix.
• My maid service will be here Wednesday at 1:30.
• The big season 11 “Project Runway” finale is Thursday night at 8 Central time. I’m ready, people.
• Sam has an appointment with an ophthalmologist Friday morning to discuss cataract surgery.

I didn’t think I’d run across another Putz of the Week candidate so soon after honoring Louie Gohmert in my last post, but there’s definitely an abundance of right-wing cretins waiting for the Howdygram’s acknowledgement. This time it’s Minnesota’s ultra-conservative radio host Bob Davis, who announced on the air that Sandy Hook families can “go to hell” for infringing on his gun rights.

On Friday Davis was discussing the Newtown tragedy during his talk show on Twin Cities News Talk AM 1130 and launched into a hideous tirade about how family members of the 26 victims — who were mostly 6 and 7 years old — are suddenly advocates for gun control. Here’s a direct quote of his remarks. You’d better have a barf bag handy.

“I have something I want to say to the victims of Newtown, or any other shooting. I don’t care if it’s here in Minneapolis or anyplace else. Just because a bad thing happened to you doesn’t mean that you get to put a king in charge of my life. I’m sorry that you suffered a tragedy, but you know what? Deal with it, and don’t force me to lose my liberty, which is a greater tragedy than your loss. I’m sick and tired of seeing these victims trotted out, given rides on Air Force One, hauled into the Senate, and everyone is just afraid — they’re terrified of these victims. I would stand in front of them and tell them GO TO HELL.”

I have news for you Bob: The families of those children are already in hell and I HAVE NO DOUBT YOU’RE GOING TO JOIN THEM. And while I’m at it, isn’t it amazing how these loudmouth right-wing sacks of poo can spout liberty and freedom when it comes to their stupid guns but have no problem refusing women the right to a legal abortion? I’m just saying.

Whew.

It’s almost 9 p.m. and I’d better figure out immediately what I want for dinner and shlep myself into the kitchen. Leftover Chinese sounds like the perfect option because it’s also the fastest option. Thank you for reading this!

Proof that you don’t need any functioning brain cells to be an Olympic swimmer.

Everybody knows I’m a big fan of “Project Runway,” and last night’s episode finally revealed the three finalists (pictured below) who will show their collections at Fashion Week. I have to admit, I’m underwhelmed this year.

Patricia creates capes with horsehair fringe for Native Americans, Michelle’s designs are all Victorian “steampunk” in dark green (seriously) with quilted leggings and pounds of hardware, and Stanley’s clothes are simply, in a word: GORGEOUS. I’d wear them in a heartbeat, and that’s exactly why he’ll never win: I’M IN MY SIXTIES. I can’t imagine any fashion designer ever hitting the big time if his target customers are senior citizens with corrective shoes and boring underpants. Nevertheless, try to tune in next Thursday night on Lifetime to see who wins. If you care.

And now a little something from the zany world of politics! Jon “Einstein” Lundberg, a Republican State Senator from Tennessee, finally found time to focus his efforts on passing a vital and long-deserved resolution: A resolution honoring himself. The resolution was written by Lundberg’s staff to honor the 20th anniversary of the Senator’s P.R. firm. When asked about spending $300 of the taxpayer’s money on a self-congratulating resolution, Lundberg remarked that he paid back the state of Tennessee for the cost of the paper. (How about also reimbursing taxpayers for this indefensible waste of time?) According to local news station WSMV, this wasn’t Lundberg’s first abuse, because he also passed a resolution honoring his daughter when she graduated from high school. Holy crap.

At last, here’s ample proof that you don’t need any functioning brain cells to be an Olympic swimmer! A pair of anchors on Fox’s Philadelphia morning show dissolve into hysterics after interviewing vacant Ryan Lochte about his upcoming reality TV show, “What Would Ryan Lochte Do?”, which focuses on Ryan partying at Hooters, Ryan getting drunk, Ryan posing without a shirt and Ryan learning how to tie his shoes. 



Lochte’s reality show premiers on Sunday, April 21, at 9 p.m. Central on E! Entertainment. For the record, I think I’d rather watch “What Would Terri Schiavo Do?”.

And now for a welcome diversion from the Boston Marathon bombing, here’s a video of a Russian cat playing with a vacuum cleaner hose. On YouTube it’s titled “Кот и пылесос.” This can probably best be translated as: “In Search of Last Night’s Hairball.”



My Friday night sock-folding party starts in 30 minutes. Thank you for reading this.

Tonight’s menu: Practically Spaghetti and Meat Sauce.

Hi, kids. It’s me, Marcy! Remember the $15 lamp I ordered from Wal-Mart.com (see post) a couple of days ago? Sam assembled the silly thing this morning and it’s actually cute. VERY cute. And they even included a free 40-watt CFL bulb, one of those new environmentally-friendly corkscrew things. I’m impressed. When was the last time you bought a lamp at any price that included a free bulb?

There’s a big brou-ha-ha developing here in the Dallas area over a proposal by Texas State Representative Dan Branch to rename an eight-mile stretch of our North Central Expressway for George W. Bush. The backlash, as you might expect, has been nothing short of fierce. As I see it, there are three major arguments against this travesty.

• Argument #1. We already have a huge George H.W. Bush Turnpike (named for Dubya’s father) that’s referred to simply as “the Bush.” I wouldn’t joke about this.
• Argument #2. Dallas recently renamed a major boulevard near Southern Methodist University “George Bush Avenue” because it’s adjacent to Dubya’s new presidential library.
• Argument #3. George W. Bush makes everybody sick, including Republicans and especially me.

Aside from the fact that naming yet another major Dallas artery for somebody named Bush would cause far too much confusion — i.e., “take the Bush to the Bush and go south on the Bush” — plenty of us have a real problem with who it’s being named for. Although Representative Branch insists this would only involve renaming a “small section” of the North Central Expressway, it happens to be the most important section ... an eight-mile stretch through all of downtown and the historical and cultural epicenter of the city. George W. Bush may live here, but we sure as hell don’t have to turn this into a never-ending celebration. Holy crap.

Join the fight — especially if you live in Texas — and sign this petition. Thank y’all.

And as long as I’m into politics and petitions (for a nice change of pace, right?), I hope you’ll sign this petition to encourage President Obama NOT TO CUT SOCIAL SECURITY BENEFITS. In an effort to spark budget talks he volunteered to include a miserable GOP proposal for “chained CPI,” a program that Republicans like to pretend is a smart solution to Social Security cost of living adjustments. In truth, chained CPI is a serious cut to benefits that hurts senior citizens ... and in case you’ve forgotten, I AM A SENIOR CITIZEN.

At the moment I’m also a hungry senior citizen, so I think I’ll mosey into the kitchen and whip up a big pot of Practically Spaghetti and Meat Sauce. This involves two bags of zero-calorie Miracle Noodles, half a jar of low-carb Bella Vita pasta sauce, hot pepper flakes, two drops of EZ Sweetz (no kidding, two drops!), half a cup of Thrive rehydrated beef TVP and a heap o’ parmesan cheese. This is damn good stuff, people. DAMN GOOD. And it tastes even better when you’re watching “Project Runway.”

Thank you for reading this.