Why Weight

Things I am sick of

• The current Administration
• The cost of gas
• The drug/flop house across the street
• My weight
• Christmas shopping traffic on Rt. 3
• The mouse that keeps out outwitting every trap and poison I set out.  He shat a ring around the last trap.
• My feet being cold all winter long.  I wear 2 pairs of socks with my shoes, nuthin doing son. 

And I realize and admit that the only damn thing I can control is my weight.  I mean, if I were worth my weight in gold, I'd be checking myself into the bank right away.

So here I am on the eve of the eve of Thanksgiving, the mother of all holidays.  I love to eat.  The kitchen was the focal point in my Gonga's house, as it is at my mom's.  We loved to cook and loved to eat even more.  I have so many happy childhood memories of spending the two days preceding Thanksgiving staying at my grandmother's house and cooking, which began just after breakfast and lasted way past dinner. 

Me, age 12, mixing cornbread dressing in cooler.  Because there isn't a bowl big enough.

Mounds of celery and onion simmering in sticks of butter for the multiple pans of dressing.  The food processor pulsating whole cranberries to bits.  Mince meat and pumpkin pies cooling on top of the washer and dryer.  If I concentrate hard enough, I can still smell the leftover pie crusts, slather with butter, cinnamon, and sugar baking in the oven.

I shudder to think of the amount of glorious calories I'll be inhaling as I feast on honey-brined turkey, pumpkin pie, cranberry relish, marshmallow salad, and stuffing.

But I can't take it any longer.  When I blew out my knee in '08, I knew I was going to have problems with it every winter.  And it's only been coldish weather for 3 weeks and I'm already popping ibuprofen like House pops Vicodin.  I know if I don't get my weight down and my body back in shape I'll be limping along on my cane like I was five years ago.  (And it won't be the cool limp that lands me a flatmate, ala Watson running through the streets with Sherlock).

It's all fun and games the next two days.  Friday, the bitching begins.

Please Keep All Knives and Pointy Objects Away from the Dieter

I have been feeling rather stabby today.

Really stabby. =======>>>>  That is my long, stabby knife.  I guess it looks more like a spear.  (Maybe I should run around in a loin cloth yelling, "THIS. IS. SPARTA!"  I could burn extra calories).  Then again, my landlord probably won't want to renew my lease if I do that.  But anyways, back to explaining why I have been stabby-like all day.

I have been eating healthy for the past seven days and it's KILLING ME!!!  (Although I have to brag that I have lots 6 lbs already).

I couldn't stand it when I was fixing* scrambled eggs and frozen waffles for the Kiddo and the Siblings.  (Note: I didn't say cooking* because you aren't really a putting a whole lot of time and effort into your meal preparation if you are toasting waffles in a $10 toaster oven that belches noxious fumes each time you turn it on.)  If I hadn't been chanting "you have less back fat today" under my breath the entire time, I would have surely thrown myself on those frozen disks like a rabid wolverine. 

I've decided that since I've spent the better portion of the past 2.5 years eating a lot of crap and seeing as my 30th b-day is two weeks from tomorrow, I have to set some new healthy eating habits that I will (hopefully) follow for the rest of my life.  I've  decided to take a more Mediterranean approach to my eating habits, which over all is great because I love a diet packed with lots of fresh fruits, vegetables, plenty of fish, olive oil, nuts, and cheese.

What I absolutely hate is that the particular book that I've been reading and using as a guideline (since I'm so out of practice as to what actually constitutes as healthy), recommends that for the first two weeks of your new eating plans you eliminate sugar, red meat, dairy, and restrict your carbohydrate intake drastically.

So yesterday when I was attending Dad's 55th b-day party and Mom put together an AMAZING looking dish of bow-tie pasta and bacon, and my grandmother made 2 cakes, I had to keep reminding myself that in two weeks I could celebrate my birthday and more weight loss.  (I did wimp out at the end of the night and sawed off a square inch of both cakes and inhaled them like Charlie Sheen does blow).

As it has grown late and my stomach is growling as a reminder that the fantastic salad I had for dinner is long gone, I've taken to munching on raw carrots.

If I look like this in few days you'll know why.  And yes, it can happen.  I never expected to see a black male get orange hands, but my friend Gerard did just that. 

 
I'd better get to bed before I do anything too drastic. 

Welcome to McDonald's--Would You Care for an Un-Happy Meal?

(A possible conversation if more San Francisco idiots get their way.)

Perky Teenage Worker: "Welcome to McDonald's!  How can I help you today?

Tired Parent: "One chicken nugget Happy Meal with a Sprite for a little boy."

PTW: "I'm sorry, we no longer serve Happy Meals here."

TP: "Wait. What? Why?"

PTW: "Due to a new law enacted by the Board of Supervisors of San Francisco, it has been decided that you, the parent, are too stupid to regulate your child's nutritional needs."

TP: "Excuse me???"

PTW: "As you may not be aware, as you are a stupid parent, childhood obesity is on the rise.  In an effort to combat obesity, the government felt it was necessary to step in and do all the thinking for you.  Rather than the parent teaching the child to eat a variety of fruits, vegetables, meats, fats, and sugars in moderation and to turn off the idiot box, I mean, TV/DVD/computer/game player, the government would like to seize power, I mean, help you make easier decisions.  In an effort to remove fat and add fun into food, it is necessary for the consumer to be herded in the correct direction, much like a cow."

TP: "WHAT did you just call me?"

PTW: "The government is afraid that if a child is offered a toy with a Happy Meal, you the parent will never consider that you have the option of telling the child that there are other things in life to eat.  They certainly can't expect you to offer your child a toy with a plate of spinach.  You can't be expected to exercise good judgment about nutritional needs.  That's why the government is working to stay one step ahead of the consumer.  Like taking all the yummy taste from Oreo cookies.  You may have noticed that your child's morning bowl of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs* has eight grams of fiber in every serving.  It's part of a balanced breakfast."

TP: "Are you seriously trying to sell me on the idea that the cereal I let my kid eat on Saturday mornings while he rots his brains with cartoons is nutritious?  The deal is, if he gets to eat that on Saturdays, I get to sleep until 9.  It's junk food!  I let him eat it ONCE A WEEK!"

PTW: "Well, just to be on the safe side, the government would like to assume you're an idiot.  Now, what can I do for you today?"

TP: "Give me directions to the nearest Chic-Fil-A.  They have great milkshakes."


*Hat Trick Points if you picked up the reference to Calvin and Hobbes, by the great comic genius Bill Waterson:

Dinning on Dimes

The economy is in the crapper, unemployment is still high (Fl alone is 12% last time I checked), and gas is 2.75 at best, but an unemployed writer can still swing $4 meals at Steak 'n Shake.

 

Their Black and Blue Steakburger was AWESOME!

You are what you eat

I'd like to pretend that I eat healthy fare on a routine basis, but more often than not I find myself sneaking my son's Pop-Tarts for breakfast or inhaling a pint of Ben and Jerry's One Sweet Whirled late at night.  Lately I've been day-dreaming of delicious vegetables sitting along side of grilled chicken, but that's where my fantasy ends.  Several bags of frozen foods are quietly collecting freezer burn as I snatch french fries from my son's two dollar Tuesday Happy Meal.

And I do worry about the junk that I've been putting in my stomach and consequently my kid.  Garbage in, garbage out was the old computer terms I heard as a child plunking away on DOS-based programs.  Is the chicken my son is eating pumped full of antibiotics?  Are there hormones in his milk?  If so, are these things contributing factors to children hitting puberty at an earlier age?  Should I buy organic or is organic a hype?  Is the FDA doing too much regulations into farm life and would prices drop if farmers were forced to inject their animals to meet market qauility standards?

But then I came across this article today: Boar-ish Behaviors
Well, damn!  While I'm worried about my son turning into a hormone raging teenager far ahead of his time, parents living in the fallout zone of Chernobyl twenty-four years later are having to worry that the boar-chops they'll be serving up for Sunday dinner will be Roast of Day-Glo Piggy.

How fun do you think those father/son hunting trips turn out? 
BLAM!  BLAM!
"Nice shot son!  But before we start picking out complementary spices for the apple strudel (because after all, these are German boars), we need to get the Geiger counter out.  I found one of Craigslist for next to nothing."
Mom and Pop worry about kiddo growing a third eye like Blinky the fish of Simpson's fame or hulking out like Bruce Banner.

So maybe next time I feel guilty about eating my non-free-range chicken eggs with antibiotic laden bacon and a glass of pasteurized milk, I'll think of glow-in-the-dark boars, and wash the guilt away with the last bite.