Dear Ryan Seacrest,

Dear Ryan Seacrest,
I need my own tv show. It's not so much a want, more a need. For both of us.
A bit about me: I am a typical 9 to 5'er (correction 9 to 6'er, that whole "9 to 5 bit" is a major falsity, I'll write to whoever started that lie later), who feels my talents would be better served in front of the camera of my own half hour (could be an hour if the editing was done right) television show. I am willing to do almost anything on my show (well except maybe bite the head off of a pigeon a la Ozzy Osbourne, but definitely don a unitard and walk the streets of Los Angeles with a midget a la Chelsea Handler - I love love love miniatures, but that's a separate letter). I am also great with people and can chase them down in 5 inch heels if necessary (don't ask). I think alcohol is 50% of the food pyramid and carbs should be the other 50. I used to be so ugly I had to sneak up on water to get a drink. I have a dating history that rivals "Another World" (RIP). I can also have an entire conversation with an answering machine or any other inanimate object.

Call me.


P.S: I don't eat meat.


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

So TODAY was my Biometric screening day...



I also discovered there is a banana pudding ice cream. So last night everytime I planned to stop eating it I came upon another Nilla Wafer, which OBVIOUSLY I had to eat. 

   When I found out I had to have my waist measured and my weight taken a month ago I decided I needed to    go on a strict workout and diet plan. Unfortunately I forgot. Fail.


So this morning  I went in for my assessment and the guy tells me he's going to measure my waist. He asks me to put the measuring tape on my belly button and spin around. He then looks at the number, I firmly tell him to"please tighten it up" - I suck in. I'm panicking because I realize my shirt is slightly bunched in the back. He writes down the number. OH. MY. GOSH. Wrong. Then he tells me to get on the scale and that I can take my shoes off or leave them on. Umm take them off obviously! I get on, I look at the number. Damn you Nilla Wafers. I'm 4 pounds heavier than I anticipated. I think the scale is broken. Cheap piece of shit.

He then tells me "good numbers". Umm yah, whatever buddy. I  consider doing squats over to the table where I have to get my blood drawn. Instead, I've done my 5 minute booty blast routine twice in the handicap stall of the restroom today (gives me the space I need to do two sets of leg lefts and squats).

Could be worse though, the guy across from me had definitely had way more than just some banana pudding ice cream. Epic Fail.
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