Wheat; The Silent Killer. (Of Your Social Life)

This is a new segment in which I, Brooke Van Poppelen, aka health expert and Uninsured Hypochondriac field all sorts of medical questions based on years of terrified google researching and Web MD browsing to try and figure out what the hell was going on with my failing health. Feel free to submit questions about what seems to be ailing you and I will do my best to give you an internet based answer devoid of contemporary medical facts.

Dear Uninsured Hypochondriac,

Lately all of my gal pals seem to be no fun to eat at restaurants with. One by one, they have all claimed to have a gluten (wheat) allergy and now have very restricted diets. This has really been upsetting to my social life and has caused me to have some digestive disturbance. I am thinking I too am allergic to wheat. How do I find out for sure?

Sincerely,
Wheaties— the Breakfast of Cramps


Dear Wheaties,

Being utterly and completely effected by even the mention of a disease, ailment, or allergy, I feel your gastric pain. I too was once temporarily allergic to wheat and that was a harrowing year of my life being restricted to rice cakes and lettuce wraps, but boy oh boy was I thin! Man was I thin! I wish I could show you a photo of how pretty and thin I was when I had my wheat allergy.

But let’s get back to the topic at hand.

Gluten allergy is very prevalent in white, middle to upper class America, especially in females with too much time on their hands. It is the inability to digest gluten, which is the binding agent in wheat, and over time it causes your intestines to become porous. This prevents beneficial nutrients from being absorbed and can lead to toxins and waste escaping from your intestines and into your bloodstream. Or at least that’s what I read on the internet. I do know for sure that gluten is basically found in every type of food that tastes good and it causes a lot of stomach pain, IBS, and worst of all bloating.

You should definitely freak out about this. I say get on the internet NOW and start google-searching all of the symptoms and make sure none of them are fatal, which, unfortunately, one of them always is so just keep your fingers crossed that it’s not the symptom you’re experiencing.

There are a lot of reasons why your stomach could be upset. Did you ingest bleach at any point this week? Did anyone have to administer the Heimlich Maneuver on you in the past 2 weeks? Did you eat a heaping bowl of Kashi Good Friends Cereal this morning? That stuff will fuck you up.

Okay, so you’ve answered ‘no’ to the above questions and we can start narrowing this down to the answer you want to hear.

In my personal journey, there seemed to be a strong correlation between anxiety and having an upset stomach. The anxiety would cause me to stress eat and binge drink, therefore resulting in horrible stomach pain the next day, leading me to diagnose myself with temporary wheat allergy.

It sounds to me like the envy you are feeling towards your girlfriends and their new, lithe frames, is causing you to have gluten intolerance. Let’s hope and pray I’m right so you can start making sense of this nightmare and immediately eliminate all wheat and flour from your diet.

Best,

Uninsured Hypochondriac

Get Organizized!

Many of you are wondering aloud, "How does Brooke Van Poppelen intend to keep up her break-neck pace of success in 2010?"

Well my friends, I am going to let you in on a little secret of the stars: The Dry-Erase Board.

To me, a dry-erase board means business. No longer is it the passive-aggressive communication tool used by 22 year-old housemates who hate one another for not doing the dishes. Nay. It is now a powerful tool in which adults can clearly keep goals listed in front of their face and erase them with ease* once accomplished.

I have yet to succumb to the addictive nature of an Iphone, let alone a Crackberry and for some reason even a planner does nothing more for me than inform me of the things I just failed to show up for.

Many days I have to fill out a dry-erase board to stay on target as my mind is operated by squirrels. Squirrels who have a drinking problem. The more visual and tangible my goals are the better because I often lose track very quickly. With a dry-erase board, I can literally pass out drunk at my desk and wake up face down on my goals. There's just no escaping them with this method!

The old days of keeping tattered notepads, notebooks, scraps of paper, wrappers, napkins and beer coasters in a giant pile of "to-do" is long gone. Presto! I just keep buying more dry-erase boards! They're literally covering every inch of my room but my goals are undoubtedly present and tough to ignore. Like really tough to ignore and sort of in the way... I can't find my laptop and purse underneath all of these boards. Fuck, where are my keys?

Anyhow, this year I have even loftier goals than ever before although admittedly last year's goal of "get up before noon at least 3 days/week" was not that hard to achieve in the first place.

This year phrases like "live with more clarity" and "know thy purpose" are scribbled all over the place along with things like "clean the juicer" ( have you ever owned of of these things? Fan-fucking-tastic until you use it once and have to clean the son of a bitch and extract carrot and kale pulp from the 15 pieces you have to disassemble and reassemble each time you want 6 ounces of juice.) Anyway, I let mine go for about 3 months, wrapped it in a plastic bag and have ignored it ever since. I am truly terrified of what sort of compost monster I've created in the dark, dewey recesses of this machine but I'm pretty sure if eaten, could cure you of a venereal disease.

Point being, we should all try something that scares us. Goshdarnit, I am going to find out once and for all just how bad my credit score is. Tiny goals are good to mix in with the big ones too so that you can actually cross something off your list. I'm a big fan of writing something down that I just did which may not have even been a goal but it sure feels good to draw a line through something that's actually happened, intentional or not.

So for all of you, your first goal for 2010 is to go out and get a Dry-Erase Board(s) and join the ranks of brilliant and wildly successful individuals who know better than to set their goals in stone. Erasable marker my friends, erasable marker.



*some goals may take longer than others and in cases such as these a mere finger swipe will not cut it. Simply wet a paper towel and scrub vigorously, but not so vigorously as to accidentally remove a different goal or affirmation from the list.

That Time of Year...

Christmas Eve, 2007.

I’m alone in Queens with a chihuahua-- pet sitting for a newly-wed couple who has dashed off to France for their anniversary. They are both blonde, attractive, and clearly, more successful than me.

They didn’t exactly say I could help myself to anything in their fridge, but I figured I would anyway.

There’s nothing in the fridge.

I try the freezer.

Paquita Borgita Jimenez the Chihuahua sits at my feet and stares expectantly up at me.

Jackpot. I’ve found a box of Lean Pockets with exactly one left inside.

I watch as my Christmas Eve dinner rotates on a little glass plate in the microwave and know this is some kind of new, personal low.

After consuming the stolen lean pocket, guilt washes over me because I have a well documented history of stealing food and I don’t want this couple to know my fat secret. So I suit up and set out on foot to brave the cold and find a grocery store that’s open on Christmas Eve. The closest one is located across a 4 lane highway.

Instrumental holiday standards pour out of a tinny speaker as I scan the aisles for the frozen food. I buy a brand new box of Lean Pockets, and also the world’s scratchiest, pre-packaged pajamas because I had forgotten to pack mine. They are red and have snowflakes on them. How appropriate.

I scurry back across the highway and into the apartment and am greeted by the nervous little animal.

As I go to replace the box of Lean Pockets, I realize that I only need to replace 1. If I replace the whole package, they will know I took their food. Now what?

Wait until morning.

The answer will come, and surely you’ll be hungry again, Brooke.

Actually, I am hungry now so I heat up 2 more and decide to have a 3rd for breakfast. Christmas Eve dinner has become comical.

I sit on the chair with Paquita and her eyes bulge out at me in a needy fashion as she daintily perches herself on my lap.

“This is human food!” I yell at her with my mouth full of toxic chemicals that have been rendered into food.

A small crispy flake of the “pocket” flies out of my fat face and she greedily snaps it up and quickly wants more.

Great. I’ve created a begging machine.

I change into my recently purchased pajamas and hunker down onto the sofa, looking like a grumpy elf with a bowl haircut. The itchy, unwashed material is uncomfortable and I begin to scratch around the collar. Paquita has mounted my left arm and begins humping. I catch a glimpse of this dismal scene in the black, empty television screen and don’t like what I see.

“Next year will be better” I vow, not realizing next year is almost a week away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two, lightning quick, grey blurs dart past me from behind the television.

It seems as though I will now be pet sitting for one chihuahua and two mice.

I don’t mind though because I have seen enough movies to feel that mice are craftier than they are pesky and I’m secretly hoping that because it’s Christmas Eve, when I wake in the morning the entire apartment will have been transformed into a tiny, winter wonderland.

I wake up. Nothing is different. Paquita is standing on my chest staring at me. I heat up my last Lean Pocket for breakfast and wonder what the big fuss concerning holidays is all about anyhow.

And then my phone rings and from 600 miles away I can hear my mother’s voice and feel the warmth of home radiate through my broken cell phone. “Merry Christmas” she says, “The holidays sure aren’t the same without you.”

I look around me---the empty apartment is silent, the sky is grey.

And for the first time, in a long time, I couldn’t… agree… more.

NY is Retarded is childhood friends with "I Hate LA"

To my massive amounts of followers, I just wanted to pimp out my very dear friend Suzi Barrett who quite frankly needeth no pimping. But, since I just spent a fabulous weekend with her after seeing her in the very funny show Worst Laid Plans I thought I would give her a shout out. Afterall, Suzi and I glued a pube beard onto a dude who passed out at a party. That is a good friend.

This is her hilarious video called "I Hate LA" that has got the interweb's panties into a hilarious bunch.

Even though she's on the opposite coast, this vid couldn't be more in tune with the spirit of "NY is Retarded".

Enjoy!

No Stylist Left Behind

I posted an article on Lemondrop.com about how it feels to be on the receiving end of a bad haircut even after you've been to great lengths to verbally and visually explain what you're going for.

After having this happen to me for the umpteenth time because most hairdressers can't wrap their minds around the concept of curly hair being longer when it's wet, I was graced with the only retribution one can receive after getting a "mom" haircut--- slight physical harm bestowed upon the offending stylist that occurred in a completely unrelated way.





Well, glory be--- the style experts over at ALLURE magazine online got a hold of my post and lightly chided my dark humor. Always quick with a tip, ALLURE solicited a real stylist for advice on how to avoid a bad haircut and well, I mean--- DUH. The tips were a bit basic and the only thing I can think is that this poor guy deals with the most vapid and rude clients, or he cuts hair for the elderly--"It is not the time to flip through a magazine, make calls on your cell, or slip into a catnap."




The ALLURE article got picked up and posted by Yahoo News and the comment boards are all a-titter with the warring factions of stylists and individuals wronged by stylists.

I LOVE reading comment boards because it is truly where the most acute spellers and writers can hash out their opinions in a public forum. It's like watching Springer.

Now I know that to some this could be viewed as empty-headed content representative of how the internet is sending society right down the tubes. Sure. I can agree that this topic is sort of fluffy.

BUT, what if I inspire just one person to get so angry about a bad haircut they have been victimized by that they stand up for themselves? What if they walk away from the salon that has been terrorizing their life, demand a refund, and hold the hairdresser accountable for their crime? What if this single act profoundly influences a person's esteem and they decide that there really is something to the saying, "Be the change you want to see in the world"?

This person then begins a campaign to better educate the beauty industry called "No Stylist Left Behind" and also teaches customers of hair salons to make informed choices. As a result the public expresses the desire for more transparency in the industry and before we know it, we are a country that not only has the right to Universal health care and education, but ALSO a phenomenal haircut that both flatters and frames our faces.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a 2 o'clock appointment for highlights and hair extensions at Fantastic Sam's where afterward I will be speaking in the lounge about how YOU can get involved in local salon politics.

Mad about hot dogs. Again.

Not in like, the "in love with" sense. Although actually me and the boyfriend truly are in love with hot dogs, we are just actually mad about NYC gourmet hot dogs. Pissed, actually.

I NEVER YELP, but I must admit, we filled a whole night giggling and writing nasty reviews about places we hate that pushed us to our limit. I am telling you...when people, places, and things aren't very good, they just don't register with me. When they are spectacular or downright offensive, I am moved to post my feelings via the internet and so help me god, register for a Yelp account.

If you scroll down, I raved about how delicious Hot Doug's in Chicago is and also made an informative video. (believe me, you'll take away something from this video) and over the holidays in Michigan, I am planning a trip to Lafayette Coney Island and Lipuma's to eat nitrate riddled, hershey squirt looking coney dogs and document the adventure.

In the meantime, NYC, not satisfied with having superior pizza and bigger buildings has decided to attempt the gourmet hot dog craze after perfecting dirty water hot dogs from a street vendor cart. I introduce you to BARK hot dogs in Brooklyn which, well, sucks. They don't get it. It looked like a Chipotle with hot dogs instead of "burrito bowls".

Here is an edited review:
(for the whole friggin' thing, click here )

My boyfriend and I, well, we love hot dogs--- the nostalgia factor of a ballpark frank with yellow mustard and white onions or the new insurgence of hot dogs being prepared creatively with artisanal toppings is all good with us. We love these tasty, encased meat gems. Like, seriously love them.


This review is unfortunately about the gimmick of the place far out-shining the meager little trays of food we received and the main event, the HOT DOG, not being a highlight of the meal.

On the upside, we really enjoyed being able to order Disco Fries. It was cool to have that as an option and have it deliver well in the taste/texture department--very yummy! Chili Cheese Fries and Plain Fries were pretty good as well. We opted for booze instead of milkshakes, but I would potentially go back to try one.

Chili Cheese Dogs were ordered. Nobody outside of the mid-west can make a good chili-dog. It's just impossible to find in NYC--- we don't fault any of you, you just haven't experienced the best--- and they were over twice the price of what they should be. The chili was more like loose meat and didn't have much going on in the flavor department. The dog itself was just a tad lackluster and call me crazy, but they looked small too!

We want this place to do it's own thing despite all of our "Midwest hot dogs are superior" posturing,(even though they are), and for it to be a good neighborhood staple.

The enviro-friendly everything is cool and all but, after dropping 50 bucks for hot dogs, you have to then spend 5 minutes bussing and recycling the remaining contents of your tray before you can even leave. I kind of lost it at that point. Goddammit, I just want a good hot dog and I am not concerned about my health or the environment when I get a hankering for some tasty tube meat!

If you are going to charge this much money, you have to step it up big time because right now, a street vendor hot dog is equally appetizing, always consistent, costs 2 bucks and the sauerkraut is free.

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We were very honest. I think some things have changed over at Bark since some people started reviewing which is great, but my main problem is that the hot dogs which are not only tasteless, are super vegetarian friendly. Not my crowd. I eat homemade vegan fare at home all the time -- whole grains, steamed veggies, seaweed & azuki beans over field greens, but I NEVER want a VEGAN hot dog.

I know I am about to eat some good grub when vegans can't hang. Get your priorities straight, assholes and have fun munching on your 3rd helping of tofu for the day.

And then there's this:

The name of this photo file on my computer is "pure terror".

This my friend, is a mustache bug. In NYC, people call it a silver fish but I beg to differ. The words "silver" and "fish" evoke a sleek, futuristic image or at least hearken to mind an aquatic creature, which last time I checked cannot crawl across my ceiling in the middle of the night. I will get back to this dead beat in a moment.

In the past week, I've had a few too many unpleasant run-ins with insects.

I am currently being terrorized by cockroaches. It is just the sad truth about NYC. It doesn't matter how clean a joint you work in with amazingly high quality standards and zero health code violations-- cockroaches can happen to anyone.

I had to stay behind after work one night and help seal up dry-goods, silverware and the like for the next day's bug bomb that was hopefully going to take care of the mounting roach problem.

For the most part, customers have been spared. The roaches like to hang with the waitstaff in our dark stations near the garbage and slop buckets. Up until last week, the "rachas" did not dare disturb diners enjoying a well-earned $26 loin of lamb, when some little upstart, decided to hitch a ride into the dining room inside of one of our impeccably folded linen napkins. I will credit the unlucky customer for not shrieking like he had a vagina when he saw that loser on his lap, but still, no one feels too confident about the meal they're going to consume after an incident like that.

Later that week, some lingering mosquitoes also decided to set up camp at my restaurant and bit the christ out of me. I was in the midst of my usual panic as we were way beyond capacity and the restaurant was in full tilt when I looked down to see 4 consecutive, largely swollen and irritated bites now lining my right and left arm. I always think something is going to cause me to go into anaphylactic shock or cause my throat to swell up and cut off oxygen, and so naturally i started to get light headed and freak out.

In addition to the work bites, I have a small family of mosquitoes living under my bed who I cannot smoke out during the day. I always hunt for them before bed time, give up after 10 minutes and then wake up with more bites covering my left calf, ankle and foot--- the leg closest to the wall.

I have so many scabs from bug bites that I look kind of ill--- or like I'm addicted to junk. It's not a great look either way.

Only 3 nights ago, I had a weird feeling in my gut--like I was about to be violated by a stranger who had been camping out in my apartment for a day waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I got up from my desk and walked into the kitchen sensing a "presence". I didn't even need to turn on the light to see the outline of what can only be described as the biggest cockroach I have ever seen just chillin' on the outside of my cupboard. I of course flipped on the light to confirm my worst fear and there it was--- a "racha" the size of a mouse.

We don't have cockroaches in my apartment. I've been here for well over a year and we have not had a single problem. Even with my massive pile of recyclables that I collect each week, still no rodents or the like. I was in pure disbelief. Did this miscreant smuggle himself home with me from work a few months ago all the while living under cover, strength training and carb-loading off of my poorly rinsed dishes to balloon up to the size of a toddler's fist? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

I indeed screamed like a vagina, waking my drunken roommate from a white wine coma and scaring the daylights out of my boyfriend who I forced to kill the thing with an empty paper towel tube and ripped out pages from my stack of New Yorkers I never read.

Finally, they were being put to good use.

Even after being squashed, smashed, impaled and pounded for a full 30 seconds, the thing was still lucid and fighting to escape as we escorted it to the bathroom and deposited it into a swirling, watery grave. It's more than likely living in the sewer system now and harboring a grudge like those dreaded albino alligators, but whatever. Get it the fuck away from my sundries.

As trying as all of this has been, it brings me back to the silver fish aka "mustache bug". These things are a code red for me on the terror list and I am about due for another visit. I feel like Buffy the Vampire Slayer when it comes to destroying these losers. I have a highly developed sense for them. I have awoke from deep sleep with a premonition that one of these monsters is cavorting across my ceiling. This has happened three times now. I sit up in my bed, flip on the lights, and sure enough, one of these total zeros is out on the town, tearin' it up and wildin' out on the middle of my bedroom ceiling. Their very presence is disturbing as is, but after observing and familiarizing myself with their scummy habits, I watched in horror as these asshole bugs just stop what they're doing, decide they'd rather be on the floor and just....let go of the ceiling.

PRESTO! The mustache bug turns upright in the air, mcuh like a cat, tucks and rolls, and is back on track with his agenda for air diving in to land in your sleeping mouth.

I lost it when I saw that and played a psychotic game of cat and mouse with one of these freaks until about 4 am. It took me hours to catch it on the move before I could smash it to a segment-y pulp.

The next time, I knew better and acted fast while one was still on the ceiling. I was not quite able to reach it even standing on my desk, so instead I fumbled around on my dresser to grab a can of extra firm, aerosol hairspray and plastered that piece of shit with Aqua Net. I felt powerful and screamed a little bit as the mustache bug violently struggled but then only tangled his sticky, now cemented legs together to be frozen for all time on my ceiling. I was shaking from adrenaline and didn't clean it off my ceiling, but instead left it there to serve as a warning to other creepy crawlies that they were messing with a pro.

I've had enough. I am ready for the ground to freeze and for these insects to all die. It would be nice if mother nature would help me out here, because I can't take much more and if anyone out there from the Lepisma Saccharina genus is reading this blog, I'd suggest you take your business elsewhere unless you'd like me to make an example out of you.