Carnival Cruise Line, Eat Your Heart Out
I wouldn’t call myself a snob, but I do have standards.
I believe wine should be served in a proper glass at the proper temp regardless of price. I think there’s a correct and incorrect way to load a dishwasher (and yes, I will reorganize if needed). And I absolutely care about how you order and receive your food when dining out.
I simply do not do buffets.
Obama had a famous red line on chemical weapons. I have one for buffets. (Only mine stays put.)
I don’t want to eat food that has been festering for hours or already picked over by denizens who pile their plates high to the heavens. Note, I am being uncharacteristically kind here.
I sell food for a living. I know what you have to buy to offer all-you-can-eat anything and still make money.
Just. Say. No.
And I do not want to go another round. One meal is plenty. For me and for you. Yes, I am that asshole.
I don’t even do buffets when entertaining. There are no buffets allowed in my house.
Except, apparently, one.
Which I visit every night before I go to bed.
The pharmaceutical buffet.
“It’s like a buffet of pills,” Nash observed one night as I opened up the nifty 5 x 7 container that houses my glistening capsules of goodness. This made me laugh so hard I nearly choked to death on three capsules working their way down my hatch.
My pharmaceutical buffet, enjoyed nightly. Had to put a “D'‘ above the Vitamin D to avoid future catastrophes.
Insecure Jessie wants to make it very clear to you that only one of the pills is truly a pharmaceutical. The rest are an impressive assortment of supplements and hormones that I consume in an ongoing effort to become more youthful, energetic, skinnier, less wrinkled and a bit more hairy (in a good way).
Tonight’s menu includes an appetizer of a cortisol blocker with a light dusting of Lexapro, followed by a delicate selection of vitamin D and Urolithin A.
For the main, we’ve got a double dose of Mega Mucosa and a hint of Ubiquinol, rounded out with a lovely emerald green number called Seed. Couldn’t tell ya what’s in it, but it sure is purdy.
And let’s not skimp on dessert! It’s a tantalizing trio of progesterone, SporeBiotic (??) and a generous hit of magnesium.
I’ll fuck up my menu on occasion. Once I mistook the progesterone for vitamin D for a good while. Figured it out when I called my doctor for a refill and she questioned how in the world I could’ve gone through 90 days’ worth already.
Oopsie.
But damn I was sleeping well!
Speaking of sleeping, when did bedtime become so freaking complicated?
I remember when going to bed meant washing your face, brushing your teeth and maybe putting on a light moisturizer. Now I’ve got to start the process early enough to slather seventeen different creams, serums and potions onto my face, neck and chest—from heaviest to lightest, of course—before hitting the buffet.
I don’t even think we knew what mitochondrial function meant back in the day. Now I stress that if I skip one night of Urolithin A, I’ll lose all cellular function by midnight and, therefore, all manner of bodily function come morning.
Then I take down a cortisol blocker to manage the stress.
And I’m the one sitting on my high horse judging the white-tennis-shoed folks hitting the buffet line?
Oy vey.
It appears I’ve been eating my heart out too.
Seconds on the progesterone, please.