Tag Archives: guilt

Suck It, MyFitnessPal

Dear MyFitnessPal,

Despite your claim to be my ‘pal’, I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk away from this friendship. You see, this evening it occurred to me, that you, in fact, suck.

Before you try to object, I’ve thought this through for approximately 12 minutes, and have come up with a list of very valid reasons why:

1. I just searched for the calorie content of 10 kalamata olives and 2 cups of romaine lettuce, and that is really, really dumb.

2. I love cupcakes. They make me happy. And I don’t feel I can share with you when I eat one. Or three. Whatever. Three times the cupcakes = three times the happiness, that’s what I think.

3. When you tell me I could be 112 pounds in 2 weeks if I were to just stay unhealthily under my recommended caloric intake every single day, it’s just a lie. We all know that’s not how it works, MyFitnessPal. And frankly, if you were a person, I’d kick you in the nuts for making people think this sort of behavior is ok.

4. Sometimes I go to bed with my stomach growling because you told me I was over my limit for the day. Then I have dreams that involve me being in a hot tub full of nacho cheese. That shit’s just weird. Although, I’d probably totally do it if a hot tub full of nacho cheese presented itself to me.

5. I hide my raging martini and margarita habit from you. There. I said it. And no, I don’t want to know how many calories are in my margarita. All I need to know is that it’s delicious and that I should have more of them. You should really be more encouraging about these things.

6. I exercise. A lot. And I enjoy doing so, not just because you tell me I can have an extra 600 calories today because I took a Spin class, but because it makes me feel good. For 38 years old, I think I’m doing pretty well for myself, with the exception of some thigh jiggle I’ve been trying to get rid of for 3 years and, let’s face it, probably ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’ve accepted it. I don’t need you to.

7. Last, but not least, is that I’m just tired. Tired of scrutinizing every calorie I put in my mouth, and tired of feeling guilty if I consume one more olive than I’m supposed to. You’re just no fun, MyFitnessPal. Have some pie, you uptight bastard.

I feel like there should be three more reasons here to put things at an even ten, but I’m trying to let go of my obsessive-compulsive behavior, so screw it.

By the way, I know damn well I burn more than 200 calories in an hour of lifting weights, you asshole.


Paula In The Country Drinking Wine And Not About To Search For It’s Caloric Content




Posted by on April 4, 2014 in Diet & Exercise, Humor, Life


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What The Hell’s A Schnitzel With Noodles Anyway?

I have a confession to make. I’m a Christmas asshole.

Don’t get me wrong here, it’s my favorite time of the year. (That totally rhymed, and I didn’t even mean it to. Look at me, all poetic and shit. Moving along now. Tangent. Sorry.) I love the entire feel of the season; The warmth, love, family, Christmas movies, claymation Rudolph, cookies, eggnog, getting drunk and fat, yada yada yada. But every year I get Christmas cards from friends, some even handmade with love, and the result is a tinge of warmth followed by overwhelming Christmas guilt. Like, ‘Holy shit this person went out of their way to pick out a card, slap a stamp on it, trek out in the freezing cold to mail it, all for me, and here I sit, licking cookie crumbs off a computer keyboard’ guilt. Not that I really lick crumbs off a keyboard. OK, maybe I just did. Whatever. Don’t judge me. Anyhoo… As horrible as they make me feel as a person, I applaud these friends. The whole Christmas card deal seems like something I should get on board with. I mean, I’m a nice person. I like to think I go out of my way for people, more so than most. But the thought of collecting addresses, having to write heartfelt greetings with my poor, crippled carpal-tunnel-stricken hand (insert pathetic violin music here), purchasing stamps (Like, do people really do that anymore?) is, frankly, exhausting just to think about. So not only am I a Christmas asshole, I am a very lazy Christmas asshole.

So, to everyone who’s sent me a Christmas card this year, I’d like to apologize for my Christmas assholiness, and offer you this super creepy Santa:


Ho. Ho. Effin’ Ho.


Posted by on December 17, 2013 in Humor


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