Food for Thought

Here’s what I hate.  I finally get a moment and the motivation to sit down and write, and…..complete blank.  Now, in the shower, driving to and from work, at work, in the bathroom, and so on, I am ripe with ideas.  Now? With time? Complete and total blank.  So annoying.

So, I guess I’ll talk about what I’ve been thinking about fairly constantly for the past three weeks or so.  Ah hell, who am I kidding, my whole freakin life.  Food.

As of this moment, I am half on and half off the wagon.  I kind of picture myself with a rope being dragged behind the wagon hanging on for dear life.  All while the people on the wagon securely are all like, “I just lost 5 lbs in a week on Weight Watchers!  And I have trouble even eating all my points every day!”  To you people I say:

eye roll

Cause that doesn’t happen for me.   I spent $165 at the grocery store a few weeks ago to attempt a SkinnyMs.com diet and lost 3 lbs in the first week.  I was ecstatic.  They even allowed for one “cheat” a week.  So on that Friday I had 2 pieces of pizza….and maybe a cheesy bread stick, and maybe a few pieces of cinnamon bread dessert….but who’s counting.  Anyways, BAM!  next morning, 2 lbs back on!  (To be fair to SkinnyMs – their recipes are actually really, really good.  Their green smoothies, while they look like snot, are actually very good.  It’s just a really really expensive way of eating, and very time consuming.  Plus, I’m the only one eating this stuff.  I made their chili one day and ate it for the next four days. I haven’t totally abandoned it, but I am having to add affordable/quick food slightly back in.)

Anyways, this is not the root of my problem, and I’m asking for advice here.  The root of my evil is basically food is like heroin to me.  I can’t stop.  Basically I want to be eating 100% of the day.  Like, I need something in my mouth.  Paging Dr. Freud!   Gum helps, but I have jaw problems and can’t chew it very long.  Food is basically my nervous habit.  Procrastinating?  Let’s eat.  Don’t know what to do with myself?  How about a snack?  Too much going on and don’t know where to start?  Let’s see what’s in the fridge!   I sit at a computer all day and if I am not reaching for something to put in my mouth, I feel weird and unfulfilled.   I count minutes until my next “snack time.”

Also, I feel like I am keeping a tight lease on my eating. Like I am always trying to squash the voice inside my head that screaming at me, “EAT THE FOOD!  EAT EVERYTHING YOU SEE!!!”    Life if I just go balls to the wall and let myself go, I’d eat an entire cake and wash it down with a  Coke Zero.  Like Louie CK says, “I don’t eat until I’m full, I eat until I hate myself.”

Sing it Louie.

Sing it Louie.

And I can’t stop.  If it’s around, I feel a compulsion to eat it.  Like the food’s feelings will be hurt if I don’t try a piece.  That’s why I kind of wish it was a heroin addiction.  At least then people wouldn’t surprise me with it at 3 p.m. saying, “Oh just one bite of heroin won’t kill ya!  Just try it.”

My Achilles’ heel is being delivered this week.  Girl Scout cookies.  I think I’ve ordered 18 boxes from various girls.  I’m supporting my community right?  Not when I get my first two boxes delivered and I have eaten an entire sleeve of Thin Mints before I get out of the car on the return trip.  That’s all for me.

Then the shame spiral happens.  I get nauseous.  I hate myself.  I make resolutions that will last approximately 6 hours.  Then I do it all over again the next day.

I guess what this rambling post means is, I don’t know where to turn.  I feel like I need to be hypnotized or acupunctured.  Maybe I should wire my jaw shut like that crazy girl in Real World 20 years ago.  But, I’d still eat milkshakes and Coke, so that wouldn’t help.

I feel like I need a person to shame me into not eating, but that doesn’t work either.  If I get one of those people, and I’ve tried, I end up eating in secret.  Hiding from them.  It becomes a game to sneak the food.

God I am such a head case.  Honestly, it’s embarrassing to post this, but at the moment it’s kind of ruling my every thought.  Sure I can joke about being chubby and eating a lot, but when it comes down to it, I really do want to get healthy.  Not just skinny.  Healthy.  I want to have energy.  I am tired of my back hurting.  I am terrified my cholesterol is going to kill me.

I’d do great with a nutritionist and a personal trainer, but that ain’t happening.  Maybe some tips on how to start.  Baby steps.  Quick, easy, healthy recipes I can slowly incorporate into my life?

sometimes_i_feel_like_a_fat_bastard-9844

 

 

Excuses Excuses

Maria Kang has caused another mommy controversy on the internet these past few weeks (see here).   She posted a picture of herself in tight workout gear with her three kids next  to her.  The caption reads, “What’s Your Excuse?!”  People say it’s fat shaming, judgy, etc.  Also, she’s a bad mom for ignoring her kids to get fit.  I say patooey on the whole thing.  I just read this from Baby Sideburns (The New Rules of Mommyhood) and I completely agree.  100%.  Did you read them both?  If so, do that, then COME BACK.  Don’t get sidelined by Kim K’s engagement ring or that Joss & Main ad.

I say let each mom be each mom.  If Maria Kang can work out and be gorgeous and a good mom, rock on with her bad self.  You can’t call her a bad mom.  She’s just doing what’s right for her, and you have no idea whether she’s a bad mom or not.  You have very limited information.  This tends to piss me off (see here).

BUT, in fun, I thought I’d offer my excuses for Why Not?

  • Traveling husband/dad
  • Full time job including travel time/daycare drop-off
  • 2 very fast moving hours a night with my kids (must include feeding, bathing, homework)
  • I would rather read.  Currently the Black Dagger Brotherhood.  Seriously, I CANNOT PUT THEM DOWN.  Vampires + porn + 12 books 500+ pages each = How’s a 7:00 bedtime sound kids??
  • I can’t read on the treadmill, it makes me nauseous.
  • I really like to eat.  I could write a love letter to food that would be more erotic than one to my husband.  Seriously, if above mentioned vampires ate food the entire 500 pages, I’d still be totally turned on.
  • If I do get the rare opportunity to use our local YMCA membership, I am totally intimidated by gym people and the equipment, so I wuss out and get on the treadmill for a half hour, which I could totally do at home.  And at home, I could wear just a sports bar and shorts, and not have to worry about various exposed jiggly parts or the fact my vagina is slowing trying to consume my shorts.  (Shut it!  You know it happens to you too!).  Plus there’s the ick factor of hopping on a machine after sweaty, hairy guy vacates it without wiping it down.
  • Working out makes me sweat.  I hate being hot and sweaty.  I don’t have enough underwear to make this comfortable.
  • Working out at home is all the way DOWNSTAIRS.
  • I have trouble balancing my Kindle on the equipment to watch TV.  Music is nice, but I need some visual eye candy.  Maybe I could hire some firemen to dance in front of me whilst I work out.  Nope, scratch that, see above workout gear.
  • My available work out times are 4:30 to 5:30 a.m. or 9:00 to 10:00 p.m.  Those are definitely my optimum energy hours.  I think of all the times I’ve planned to get up and exercise in the morning, I think I’ve done it maybe twice in my whole life.  The road to hell is paved with good intentions…and donuts.
  • I hate healthy food.  Every day, I bring an apple to work.  Each day, I add said apple to my ever growing bushel in my food drawer. Eventually I will make a pie with them.
  • I can’t pronounce edamame or quinoa, therefore, can’t buy them for fear the cashier will want to talk about them, hence exposing my ignorance.
  • I hate healthy food.  Seriously.  Hate it.  My ideal “healthy” snack is a spoonful of Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter.
  • I love pop.  I hate water.  Just saying it makes me happy (POP, POP, POPPEDTY POP POP).  Water makes me sad and bored, and doesn’t wash down that candy bar aftertaste like a pop can.  God, I can hear me becoming diabetic.
  • Diets make me instantly hungry.  Just thinking about a diet makes me hungry.  Like, right now.  Do I have any cheesesticks in the fridge?  Is it too late for nachos?
  • My happy pills make me tired and slow my metabolism.
  • My allergy pills make me tired and you know, probably slow my metabolism too.
  • My kids make me tired.  Seriously, ever spend an hour yelling to get them into bed, brush teeth, poop, pee, break up fights, break up giggle fests, freak out over homework not done, get water for parched daughter, tell son why he cannot have water, argue about how long he can read, assure daughter there are no monsters in the house or room,  spray monster repellent into room just in case, reassure daughter all is OK after her nightmare (which she hasn’t had yet, because she has yet to close her eyes), tuck them in, re-tuck them in after they get up to rearrange their stuffed animals, trim a “nail” (read hangnail that is obviously life-threatening), put band-aid on non-existent boo boo, hear about friend’s vacation, talk about our vacation, and so on….?  Yeah, by the time they have finally given up the fight for the night, all I want to do is sit and stare at the wall.  Puttin on exercise gear (see hot description above), tennis shoes (apparently this is a Midwesterners’  term, so OK rest of America “shoes”), get water, desired electronic device for entertainment and heading downstairs does not sound appealing.  A glass of wine, a good book and/or catching up on New Girl and Vampire Diaries does however.

I want to be one of those women.  Like Maria Kang.  I want to LOVE exercise.  I want to LOVE healthy eating.  I go in cycles.  My husband usually times them.  I get on the wagon, detox for a week (read:  miserable, hungry, constant internal yelling at self), slowly start feeling awesome, crave working out, then BAM Coldstone happens or sick happens or tired happens and I am off the wagon on a binge most heroin addicts would say, Calm down lady, why don’t we ease up a little eh?  (Because my heroin addicts are Canadian.)

So, those are my excuses.  They are lame I know.  I am slowly killing myself I know.  It’s a vicious cycle.  I feel like I am a hamster stuck on a spinning wheel.  Only my spinning wheel consists of a couch, Kindle, Hulu and a snuggie.

Good night!

Foodscapades

Fat cat

I like food.  I am currently successfully battling my food demons.  As of right now, I am back on the wagon, on week 4 of Weight Watchers and have lost 3 lbs.  That’s pretty good for me.  My goal is not to lose my ass and thighs, that’s a forevermore for this girl, but I’d like three things to go away.  First and foremost, the baby belly.  Second, the double chin aka the Waddle.  Third, I need to dump the chubby arms and get my rockin swimmer arms back.  The kind I had 10 years ago whilst waiting tables and bartending.  The arms that came from 12 hour shifts, trays of food, moving kegs of beer and full bus tubs.  I want to sell tickets to the gun show.  $50 a pop.

About a week ago, one of Will’s after-school caregivers asked me if I was going to have a baby.  If that’s not a kick in the pants, I don’t know what is.  It hurt.  It made me feel bad, which makes it even worse because I was feeling pretty good about myself up until that point in the day.  Was it stupid for her to ask?  Hell yes.  Was it a crazy statement?  Not so much.  It’s where my weight has settled.  Babies have left and food has taken their place.  My food baby.  God I love that food baby.   It might help if I wasn’t constantly touching it and resting my hand on it, much like I did when I was pregnant.  It’s just fascinating that so much can just dwell there.  I have to admit, I am constantly poking at it, grabbing handfuls of it when I sit down and look around for a pair of scissors, because that’s what I want to do, just trim it off.  Can’t hurt that much right?  See how lazy I am?  I’d rather CUT my fat off with SCISSORS instead of GASP! walking away from that donut or getting on a treadmill a few times a week.

Since the food baby question, I have been more motivated than ever, so thank you naïve young daycare girl, you made me hit bottom.  Time to look up and start taking care of myself.  I want to like me.  I want my kids to know that I like myself.  And I want to make my husband happy, which is not the hard part.  He really likes chubby girls.  His big fear is that I’ll get “too skinny” and lose my ass.  Don’t worry honey, it’s not going anywhere.  I’ll never be my teenage self (save maybe the acne, which come on, give a girl a break! I’m 33, when does it end?), but I would like to be a leaner version of me.  One that doesn’t use rouching on swimsuits as extra material to fill.  I want the actual rouching to come back and be just that, cute wrinkles in the front.

As a testament to my commitment and a way to keep up the motivation, here Internet, is a picture of me NOW.  You know, so I can mail it to Weight Watchers and have them ask me to be a spokeswoman, cause you know, they don’t have enough celebrities who’ve just had babies 30 seconds before who want to join.  Just so you know, I made pregnant cankles sexy WAAAY before Kim K.  You stole my sausage feet Kim!

No, I didn't buy this dress.  My sister talked me out of it after I texted this pic to her.  Gotta love sisters.  They tell it like it's fat.

No, I didn’t buy this dress. My sister talked me out of it after I texted this pic to her. Gotta love sisters. They tell it like it’s fat.

A good example of "the Waddle."  Yeah, the skinny bitch next to me makes it look worse.  I blame her completely.  :-P

A good example of “the Waddle.” Yeah, the skinny bitch next to me makes it look worse. I blame her completely. 😛