Glucose tablets. I need glucose tablets!

In this post: Desperately Seeking Szechuan, the fashions of Thom Browne.

Howdy, foodies! In case you’re curious, last night’s dessert got derailed temporarily. I didn’t have a chance to bake that low-carb cake with the mountain of white fluffy frosting (see previous post) because first I had to: 1) make biscuits and chicken salad for dinner; 2) eat biscuits and chicken salad for dinner; 3) clean up the kitchen; 4) take a nice hot shower; and 5) complete all previous items within a specific time frame in order to participate in a Marks family conference call at 9 to talk about Sam’s mom considering a move to assisted living. (Looks like she’s definitely going to do it. Smart decision!)

At present I’m in the middle of a hypoglycemic episode. Diabetic autonomic neuropathy actually blocks the typical adverse warning signals when my blood sugar plummets to 50 — like right now, for instance — so I’m feeling slightly intoxicated and goofy as opposed to clammy, shaky and on the verge of a blackout. This tends to be both fun and terrifying, like bungee jumping or eating at McDonald’s.

The previous paragraph should provide adequate proof that something’s seriously wrong with me. Glucose tablets. I need glucose tablets!

And now it’s time for Desperately Seeking Szechuan. For the last 35 minutes I’ve been trying to order food from China City but they’ve got a truly atrocious website that takes FOREVER to load. This means I either have to call them — which involves conversing with a woman who speaks no English whatsoever — or figure out how not to drop dead waiting for their stupid shopping cart. In the meantime here’s a photo of China City for your possible interest. Tonight’s dinner eventually will include hot & sour soup, Hunan Shrimp, Jalapeño Shrimp and no rice. (I love shrimp. I hate rice.)

Thought you might enjoy a photo montage of the elegant clothes from designer Thom Browne’s show at New York Fashion Week a few days ago. I’m especially impressed with the carefree hairstyles, the skillfully-applied lipstick and the bunched-up socks. You can never have too many pairs of bunched-up socks!

Is it just me, or do these women all look like miserable characters from a Tim Burton movie? (Think Edward Scissorhands.) And who, exactly, buys this weird shit?  Model #1 has a crumb shelf across her crotch; model #2 has a ready-to-wear noose; and model #5 is wearing a toilet paper straight jacket. Holy mother of crap.

I think I’ll just stick to bathrobes. They’re convenient, they’re stylish, they don’t require a brassiere, and they work well for any occasion as long as you never leave the house. Thank you for reading this.