Whip It

I don’t normally endorse companies or businesses without them paying me, but I have a few things that I have to say.  First I have to paint the picture so close your eyes and imagine… well, don’t close your eyes while you are reading, but read it, then close your eyes and imagine it. You are in California in the summer, it’s crazy hot and you’ve spent most of the day so far waiting in lines interspersed with glimpses of joy and excitement. Your feet are tired, your eyes are tired and you are pretty sure the sun-block you put on 20 minutes ago wore off 24 minutes ago – leaving you a lovely shade of burgundy. It is at this point you decide a little break is needed.
You purchase a delicious, cool Pineapple Dole Whip and sit in a cool air-conditioned room listening to strange mechanical and magical birds from days past sing to you. It is just the refreshment for your body and mind that you desperately needed. That’s a good memory.
Well, I discovered by accident a while back that Farr’s downtown sells the very same Dole whips that I would normally only be able to buy at Disneyland before walking into the Tiki room. I have the chance to re-live a cherished family memory/tradition every day of my life. This would result in a giant amount of calories, and therefore a giant me, so what a predicament I am in. How do I resist? It’s all about establishing rules and living by rules.
1) I am only allowed to go to Farr’s for Dole Whip if I bring someone who has never before tasted it or a member of my own blood-related family.
2) In the event that I am having a bad week, someone who has never tasted kumquat may substitute for someone who has never tasted Dole Whip.
3) In the event that I am having a bad day a member of a blood-related family may substitute for a member of my blood-related family.
4) In the event that I have an overpowering hankering for pineapple deliciousness, a ketchup packet may substitute for either.

I have actually stuck to my guns with these rules. So far it has worked out really well for my taste buds. That’s my secret of self-control, make rules and follow the rules.

Manly sweat, but no men in sight

I know females are supposed to "glisten" when they exercise or something like that, but I start sweating by jumping-jack number four. After I’ve finished at the gym, drenched in sweat and tired, I sit down to stretch. I can’t help but think that while I’ve never been in a Viking ship (it’s on my list of things to think about doing before I die), my general odor is reminiscent of 48 sweaty men rowing at the oars in the bowels of a ship – sweat pouring from their faces, all cramped together in the tight quarters of the underbelly, the stench heavy in the air with nowhere else to go. That's me after a real workout. The question is, if the results are so disgusting, why do I keep going? I have no answer, I just like it. I guess I'm weird that way.