Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

It all started with a picture. There I was having a blast, delicious adult beverage in one hand, cigarette in the other, laughing at something I’m sure was hilarious. But looking at the picture did not bring me joy. Instead I felt more than a little horrified. I looked at the woman in the picture and did not see my normal chubby self. What I saw was a big, giant blob of diabetes with a cancer chaser in each hand.  Damn.

As many of you know, food and me, well we’re not so secret lovers. I’m not just talking about junk, it’s all of it. Bright, delicious fruits and veggies, fresh soft breads, nuts, seeds, yogurt, ice cream, chocolate, foreign, unpronounceable cheese, sea creatures, land creatures, you name it, I love it. And I eat it. A lot of it. Now in the past, I have been able to drop 20 or 30 pounds in a week or two. The shock value and water loss alone is usually a good five or six pounds the first day. I’m a good dieter… short term. So imagine my surprise when after the first day of my new diet I stepped on the scale and I had only lost 2 pounds. What the hell? So we’re gonna play it like that are we? I don’t need a calendar to figure out that my body has decided that it’s too old for this nonsense and has decided to hold onto the chub-a-lub with a death grip. This can only mean one thing. This one’s for good. Sigh. So with one week down (and nearly nine pounds gone) and a lifetime to go, it’s time for me to get real with myself.

1.      While it is true that the camera adds ten pounds, it does not add fifty. While everyone takes a horrible picture every now and then, you will not pacify yourself with lunacy.

2.       You will not use your menstrual cycle as an excuse to eat crap. It’s an easy out, and you know it. Just stay away from sharp objects and suck it up.

3.       The food you eat while making food counts. Stop it.

4.       You will not eat things just so they don’t go to waste. They’ll do you more good in the garbage than on your ass.

5.       Adding things to coffee (chocolate, caramel, peppermint candy, schnapps, etc) does not erase its calories. They’re still there, even if you choose to dismiss them as food accessories.

6.       You will not justify eating bad food by telling yourself that it’s better than worse food. A peanut butter and honey sandwich may be better than a hamburger, but you still need to put it the hell down.

7.       I will not explain away poor choices by telling myself that I deserve a “treat.” You know damn well that the real treats will be accompanied by balloons and a theme song, not eaten at midnight while hiding behind the refrigerator door.

I’m sure there’s more, but you get the idea. No more excuses. Here I go; turning the page. And I know, I’m working on the smoking. Let’s focus on one trauma at a time.  

Pants on Fire

My girlfriend is easily overwhelmed and a chronic exaggerator. Like the boy who cried wolf, it is difficult to know what situations are blown all out of proportion and which ones need immediate attention. Over the years I have developed a Dewie-vs-reality translation system. Here are some of the highlights:

1.       There are flies everywhere!!

This happens more often than you would think. Our house is old and drafty and sometimes stuff gets in. Also, the area where we keep the wheely garbage can when it’s not on the curb is right outside the kitchen window. Occasionally there are flies everywhere. However, most of the time this merely means that she has swatted at a fly, killed it, and then immediately saw another one. Two flies in the kitchen are all it takes to conclude that there are flies everywhere.

2.       There are shoes lying all over this house!

Granted, I am really bad about leaving my shoes wherever I park my ass. If I sit, the shoes usually come off. I am not a fan of shoes and if it weren’t for the huge population of impossible to kill mutant fire ants, I probably wouldn’t wear them at all. More often than not, Dewie has just tripped over a pair and the surge of adrenaline from almost biting it has morphed into anger. This particular statement can mean that there are ten pairs of shoes lying around the house, or there is one. Contrary to what she thinks, I do not strategically place my shoes in places where I know she will be walking. The house is small. It just works out that way.

3.       There is no food in this house!!

This one is easy. Translation: there are no chips in the house.  The woman loves a tater chip.

4.       This house is disgusting!

Our house never gets disgusting. I have been in disgusting houses, and this one never even comes close to disgusting. This statement usually means that she has picked up a cup from more than one room or the dog hair has twisted itself into tumbleweed and is rambling down the hallway. Nothing a little Swiffer sweep vac won’t remedy in about 5 minutes.

5.       It’s got to be 100 degrees in here.

Two words:  Hot. Flash.  The temperature in the room did not spontaneously rise 20 degrees. It is not your medication. It is menopause. Accept it. Embrace it. Stand in front of the freezer for a minute.

6.       I cut my (insert random limb here) off!

Now this one you have to check, because it only means that she is bleeding. It could be a paper cut or she might be holding her own severed foot in her hand. It’s difficult to tell. The level of panic is exactly the same. A rule of thumb though, wait until she’s said it at least twice before you get up. The more she repeats it, the more severe the injury.

Now, with experience, you too can learn to discern a true travesty from an exasperated rant.  

Food and Me. I'm Thinking a Fall Wedding...

I was surfing the internet recently when I came across a format for keeping a food diary. It’s an idea that’s always intrigued me because I really have no idea what I put in my mouth during the course of any given day. There wouldn’t be any excuses, I couldn’t explain away that extra half a sandwich or just pretend it never happened. It would all be right there, in black and white. Terrifying.

My relationship with food is somewhat unnatural. I have never understood those little skinny girls that claim to “forget to eat.” Really? So that gnawing pain in your gut didn’t tip you off that you might be hungry? Let’s get real. No one forgets to eat on a regular basis. It’s a just a convenient excuse for you to explain away those size zeros without disclosing your incredibly dangerous eating habits. I’m exactly the opposite. I convince myself that handful of chips didn’t count because I was looking for some lunch when I ate them. They weren’t on a plate, so it wasn’t actual eating. Food comforts me and excites me. As much as I like to drink (that’s a totally different blog), food is my drug of choice. I’m beginning to realize that as much as I love it, it might be best if we started seeing other people. You know, before I start wearing sweat pants not just out in public, but exclusively.

So. The food diary. I guess the whole point is to see how many calories you’re consuming in addition to acting as sort of a determent since writing it down would make it real. So here we go. I wake up and go into the bathroom to brush my teeth. During this normally routine act, one of my cats decides that my bare leg is a scratching post and I accidentally swallow some toothpaste. Does toothpaste have calories? Do I need to write this down? It’s not a normal occurrence; usually I’m really good at brushing my teeth. I make my way into the kitchen and make my coffee. I splash in some flavored creamer and a spoon of sugar. I put an Eggo in the toaster. When it pops up I smear some peanut butter on the hot waffle and take it, my coffee, and my food diary and sit in front of my computer. I start to write down what I’ve had so far, and it looks something like this:



Yeah, I licked it, and I did a little dance too.



Midway through trying to find out how many calories are in a “smear,” I realize that I’m on my third cup of coffee and I did not enter it into the diary. Apparently I would have to measure stuff if I were to effectively do this. I say, “would” because I have no intention of actually doing that. I’m not turning food into a chore. Maybe I’ll just stop eating while I’m deciding what I want to eat. That will probably help a little. Now where’s my drawstring pants? No the really comfortable ones with the knot set on “lounge?”