Tag Archives: Eminem

Introducing ‘Veginem’

I enjoy vegan food. I enjoy Eminem. It seemed like a natural combination, so I present to you my debut as “Veginem.”

(This will only make sense if you’re familiar with his hit, “Lose Yourself,” so please read it with the same rhythm—minus a middle stanza—and do the gangsta lean, yo.)

LOSE YOURSELF (in plant-based food)

Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity,

to seize every great food you ever wanted—one moment.

Would you capture it? Or just let it slip?


My stomach is growling, knees weak, arms are heavy,

I could have a rice bowl or sandwich, maybe spaghetti.

(Sorry for the pictures. I’m not a food blogger.)

Eating plant-based isn’t hard and I am always ready,

to enjoy whatever foods people keep on forgetting.

You say “vegan,” the whole crowd objects so loud,

I open my mouth, and the words come right out,

It’s just food, people! Made without animals now.

Like grains, veggies and nuts. I can show you how!”


Silk Almond Milk, Larabars, BumbleBars, Wild Garden hummus, Once Again Sunflower Seed Butter, Earthly Choice farro

 Snap back to reality, Oh there goes dairy,

Oh there goes eggs, I said,

I love food, and I won’t give that up.

People don’t know, and dismiss veggies in haste,

It don’t matter,  I know how good plant-based can taste.

Use websites and blogs, yo,

Nothing’s stagnant, you know.


When I go to start cooking, that’s when it’s

back to the store again, off to the grocery.

Better go capture those sales and hope it don’t pass me by, yo.


Hook [x2]

You better lose yourself in the plant foods, the great taste,

You own it, you better never let it go.

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to glow,

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo.


No more games. I’ma change what you call taste,

Eat this motherfreaking salad gone and leave no waste.


I tried kale in the beginning, the mood all changed.

I chewed it up and spit it out and booed that leaf off stage.

But I’ve always loved spinach and every other green,

And grains and nuts and fruits, with other stuff in between.

All that taste inside amplified by the fact,

that I can get by, with my 5-9 servings.


 SunButter and banana sandwich on Ezekiel bread.

And I can consume the right foods that will please,

Cause man, there are meatless burgers with “cheese,”

and pizza tastes great, and legumes rule my plate, this is my life.

People say that’s it’s hard, but you have to reconcile,

If I can do it so can you, while

Never getting caught up between being a vegan and a prima donna

All the preachy drama screaming on and

I just never really wanna


 Amy’s Kitchen, Daiya, Earth Balance, Ezekiel Bread

 Put you on the spot, but days of “Ugh, vegan food?”

Has gotten me to the point, I’m like “Hey dude,

You’ve got to formulate a plot and give plant-based a shot.

Better health is now your option, heart failure’s not.

Say for one meal a day, ‘this meat has got to go,’

Small changes add up to more than you know.”

So here you go it’s your shot,

food fail you not, this is the only body that you got.


  Hook [x2]

You better lose yourself in the plant foods, the great taste,

You own it, you better never let it go.

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to glow,

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo.


Like the blog? Buy the NEW 5-star rated book!

P.S. I respect everyone’s choices. This post is supposed to be fun. Play nice.

Get in Shape, (Birthday) Girl!

Today I was planning on sharing a post in which I present to you an Eminem rap with a vegan slant, but you’re going to have to wait for my debut as Veginem for two reasons:

1.) I got a surprise invitation to hop back over to the Powder Room to talk about my extensive experience as a youthful “Get In Shape, Girl!” instructor. Apparently my first visit over there didn’t scare them away because I was invited back, so I’ll polish up my ghetto lyrics this weekend and you can read about Lyrca instead.


2.) It’s my birthday today so I can do whatever I want, which is basically to pretend it’s not my birthday. But a fun fact is that I was born on 8-1-81 and weighed 8lbs 1 oz. In other words, I was totally OCD from the womb.


Crown. Food. Not much has changed.

But as the birthday girl I’m going to be bossy and tell you to head over to the Powder Room and read my post, check back here soon for my tentative debut as a vegan Polish rapper and maybe buy my book if you need a nice coaster, doorstop or something to read on the crapper.

And if you want to get me a gift, my favorite flower is pesto pizza.

Peace out, yo. (Sorry. Just practicing.)

A Day in the Life

Sometimes I envy bloggers who live super exciting lives filled with travel and social engagements that make for great stories. Then I remember that I don’t really enjoy traveling and only like being social in limited doses, so that envy gets wiped away with my Wet Jet on “Swiffer Saturday.”


But I thought I would humor myself and the dozens who read this with a hypothetical “day in the life” post.*

*Some of the logistics are a bit fuzzy, but that’s only because the day was so full and enriching that details fell by the wayside. Or maybe it’s because of the Vodka. Don’t judge.

5 a.m. Alarm rings for work.

5:01 a.m. Remember I’m working from home, seeing as I got that great gig writing a “Dear Abby”-type column. Throw alarm across the room.

8 a.m. Wake up again on my own.

8: 15 a.m. Remind hot hockey player boy toy to lock the door as he leaves. Thank him for his services the night before (I could never have cleaned the gutters on my roof without his help.)

8:30 a.m. Be grateful I can wake up and do exactly what I love—eat—and do just that, enjoying the first of many feedings for the day. 

8:45 a.m. Go online. Read that the Tigers have continued their 82-game winning streak and see my inbox is filled with fan mail, freelance writing opportunities that require minimal thinking/maximum pay and coupons for all my favorite products.

9 a.m. Work out. Learn that anyone—male or female—who marinates in perfume, refuses to wipe off the machine or wears shorts so short and tight they would be considered in bad taste at a gay Mardi Gras parade will be asked to leave.


10 a.m. Go home to shower and snack. Delight in the fact that for once, my hair doesn’t make me look homeless.

10:30 a.m. Flip on the big screen TV. Discover reality shows involving dating and entertainment “news” are all cancelled. Forever.

11 a.m. Forget to be productive.

11:30 a.m. Jump in the car and speed out to meet Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Vince Vaughn and Will Ferrell for lunch at a great vegan restaurant.

11:35 a.m. Celebrate the local police department honoring National “Give Only a Warning” Day and avoid a ticket.

Noon Enjoy lunch. Laugh a lot. Forget to offer to pay.

12: 30 p.m. Learn anyone who starts their tweets “That moment that…” or uses more than two hashtags per tweet has been banned from Twitter. Smile.

1 p.m. Serve as a guest judge for a veggie episode of “Chopped” where I pull my best Gordon Ramsey impression and throw things around the set.

2 p.m. Get offered a full-time position with the show.

2:30 p.m. Go on a shopping spree through Trader Joes on the Food Network tab—I had that written into my contract—and hop on a plane for Detroit.

3:30  p.m. Actually answer my phone and hear that my lawsuit against Comcast for emotional distress has been settled for millions.

4 p.m. This announcement becomes public and I learn I’ve become Queen to the millions of people who have suffered similar psychological damage via Comcast.

Request tiara.

5 p.m. Arrive in Detroit for dinner with Buster Olney and Scott VanPelt (ESPN people). Talk a lot of sports. Forget to offer to pay.

6 p.m. Agree to co-write several features with Buster for “Baseball Tonight” before taking my seat at the game.

9 p.m. Celebrate Tiger victory and head home, snacking and sipping a Vodka gimlet on the plane with Eminem while discussing how badass I look in my tiara . (Or how I went the whole day without realizing a dryer sheet was stuck in the leg of my pants. Again, the details are fuzzy.)

10:00 p.m. Arrive home, forget to floss and hit the hay. After all, tomorrow is still “Swiffer Saturday.”

Like the blog? Buy the book.

This begs the question, “If you could have lunch with anyone, who would it be?”

To be honest, I probably couldn’t decide and would end up staying home to eat in my dining room while watching a bird gang bang under my bird feeder, but whatever. Play along.

Stop, Collaborate and Listen

You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I’m kind of like the skinny white Polish girl version of Snoop Dogg.


This is where I add the mandatory disclaimer or “Hugs, not drugs.”

No, I don’t have dreads, a criminal record or say “shizzle my nizzle”that often, anyway—and my skills leaned more towards piano than profanity-laced rap when I was younger, but straight up yo.  I’m kind of hardcore.

Okay, not “hardcore” exactly. But for what it’s worth, I’m not one of those people that thinks the word “rap” is missing a silent “c” at the beginning.

True to my commitment issues, there’s no one kind of music I like enough to claim as the best. There’s good country and then there’s “poke your eyes out with a pitchfork” country. There’s good alternative, and then there’s “poke someone else in the eye with a guitar pick” alternative. Each genre has ups and it’s downs—including rap.

But this girl loves her Eminem, so much so that she would put aside her spinsterhood for him and engage in a long distance relationship that involved a weekly phone call and mandatory date night that did not involve sleeping over.


I still need my space.

I also like Kid Rock, so as you can tell I’m a Michigan girl who lived in Detroit for a bit at heart. However, I have no interest in creating a lukewarm distant semi-romantic relationship with Kid Rock.

I would rather date an actual rock.

But unfortunately, other than a menacing looking gnome in my garden, that’s about where my street cred ends.

I have no idea what Drake “sings”—for lack of a better term—but if some old school LL Cool J comes on, I can bust out with every word and be instantly transported back to middle/high school.

Then once the horror-filled memories of middle school seep from my brain, I can put on a thugtastic version of Salt-n-Pepa’s “Shoop,” “ Push It” or “Whatta Man.” And even though I can’t remember why I put my keys in the fridge, I can rap every word to Arrested Development’s “Mr. Wendal” from 1992, the song from which our ghetto rescue cat Wendell (spelling change) was named, may her one-toothed, crooked crotched furry little body RIP.

But you have to understand where I’m coming from.


Nice eyebrows, Homeboy.

I grew up with a white boy from Dallas telling me to, “Stop, collaborate and listen”—all three at the same time?—and a black dude named Stanley wearing Hammer pants reminding me I was, “Too Legit to Quit.” There was hardly any profanity and instead of their pants hanging off of their asses, they pretty much just wore them backwards a la Kris Kross.

Now they have “99 Problems” and one of mine is the fact that I can’t understand a damn word that most of them say.  Another one is the fact that when flipping around on the radio recently, both “Baby Got Back” and “Bust a Move” were playing ON THE OLDIES STATION. 


Shizzle my nizzle, indeed.

Like the blog-izzle? Buy the book, yo.