I’d like to share a discovery with you today: Garlic Lemon Tea. This might be a creation of my own or a stumbling onto something that was discovered centuries ago, but I thought it was noteworthy and worth a share.
Millions of people deal with heartburn or high stomach acidity and only half or so (a made-up statistic for this post) know that a highly-acidic stomach fosters what can be called a “poisonous” homeostasis for the human body. Apparently a pH imbalance can lead to major sickness, notably cancer and many other unwanted problems. Not good, eh?
Well I like to eat pasta, drink beer and indulge in other food choices that encourage an imbalanced pH level in my stomach, so time and time again I’ll feel the heartburn churning in my stomach like the convection currents beneath the Earth’s crust. The volcano erupts with a blast of hot acid and I’m miserable for the rest of the day, just like anyone else who has this condition.
But I found a way to deal with it and I’ve noticed a welcome change in mood and, most importantly, results. It’s called Garlic Lemon Tea. The recipe is as follows:
1 large cup of hot water.
2-3 cloves of garlic, crushed and diced in a garlic crusher and dicer.
1 slice of lemon.
1 tea-ball strainer.
Simple enough, and the results are incredible. Besides the rancid smell of my breath I must admit that I feel pretty good. The power of alkaline.
A good read right here…
Originally posted on The Daily Dahlia:
It’s been almost a full year now since I signed with my agent, but the thing about querying is, if you did it for long enough, I’m not sure you ever forget what it was like.
Me? I did it on and off for four years.
I got something like ten rejections on my first ms before I stopped (not that I’d normally advise giving up after that low a number, it’s just that it was far more of a “market timing” thing – NA! – than anything else), fifty before shelving the second one (what, until my most recent ms, was “the book of my heart”), and then was very lucky to find my agent through The Writer’s Voice contest with my third, for which I only sent about five queries.
For the second time in my life I decided to cut my own hair, and for the second time in my life I’m being told that I didn’t do a very good job. Oh well, I guess.
Truth is I like to cut my own hair (it’s not really cutting my own hair, it’s more like taking a buzz-cutter and running it through each lane of hair I have). I like to screw up on my own and have other people point out how I missed a spot in back or that I should go and see my former stylist and pay out the ass just so she can “touch it up” and make it look acceptable to other people. Then maybe I can feel good about myself and not have to worry about how shitty I now look because I decided to cut my own hair and save a few much-needed dollars (14 to be exact).
You ever miss your hair after you get it cut? Regardless of who cuts it, do you ever miss it? Do you ever just wish that you’re hair would freeze in place in a position that you like?
I’ve had those days, those days when I looked in the mirror after combing it and thinking, “Gee, I wish it could look like that everyday for the rest of my life.”
But then it disappears because long hair isn’t acceptable and everyone and their uncle tells you that you look like a slob and a joke and an unprofessional, lousy, good-for-nothing little punk.
Didn’t Jesus have long hair? How Christian of him.
I like long hair. I like having long hair. Women have told me they like it when I have long hair. I know it looks good, other people besides good-looking women know it looks good, so why doesn’t my mother think it looks good? No clue. Couldn’t tell you, other than the fact that she thinks that long hair is unprofessional and lousy. Maybe she’s jealous.
I miss my long and beautiful hair, now sitting in the garbage of my bathroom, lonely and without a scalp to feed off of. I miss my hair, and now I look ugly.
While out shopping the other day I decided to make a stop at Tim Hortons. I made the unfortunate mistake of skipping breakfast so it was necessary. Normally I’m more of a drive-thru guy but there was something telling me I had to go inside to order:
After answering nature’s call of decrepitude I pulled myself up to the register and met eye to eye with the poor young woman working behind the counter. She was probably a few years younger than me, maybe the same. A plastered look of emptiness was on her face. She asked for the order and I gave it: “One pretzel bagel and a small Pepsi.”
Harmless enough, or so it seemed. Apparently the feeling wasn’t mutual.
“Do you want anything done with the bagel?” she asked.
Now, me being a smartass without a proper filter, I couldn’t help but run through the numerous outlandish responses popping throughout my head.
“Why yes, won’t do you take it out in the parking lot and run it over a few times. Then after that, throw it into oncoming traffic and tell it to grow legs. After waiting several minutes for this NOT to happen, run into oncoming traffic and save the poor pastry from further humiliation and bring it back into the store, wrapped comfortably in a steamed towel. Then we’ll ask the other patrons in the store to suggest a proper name for the bagel, something exotic but not too erotic, like Pazima or Selares. That way when you finish toasting and smothering it in butter, you can bring to my table and say ‘_______ is ready to be eaten, sir.’ Can that be done?
“I could really use a spare tire. Can you add lugnuts for and extra $.50?”
“Yeah, find the sharpest knife you can and see how many cuts you can make.”
“Peel off the salt and bag it for me so I can get rid of the ice on my driveway.”
I am aware of other creatures on this planet called “humans” that like their bagel sliced, toasted or given a pedicure before they eat it, but I prefer it plain and ripped to several pieces by my own bare hands. However my preference in bagel’s isn’t the point here, it’s the question that was asked about it that is the focus of this particular observation. Throughout any given day there are many unusual questions that people will ask you, many of which may pass you by without warranting a second notice. But most of them deserve one. My personal favorites:
“Do you want that super-sized?”
“Do you just want the sandwich?”
“Does that look alright to you?”
“Can you hold please?”
“Anything else for you today?”
“What time is it?”
“How would you like that cooked?”
There’s many more you could add, but far too many already involve anything related to food. The more you add the more they’ll pile up, metaphorically speaking.
Like Glen from Wayne’s World says, “Well the world’s a twisted place.”
What can you do about it?
And so begins the new blog series called “Observations of Reality,” a series devoted to my daily interactions within this universe and the alleviation of all subconscious stress. It is also a series that will lead up to the release of my next book, whose name will more than likely be “Memories of a Real World.”
But the inaugural post will focus on something different, something profane, something stronger than a shot of acetone on top of acid-reflux heartburn. I’m talking of course about…
Have you ever noticed how some people only behave according to the status of their bank account balance? Or their relationship status? Weather patterns? Height?
I’m sure I’m not the only hairy bastard who is bothered by this but in all honesty I can’t think of anything else that “gets a rise” out of me. It’s annoying, these people. One day they’re up on cloud nine with a tall glass of Pinot noir, enjoying everything there is to enjoy, wondering why the hell you aren’t up there with them. Then the next day their car breaks down, their cell phone craps out or their checking account goes to Frisco for retirement and suddenly they’re the meanest son of a bitch you’ve ever known! It’s fascinating!
They’re everywhere. You can’t escape them nor should you try to. If you did then you’d end up an agoraphobe with a nonexistent electric bill and deep-shade blinds for your windows. It’s a scary world, believe me. But there’s no use in trying to avoid the unavoidable, and that, in the end, is the wonderful creatures of volatility that walk about you everyday, ready to throw themselves into a wicked panic of joy or cataclysmic crash of death-seeking hatred whenever a “life-changing” event smacks them across their peachy cheeks. They call it emotion.
Just go to the grocery store tomorrow, or perhaps the movie theater. Or maybe a sporting event or a family gathering. You may even find yourself at an orgy for satanists without the proper equipment, and then you’ll really know what I’m talking about.
People can be scary under the proper circumstances, regardless of what side of the emotional spectrum you observe them at.
Do me a favor and just observe. It’s not hard, just a few seconds at a time, maybe a minute or two like I did today with this crazy boomerang driving a white pickup truck through town, madly turning into oncoming traffic and slipping and sliding on the thin ice. I followed him for a few minutes, just to observe, just to see if he would cause an accident, and I would witness it. People like that, the volatile ones who you have to watch out for…and me of course.
But I don’t know. It’s just one observation, but truthfully, I could do without the whole volatility thing and really go for more of a blissful endlessness of uneventful. Car crashed? Oh well. Close relative dead? It was gonna happen eventually. No money? A penny-less hawk just fed a family of three in my backyard with one fell swoop. Top that bitch!
I guess you’d could say that one full-sized rabbit can really go a long way in the animal kingdom. Fun fact.