So, I’m sitting in my office, and I should be working. Instead I’m on the Internet. I don’t know what I would do if I still had the kind of job that monitors everything I do.
Meanwhile, I’m slightly afraid that I might die here in my office in a most humiliating fashion. For reasons that are partially to do with traveling and poop (see “Uncharacteristically base”) and partially to do with hypochondria, I decided to take a dietary supplement including fiber. Most fiber supplements come with the warning
Warning: Take this product with at least 8 ounces of fluid. Taking this product without adequate fluid may cause choking.
How must this look, choking on fiber? In my head, it involves massive swelling like one of those foam rubber in a pill toys, but worse. 
All of this makes me wonder about Irritable Bowel Syndrome, which I am suspect could be a pharmacy-industry invented “disease.” Actually one of the doctors I work with told me when she was a resident, it was the diagnosis given to folks (mostly women)who complained a lot about their digestive system but didn’t have anything wrong with them. They would come back unsatisfied when they were told there was nothing wrong, so IBS sounded real and stopped their whining. I’m not sure, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that chicks aren’t allowed to fart. Granted the doctor who told me this fun fact is a total cynic (who thankfully is a research doctor who doesn’t see actual patients any more).
There’s a new commercial for some pharmaceutical that shows various women and their presumably bloated, distended bellies that really makes IBS seem invented. A friend of mine, whilst we were comparing the bowel habits of men we know (which is a long and stupid story in and of itself), basically sums it up that men need their special bathroom time everyday or think they are dying, while women cycle through constipation and whatnot and think it’s no big deal.
Yes, I am stuck in a Freudian psychosocial stage that puts me mentally around three years old.
In regard to the post below, and the resulting comment, I searched around the web for
Kanduna and figure I won’t be moving there any time soon. Like Nigeria doesn’t suck enough, this little ancient corner features a plethora of both Christian and Muslim fundamental nut jobs.
I also searched some of the text to see if it’s a known Internet scam. I didn’t find anything, but I came across Boys under Attack, a Christian website helping boys to cope with the scourge of puberty. I actually landed on the page under Sex Addiction after searching the phrase “After my prayers, I searched the Christian sites in the internet.” Go figure. I feel a little bad for the kid who has never developed normal relationships with girls, because he was feverishly rubbing one to three or four out every day, but with Christianity he is learning to talk with girls now. With the help of God, maybe someday he will SCORE.
. I ain’t never owned a waffle iron before, so I whipped up some batter in my new Kitchenaid mixer and let her rip. Tasty waffle goodness for dinner. When M. comes back to Cambridge, I think our breakfast in bed might be a tad elaborate.
and so, 
are a cruel fucking hoax, any vague sense of style I possess would evaporate. I swear to fucking Christ, clothing manufacturers are giving a big fuck you to overeaters: “Hey lady, since you like groceries, I bet you have lost your eyesight, too.” I once went to one of those stores with a friend, and I swear there was a dress with a Good & Plenty pattern 
. Somewhere some skinny chick in a design studio was giggling herself weak, “Get it? Good & Plenty, because they’re like fat, you know. Plenty. Ha ha ha. Let’s go eat some salads.”