Sunday, September 11, 2011

Fondue...spawned from the forehead of SATAN

Fondue last night.  Ok, some of you may be able to resist a huge pot of Emmentaler and Guryere cheese.  And lots of bread.  And artichokes with melted butter.  And more cheese.  And hats off to you if you are the kind of person who can bring a pair of Really Big Brass Ovaries to the table in such circumstances and just say no, no thank you really, you go ahead and I'm just going to sit over here and nibble on a raw cauliflower piece and drink my water.

I am not that highly evolved.  I ate, I ate it all and more, I ate until the walls of my stomach had expanded like a frightened blowfish, and yeah, my belleh was all, "What in God's name is this stuff?  It's thick and viscous, it's fattening and oily, it's going to stick to the walls of your arteries and stop your heart.  Please send more."

Today my weight is up, of course -- all the hard work of 11 days undone, and now I am only one pound below my start weight at the beginning of this little jaunt to thin I'm working with Quiet Battle, and it's the 11th of the month!

Not acceptable.  So tired of being a poster child for mediocrity.

Today:  almond milk and grapefruit juice and hot tea.

Friday, September 2, 2011

The Bagel That Wasn't

So, I'm doing a neat little buddy-accountability-texting-thing with the lovely
Quiet Battle and I'm trying to keep my calories around 750 ish so I can fit into all the cute fall jeans and sweaters that I have trouble fitting into each and every fall.  We are on day 3; yesterday, I was sitting at an outdoor restaurant eating this nom nom nom little vegan salad with roasted corn, and across the street was a Starbucks, and lo and behold, I was suddenly seized by the most powerful, enormous, hideous, exquisitely painful craving for a disgustingly huge bagel with obscene amounts of cream cheese.  The spectre loomed in my head like some gastrointestinal poltergeist, taunting me, taunting me.  It was so bad that I had to hand my wallet to my husband to keep myself from dashing across four lanes of traffic on one of the busiest streets in my city to buy one.

It passed (for the moment) but not before I (a) did some serious praying to the Skinny Chick in the sky

(b)  drank copious amounts of water in an attempt to fool my stomach into thinking it actually was being fed a bagel, well, okay, this is liquid and clear and not at all nom and it doesn't have those lovely little bits of savory crunchy little flavor explosions that happen when one is eating an everything bagel, but what the hell, the last time I checked, stomachs don't have tastebuds so what the hell does it know anyway, right? and

(c) made one of those Faustian bargains with myself that I often make...I ran next door to an art supply store and bought a lovely drawing pad of archival quality thick ecru paper and six (yes, six, I was desperate) of my favorite pens.  I told myself I could just journal until the craving passed and everything would be just fine.

It's 24 hours and seven pages on, and I'm still journaling.

Monday, August 29, 2011


Is the hobgoblin of little minds.

It is also the way to little waists.

Which is why I am not in possession of a little waist or anything that could reasonably be considered a facsimile thereof.

In fact, I have no waist at all. I am all blob, all boob and hip and jiggle. My waist has disappeared for parts unknown leaving no note, no flowers, no nothing. Somebody issue an all-points-bulletin. One 24-inch waist, last seen heading south on I-95 in a 1967 candy apple red Mustang convertible.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Still Here.

I really think that a disciplined approach to eating and exercise would help me to kick the metaphorical ass of this ever-increasing anxiety I'm experiencing.  It's gotten so bad that I am considering therapy, and if you knew how much I loathe talking about what goes on in the sub-basement of my psyche, you'd know how truly unhinged I am feeling these days.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The good news?  My appetite disappeared weeks ago and left no forwarding address.  I am hoping it finds happiness and true love somewhere far, far away and forgets about ever coming home.

Am going to do a water fast tomorrow and Thursday as a way to sort of vacuum the dust bunnies out of my brain.  

Simplicity.  Order.  Calm.

Thursday, February 24, 2011


I am coming apart; unravelling like the hem on a pair of cheap polyester pants.

All I want to do right now is read.  It's either read or drink myself blind, and I don't have the luxury of drinking right now, as I have too much stuff to deal with.  For me, reading is usually just as good as drinking, if not better.  (Although -- don't get me wrong -- I certainly do my share of drinking.  And even, on occasion, other peoples' shares too.) When I read, I am Not Here.  The phrase "lose yourself in a book" is so true for me.  I open a book and instantly, my life ceases to exist; I am in another world, not my own.  The problem right now is that I am so filled with anxiety, I am having difficulty concentrating on what I am reading.  I also have little time for it right now.

I waiver between this constant low level thrum of anxiety that manifests itself as a ball of iron in the pit of my stomach, to moments of heart-knocking existentialist terror, and back again.  There seems very little point to it all, some days.  Very little point.

Things suck right now.  Well, do they really objectively suck, or am I just a sniveling, weak, self-absorbed twit unable to cobble together the mammarian fortitude to deal?

*ponders a moment*

I'll take B for $200.00, Alex.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

My Bloody Valentine

Valentine's Day?

It is to laugh.

The only nod I gave the occasion was drinking a Bloody Mary.  (It's a reach, I's supposed to be (at least in theory) a holiday about love...we feel love in our hearts...hearts pump blood...yeah.  I know.  Pretty lame.)

But get this:  the lovely Lola-Rose is doing a V8 Juice fast, and I've decided to join her...for a little bit, anyway.  And I suggested that she liven things up a bit, and I followed my own advice, and I ran out and got a bottle of lo-sodium spicy V8 and I've doctored it with wostershire sauce and a dash of horseradish sauce (neither of which are vegan, and the worstershire isn't even vegetarian, but a man's gotta know his limitations!) and a serious amount of freshly-ground pepper and, in what is truly Coloring Outside The Lines of The Juice Fast, a sprig of celery, a pickled okra, and a toothpick speared with a garlic-stuffed olive and a little pearl onion.   (As you can clearly see, I prefer my Bloody Marys to be like little salads.)

I just built one (my first ever Small-manufactured Bloody Mary, based upon years of drinking the damn things at brunches whilst hungover) and I must say, it is NOM NOM NOM NOM.  Good!  And good for you!  And I am being good, so I ixnayed the odkavay.

Big took a sip and he said (and I quote) (and yes it is superfluous at best to say "and I quote" when one is using quotation marks, but I want to be abundantly clear that no paraphrasing was done of Big here):

(now what the hell was I saying?  Damn ADD.  Oh, yeah.) (And might I add, parenthetically speaking (and yes, it is equally redundant  and superfluous to say "parenthetically speaking" inside of a bracket of parentheses, but there you go) that this is sorta like drinking cocktail sauce, if you happen to be into that sort of thing?)

So he said, "damn, that's're going to drink these things night and day until you're sick of them, aren't you?"


Thursday, February 10, 2011

Cereal Monogamy

I stay true to my food, peeps.  I get in the mood for something and I go shop for it and then I will eat said thing morning, noon, and night, as meals and as snacks, day after day after day.

This is partially due to the fact that I don't like to cook; partially due to the fact that food in general freaks me out and is hard for me to figure out/contemplate/decide upon; and partially due to the fact that Big and I have completely different diets, so when I get stuff, it's hard to get it in one portion.  So I get a bunch of something and then I just work my way through it, like a caterpillar munching his little fuzzy way through the leaves of an entire tree.  Day after day, meal after meal, until it's gone.  Sometimes the craving persists and I'll go get another batch of whatever it is and subsist solely on it for another few days, and another.  I've eaten my third generation vegetable soup, and nothing *but* said soup, for a week at a time.  This, in other universes (universi?) is considered weird.  In my world, it's also considered weird, but I embrace my weirdness.  (OK, now the word "weird" is starting to look like I spelled it wrong.  Does that ever happen to you?  Suddenly a word just looks wrong  for some reason?  Well, it's starting to look a little...weird.  Ahem.  Moving along.)

Like serial monogamists, I will cleave to my beloved and pledge devotion and won't even bat an eye at anything else.  Nom nom nom nom nom....and then, after a while, the bloom falls off the rose, and I'm finding little flaws there that I didn't see before...the thrill is gone, baby, and I'm off to find a new love to brush my lips against.

This week?  Sundried tortillas (a shoutout here to Ole Xtreme Wellness Tomato Basil Tortilla wraps:  70 cals!!! Low enough to overcome my nausea at the purposeful misspelling on the label, something that I normally hate, despise, loathe and abhor).  I fill these bad boys with pico de gallo, lettuce (with more lettuce on the side, lol), scallions, and a few sliced black olives.  A little hot sauce thrown in the mix for good measure.  Back up the truck because you can eat these until you are blue in the face and, coming in at 125 or so with tax, tag and title, the damage is minimal.

I am a fickle one and I have no doubt that in a week or so, I'll be flirting with a cute little package of facon bacon on aisle three.  But for now, love reigns supreme.

*kisses burrito*