All these flavors...

...and you choose to be salty.

Ever watch The Family Guy?

No?

Ok, well there's a segment in a few episodes that is called:
That really grinds my gears.
Peter Griffin essentially explaining what pisses him off.

Today, it is not that ball-chinned moron. Today's segment of What Really Grinds My Gears has been brought to you by MY FAMILY.
With limited commercial interruption by Nestle Semi-Sweet chocolate chips and The Napa Valley red wine growers.

There will be chocolate fingerprints on my keyboard, and a red wine stain on my Ernie Ball shirt after this, Count on it.
Oh shutup...I'm allowed a snack.

So, before I start, I will preface by saying...I love my family. I love them all dearly. They sometimes make me crazy. (today) and sometimes make me want to choke them (today) and sometimes kick them-hard (today) and maybe poke them with a sharp stick (today)
Ok, Not ALL of my family...but a select few.

You know that meme that circulates around Facebook occasionally that says: would you punch your (insert family member here) in the face- for a million dollars?
Today, I would do that shit for free. I'M JUST SAYIN.

I am not going into the entire drama...just um...the round about, I guess.

Miscommunications are fun. Said no one ever.

I don't get how you take a seemingly innocent attempt to smoothly plan and coordinate a twice-yearly family get together and turn it into a complete a total cluster-fuck of epic proportion.
Wait...I'll tell you how.
The family drama queen misunderstands, and miscommunicates, and misconstrues, and sticks her head squarely up her ass and fails to read a clearly written and overly verbose (for a reason) explanation and instead, flies off the handle and runs to every other family member and miscommunicates the wrong information to them, in turn...which then makes everyone confused, or angry-at ME.
Me.
Innocent and sweet me.

Stop laughing.

Do you know what terrible, horrible, miscreant, evil I enacted to create this acid rain of pure excrement?
What massively abhorrent deed I played out to stand at the end of that hate-gun???

I'm bowing my head in shame as I tell you...I have been a very bad girl, indeed.

I'll tell you.

I put up an invite on Facebook for a family get together to talk about these twice a year parties and if we want to make changes to them in any way...or leave things the same, and have a little mini party with dinner and drinks at said meeting and have some family fun.

The shame!

How DARE I???

How dare I attempt to usurp power from the family elders???
How dare I try to make things more seamless and easy???
How DARE I take any initiative to make things...better!

Shock and awe!

(This is Dave Grohl, btw)

I like seasonings. But salt is bad for you, people.
Or didn't you know that?

Look, I am an event planner. I do this professionally for a few bucks a year (very few, sadly) but I do know a bit about it.
I also love to have parties. Some of you who read have been to my epic yearly Halloween party or my insane Superbowl party.
Sadly...my casa is not big enough to host my family for a party-so we typically have it elsewhere.
But, regardless-I have always been the organizer since my mom passed.
I make the invites, make the calls, do the reminders, make some food. Help the actual hosts ready their houses and yards to accommodate, and have even hired paid entertainment a few years past...that I paid for out of pocket. I actually LIKE doing these things. I chose to do it for a career...why not lend my expertise to the family a little? I don't take anything over, I just humbly offer my help, my assistance in any way. Because I want it to go easier so we all have a great time and a great experience every year, and have fun.

When my mom passed away, she made me promise to do whatever I could to keep the parties going. Keep the family together.
And I was a shitty daughter (this for another post) so I am keeping this fucking promise. If there is nothing else in the world I can do to make her proud or happy from the Goddamned afterlife-this is my contribution.

So I do the things.

The things that make life easier for each host.

This year that included this meeting. There was buzz that some people wanted changes, so in an effort to make sure that the entire family was on board with changes, OR NOT...Meeting planned.

But there is always that one person.

Every family has one.

Every family has ONE drama queen, ONE drunk Uncle, ONE slow learner, ONE druggie, ONE asshole who always says the wrong thing at the wrong time, ONE busybody, ONE goody two shoes, ONE complete idiot, ONE shit-stirrer,  and a Partridge in a fucking pear tree.

The drama queen was the culprit this time-bordering on shit stirrer.
She who stirs the pot should have to lick the spoon, as they say.

Before you ask...I'm the smart ass in the family. I didn't list it because I am sure you already knew which one I was. Duh.

Now, to be crystal clear- I still, very much,  love the drama queen.

She's has a good heart. She misplaces it sometimes, but when she finds it...it's as big as a saucer.
But, damnit...

Family Dynamics are just the worst.

And seriously, I am not one of those people who dread, loathe, or avoid being around their family. As a matter of fact, I typically look forward to it unless there's a death or illness. We're all pretty close knit.
I genuinely like my family. Even the drunk uncle. He's drunk...but he's entertaining if nothing else. But the thing is, no matter what...he's my family.

And there is absolutely nothing more important in my eyes than family...ever.

It's your roots, period.

So when shit tumbles squarely downhill and directly into your cake hole, and you sit there gagging and choking on it...sometimes is can be hard to appreciate what you have.
But, really... it doesn't have to be complicated at all...it just needs to be like fine wine...better with age. Better mature. Better all grown up. OLD VINES.
I'm SICK of drinking two buck-chuck, for the love of God.
I hate drinking Arbor fucking Mist!
I demand a more palatable finish. Butter, please!

I just have to wonder when we all figure that shit out?

Frustrated doesn't cover it.

Being the bad girl isn't always a good thing you know. This isn't the good brand of that particular adjective.

Damnit.

Cleaning the shit off my face, but eating chocolate and hoping like hell I don't get them mixed up.
I moved out of the trailer park years ago.

XOXO,
(muhahahahahahahahahaha-maniacal laughter and hand wringing)
Your pal-Lucifer.

This BMI thing...

...is bullshit. 

So, I checked my BMI and calculated it.

I'm obese. 

This is something I knew, but...here is what I didn't...

Apparently, for a woman my height-5'9 and a half-ish. 

Yeah, I'm tall too. If you watched the movie Deuce Bigelow-I'm the "big bitch" that you never see in full camera. 

I promise it's me. 

So, what I didn't know was that-to have a "normal" BMI...I have to weigh...

Get this-

160. One hundred and sixty pounds. 

To put this into a frame of reference for you, I haven't weighed 160 since I was like, um...I dunno...SIX. 

So, when I saw this insanity they call: truth in healthy weight-I recoiled. 

What in the bloody hell?

160? 

My goal was to lose 50 pounds...which was lofty in its pursuit...or so I thought. 

70 pounds is not impossible, I know. But damn...

These are the times that make you wonder...How did I ever let myself get to this point?

I mean, look...I ingested 1500 calories today. Here is what I ate:

My husband and I split an order of fajitas for dinner...with salsa and chips and a side of tasty AF guac from our favorite Mexican place. I ate the tortillas and he ate his share with chips. It was delicious and I was full...even after splitting. 

I had a turkey sandwich on French bread for lunch with lettuce, mustard, and pepper jack cheese with a side of three bean salad and a portion of baked Lays chips. I was full. 

I had a protein bar with coffee for breakfast. 

Full enough. 

I had two pieces of string cheese, and three small pieces of celery with peanut butter for snacks. 

Not full, but satisfied. They are just in between snacks. 

I also had one fountain Coke with dinner and a diet Dr. Pepper with lunch. And three bottles of water through the day. 

THIS is 1500 calories. 

And I exercised today, and walked my hour this evening-which burned almost 500 calories. 

So, my point is...the amount of food I was apparently taking in before this change, had to be astronomical. Maybe I wasn't eating a LOT, but I was eating a LOT of calories. Junk food. Chips, buttery oil popped popcorn, mug cakes, full bars of dark chocolate, 2-3 12 oz Pepsi's per day, no exercise and practically zero water.

But why was I doing this? 

What exactly was the motivation here? 

I like to eat...that's no secret. I like good food. Rich food. Fatty food. Delicious food that makes you gleek at the thought of it. (you don't know what gleek is? Oh for fucks sake...look it up...I'm kind of in a mood)

But while I was in Florida a few months ago, surrounded by this food, whole lobsters, gobs of pasta, barbecue and fries and mayo laced coleslaw, and fried fish...I looked in the mirror while stuffing my face and thought...whoa.

That'll do pig. That'll do. 

Meanwhile, I still want a Goddamned donut, but haven't had one. The craving is literally driving me insane. Still...I drive past Dunkin every day and walk past the case at the grocery store a couple of times a week-and now, something stops me. 

The will to live comes to mind. 

It's all relative. 

I guess #eatyourselftodeath never really caught on in the current #roseannesucks and #metoo world. 

What can I say, I gave it the old college try. 

So, not much progress to report today...walking was hard today...it's hot, and humid. Food was plentiful, but I stayed under. 

I'll update weight next week-my tummy is bloated right now...poop issues. Don't ask. (not like you would, anyway) 

My day has been pretty typical...but Facebook has pissed me way off. This Roseanne Barr crap is just...ugh. It's another controversy to occupy people's minds and put more negativity out into the ether of social media. 

And make me roll my eyes and marvel at the sheer naivety of the masses. 

If you think she didn't put that tweet out on purpose...you are 5. Or blind. Or, just retarded. (whom did I offend with that word?)

Guess what...I don't care...it's my party, folks. 

Now, back to watching a talent gone far too soon in A Knights Tale...

I hope we can all heal from this terrible Roseanne tragedy and move on with our lives now. 

UGH. 

I'm sure you can literally see my rolling my eyes from your seats. 

Roseanne is fat too you know. 

How DARE you bully her.

It's called a launce....helloooo?

Good times. 

Creamy peanut butter even makes celery taste good. Huh. 

XOXO, 

BMI hater girl. 

Come to the dark side...

...we have cookies.

The pitfalls and dangers of parties and family gatherings.

Those of you puzzled by this statement, either have no family, and friends...
Or...you are lying to yourself.

There ARE, in fact, many dangers associated with parties...IF you are pursuing the daily struggle to lose weight and be healthy.

I was invited to a graduation party today-for one of my students.
She's a favorite of mine, I won't lie.
She's not going far next year...which is a huge relief-one less loss on my shoulders.
That's the thing about teaching...you lose kids every year...so it takes some hardcore thick skin and the ability to hold your tears. Which, I suck at.
But, it's a learning curve.
Anyway...back to the story.

At this party there was a lovely tray of chocolate chunk cookies-homemade.
Tollhouse variety, I'll bet.
I grew up on my Aunt Wanda's Tollhouse cookies. So, they are essentially another form of crack. (we spoke on this before) Crack is wack, but essentially this brand is ridiculously addictive and delicious, and when consumed en force...liable to cause tooth decay.
Crack.
So, this tray of cookies was there, and so was I.
And it was like a cheezy 80's movie montage with a song behind it:

I heard this song as I walked across the floor in slow motion. 

So, of course...there was a conversation with the cookies as well. 

Cookie: So, um...I have big, fat, chocolate chunks in me. You planning on eating me? 

Me: No. 

Cookie: Why?

Me: Cause I am trying to get healthy, and lose some weight. You aren't good for me. 

Cookie: Who says I'm not good for you? I mean...look, I have milk, eggs, and wheat...I may as well be a breakfast food. If you add all of these things into a blender with some fruit...I'm like a smoothie. 

Me: You forgot the sugar. 

Cookie: Well, sure....but there is sugar in everything. And I taste sooooooo good. 

Me: Yeah, I know...but I can't. 

Cookie: (getting angry) Can't or WONT???!!!

Me: Hey, don't get snippy with me cookie, I'm doing the right thing here...I'm avoiding diabetes, you asshole cookie!

Cookie: (speaking to the rest of the tray-cue sappy violin music) do you believe her? She-who stayed up late nights baking us with her treasured Aunt Wanda, and making so many memories, and happiness...and now she calls me an asshole?  She betrays us. What an ungrateful little...NO...I won't stoop to her level with the name calling.  But, can you believe her? 

The other cookies side-eye me. 

Me: Wait, I'm sorry cookie...I'm trying to be strong. You're not an asshole...you are a good cookie. How can you ever forgive me? (wiping a tear away)

Cookie: Eat me. 

Me: Well, that was uncalled for. 

Cookie: No, I mean...really...eat me. You'll feel better. 

Me: What about the diet, I'll feel so guilty.

Cookie: Aunt Wanda would be so proud. 

Me: Ok...I'll have just one. For Aunt Wanda. I'll eat you. 

Cookie: Thanks! I really appreci.... (gulp)

And in two bites...cookie boy was gone. 

And with chocolate on my mouth, I walked away. 

The rest of the cookies started taunting me. 

I mean...how did they know about My Aunt Wanda???

It was a trap. I know this now. I'm weak. 

This could be Aunt Wanda's fault, or maybe not. Ok, probably not. 

It's just me. And my love of baked goods and all things chocolate. 

Fuckin Tollhouse cookies. 

Yes, I ate a damn cookie. 

And I was totally OK with it and savoring the delicious sweet aftertaste- until I got home and sat down to pee. 

The scale. 

The scale was glaring at me from the floor. 

Scale: So...did we have fun at your little party today?

Me: Um...yeah. Sure. Fun. 

Scale: Did the party have food?

Me: Probably, I mean...I didn't really notice...I was talking to a lot of people. (starting to perspire) 

Scale. Uh huh. 

Me: What? What is that tone for?

Scale: Nevermind. Traitor. 

Me: (appauled) Traitor??? Why traitor?! What did I do? 

Scale: (meancing) You KNOW what you did. Look in the mirror...the evidence is all over your face. Chocolate lips, crumbs on your shirt. (exasperated) You bakery SLUT!.

Me: Don't judge me. Wait...did you say slut???

Scale: Oh, I'm judging fat ass. I'm judging. I'm the one who has to bear the weight of you, and the one who has to deal with the tears as you stand on me, and the hate and negativity. 

Me: Did you just call me a fat ass, and a slut- you bitch?

Scale: Yeah...I did! What of it???

Me: *Now attempting to choke said scale and rolling around on the floor like a complete lunatic.*

We made up. I explained the devil cookies and the guilt trip they gave, and the music in slow motion, and how I stopped myself from inhaling the entire tray. 

The scale now hates all cookies. She said it's OK. and forgives me. She said everyone slips now and then. But, also...that she would be watching me. 

I haven't mentioned to her how delicious that Nestle chocolate tasted or how the buttery dough melted in my mouth. That might make her mad again. 

But, she's mostly at peace now. 

Suspicious...But at Peace. 

Parties are fun. 

But, they usually have food. 

Bad food. 

Monday is a holiday. And a party. 

Damnit man. 

Another tray of cookies to conquer, probably...or cake. Shit. I don't think I can stand up to cake. 

The scale is going to beat my ass next week...I'm sure of it. 

Maybe I should cover her in plastic so she doesn't short circuit from the tears?

It might soften her up. 

But, probably not. 

That's the way it crumbles, I guess. 

The dark side has food, 

XOXO.

Cookie Monster. 

The Scale...

...Was wrong.

So my birthday gift was great. I mentioned it before. A digital scale that measures weight, body composition, fat, etc...
A nice scale.

It doesn't work for me.

Apparently, you have to stand statue still and if you shift your weight even a millimeter-it scrolls back and forth on numbers and just picks one at random.
Fuck.

So, what I thought was a 16 pound deficit-was not.

In an effort to gain understanding of a correct weight...I accompanied my hubby to his physical therapy appointment and asked his therapist if I could step on their scale to be accurate.
It wasn't calibrated.
It didn't work either.

Damnit, man.

So, since my own GP is close...right across the street, I decided to see if they could let me weigh in there. They have a jumbo scale. Proper and steady.
The conversation went like this:
Receptionist: Hi, how can I help you?
Me: Um...weird request, but Dr. G would like me to monitor my weight because of my fasting blood sugar, I don't have an appointment, but...could I possibly weigh in your scale, since the new one I have at home doesn't seem to be working properly?
Receptionist: Oh. Um. Sure. I guess that would be OK. Actually, I'm surprised.
Me: Oh? Why?
Receptionist: Because most women hate to weigh themselves.
Me: (chuckle) yeah, well...I'm not exception. I loathe the scale and avoid mirrors most of the time, especially where bathing suits are concerned...sigh. But, you know-that nasty diabeetus issue and all.
Receptionist: *blank stare*
Me: *fading smile* Ahem.

I guess she didn't like the diabeetus joke. Whatever.
I'm nothing if not totally inappropriate.
Especially since my GP specializes in geriatric care, and most of his patients are, in fact...diabetic.
Good times.

Receptionist: (Nodding head in disapproval) So, let me see if I can find a nurse who can take you back to weigh.
Me: Ah...OK...sure. Thanks.

I'm a dumbass.

So nurse calls me back and lets me step on the jumbo-tron scale.

Literally,  it's like the scale you see on the shows on cable about: My 500 pound life.
But, it works.

I step on. 232.8

Crap. I mean, Yay?

Look...13 pounds is awesome progress..no one is debating that...but 16-18 pounds was so much prettier to me.

Damn scale.

I'll be OK though. Not giving up, obviously. I'll keep pumping along...walking everyday-no matter what, eating at 15-1600 a day.
I'll get there.

50 pounds or bust, and then maintaining. No diabeetus for me.

Sorry receptionist lady. I suffer from intermittent Tourettes.
And I'm fat. I have issues.

Thanks for the jumbo-tron.

XOXO,
Wilfred Brimley.

People...

...Who make headbands and bad food.

Everything Rachel Ray makes on her show is a little gross. or a little stupid, or a lot fattening and high in calories.
I mean...why do I gotta watch WTVP to see healthy recipes?
Does network TV not grasp the health trends?

Well, if you happen to be one of the other cool 6 of us who do watch WTVP...or PBS for those who have zero clue... Create channel specifically-you folks who are cool like me know that you have to navigate that channel pretty particularly-even IF they do a better job in that vein. But you must be wary...
Cause this:
1. Pati's Mexican Table.
2. The Jazzy Vegetarian.
3. Make Your Mark.
4. The Katie Brown Workshop.

I'll comment...just give me a sec to breathe and not spew too much venom.

We'll start with the least to the worst annoying (those above were in no particular order, fyi)

The least annoying of these four shows is The Katie Brown Workshop.
I find her personality snitty, and her works- talentless.
She makes terrible food-that lacks presentation and is zero-inspired.
Her crafts are...um...not good. But, that said...she works some interesting ideas with what she has. This is not to say that the ideas come to fruition with any practical use or style, but the ideas, at the very least...aren't terrible.
Her whole show just reminds me of one big Pinterest Fail, frankly.

The second least annoying-bordering on ridiculous show is The Jazzy Vegetarian.
Look, people. I have no problem with the vegan lifestyle. A plant based diet-if you can swing it, happens to be the most healthy way to eat-period. I believe it. I could never do it, mind you. Dairy free, meat free and even some grains...nope. But, I don't hate on those who take this lifestyle on. It's hardcore to say the least, and kudos to those who do-including this weirdo broad...but her show? SO STUPID.
First of all...she can't sing. I mean, frame of reference here-she obviously sings better than say-Roseanne Barr, or ME. But, that's not a stretch, folks. She's jazzy with no heart. No soul. Like an Elon Musk version of Etta or Ella. And white. Pure white.
Basic bitch Jazz. It's a new market.
Ok, not really.
Her food? Disgusting. And yeah sure, like I said before- vegan food takes a special person. But I seriously cannot imagine. Have you ever tasted a vegan chocolate chip? Or sprouted tofu? One tastes like...cocoa with sandpaper grit, and the other tastes like wallpaper paste or cardboard Spackle.
She could build a fucking house with those ingredients.
The show should be called: The Jazzy carpenter! Able to sing badly while sheet-rocking your new bedroom with TOFU. This Old House needs some Bean paste-STAT!
Ugh.

The second MOST annoying show is Make Your Mark.
Crafts.
More crafts.
More BAD crafts.
At least Katie Brown has ideas. This guy...doesn't have ONE legit brain cell, let alone creative craft idea in his head.
🤷‍♀️ Mean? Maybe a little, but I'm fat...so whatever.
This guy over here (said in my lamest wiseguy accent)
Mousy, feminine personality, vapid...and seriously...HOW did this guy get his own show?
The shit he makes is romper room-esque- and I call it shit because...it IS.
And get this, the host was a former fashion designer and personal stylist. I would LOVE to see some of the "fashions" he designed. For laugh factor alone.
Keep in mind, this guy is a grown man.
Grown.
Yet, please see below for an example of the "crafts" he has created on his show.
Disclaimer: Nope...not making it up, it's for real.

How about a nice crocheted ensemble for your cat? Paris would be in awe!

Or...a hand crafted Christmas Pom Pom headband? Yessss. NO. 

Look ultra wealthy with this jewel-encrusted pair of Walmart shades...(all that's missing is the fake DG logo on the side!) Wear to your favorite country club or Polo match! Be careful though...if you accidentally drop them someone could mistake them for a pile of horse crap!

So, I made a picture of my mom with dried lentils and kidney beans when I was in 2nd grade. I hear that's next week's episode.
I actually saw a kit at the DOLLAR TREE for making those snazzy Christmas pom pom headbands.
Producer: So Mark..what's on the agenda today?
Mark: Oh, I have a big show...I'm going to stick Betty Boop Stickers on an Ikea mirror! It's so creative and beautiful! And so chic! That'll be 40 grand please. (holds out hand) Why PBS, WHY?


Last but not least...the piece de resistance...

#1 WORST show on PBS...

Pati's Mexican Table.

Mexican.

Nope, she straight-MEXI-CANT!

Oh relax people, it's not a race or culture thing. I'm speaking specifically about HER.
She's just the worst.
Her high-pitched, nasal, ditzy, wide-eyed, platitudes and Charo hoochie- coochie-like presentation is like nails on a chalkboard.
She includes her kids, and you can visibly see the disdain on their faces as she pinches their cheeks and throws her head back in crazed laughter. There's a horror movie here, somewhere...I can feel it.
Her food is basic Mexican that you can find at many places in my town (which isn't huge-and nowhere near Mexico) and she licks her fingers when she cooks-ON AIR. She licks her fingers and sticks them back into the same bowl and feeds it to people. (seriously, makes me want to hurl) I don't know what's more grotesque, her voice...or her bad sanitary standards?
Ew.

I can't say more without getting more mean. 
I avoid like the plague.
The worst thing is that PBS likes to give her marathon days. 6 hours of her. Who would watch that? Who could watch that?
Ugh. PBS. No.

At least though, PBS does a good job with other programming, like Julia Child (no, not healthy cooking by any stretch...) But she's a delight to watch and she makes such amazing food (God rest her soul)
And Jacques Pepin, and And A Chef's Life, and so many more.
They emphasize locally sourced food, gardening and healthy lifestyle.
Why haven't the networks? do they think the women watching are all...well, like me?

I kid. Sorta.
I just think Rachel needs to tone down on the fats and fried wares and grill a veggie every now and then. Leave the butter to Paula Deen. She has a particular following.
Maybe it's because Rachel is so used to making dog food. Who knows?

Not delish.


So...Beyond that ridiculous bitch-fest, the scale read 20 pounds down today. Not sure if I believe that number. But, I plan to make a trip to a legit scale this week to confirm.
My birthday present is failing me, I think.

If it isn't....yay me.

Haven't been over 1600 calories in a month. And walk at least 2 miles a day.

I know I am losing, but still unsure about how much in reality.

More when I know.

For now...PBS, take a look at your celebs-and networks, let's do some semblance of healthy food, ok?

And lastly...I got a job today. It's been a productive month.


PBS nerd life.

XOXO,
Criticgirl.

Everything in Moderation...

...Including Moderation.

So, the husband doesn't understand about moderation. Or, my lack of it.
Meaning this.

I can't eat half a fucking donut.


Said in my best Veruca Salt voice: "I want the whole donut, daddy...you must give me the whole chocolate frosted ring, or I shall scream!"

Donuts are like the worst possible thing you can eat-ever.
Imagine if you will: Deep fat fried dough, dipped in sugar, and coated in chocolate frosting or glaze.
Typical fat content: 1 million times infinity.  (This would make a cool wrist tattoo, conversely...a donut with an infinity symbol in the hole...I'd totally do that, just sayin...)
Calories: 280 EACH.

That's like an entire meal for me, these days.
No, I'm not even close to kidding.

So, while hubs and I are walking through the grocery store this evening (you know how we do on a Saturday night in oldsville...we hit the club Wal-Mart and do that shit up right. Poppin' mad tabs in the low-carbohydrate beer aisle and kickin' it live to the beats on the HD-TV's in Electronics. It's mad phat. Yo. Check it. )
Anyway, on our "turnt" Saturday night-we are perusing the produce and specifically the jicama selection when the the smell wafts over like a golden fog. (no, not the husband's dinner flatulence) the actual good smell of freshly baked donuts being transferred into the case from a metal cart.
Chocolate frosted with sprinkles, glazed, blueberry cake, cinnamon bear claws, strawberry frosted long johns.............

(**I cannot confirm it, but I may have had a small orgasm standing there. That, or a stroke.
At 47, who can tell the difference?**)
 Oy.

The sweet smell of fat and sugar in an enticing perfume wrapping its deadly fingers around my throat and into my nostrils and taste buds making me look like a sad example of Pavlov's Dog.

Not cool, Wal-Mart. So not cool.

I think I might have even seen the embodiment of Cruella DeVille behind the bakery counter wringing her hands in a malevolent way.
It's my story, and I am sticking to it.


So, when I mentioned the smell and was staring intently at the case...husband speaks into his phone and asks-"calories of one chocolate frosted ring donut." 
Ok Google replies: "Sure! Calorie content of one chocolate frosted donut: 280."

I cringe and shake loose my salivating revelry and bitterly throw a bag of sweet potatoes into my cart full of healthy vegetables and diet soda.

Husband then says to me..."You know...it's all about moderation...why don't we get one donut and take small bites and enjoy it together? We can split it in half."

Me: **blank stare**

Him: "What??"

Me: "No. A half of a donut? What is the point of that?"

Veruca Salt: "I SAID I WANT THE WHOLE DONUT, DADDY!"

I punched Veruca in the face and left her bleeding by the cucumbers. She might be eating the whole fuckin donut, but she's going to be drinking it through a straw for the time being.

Husband was frustrated with this response, of course. But, it diffused quickly as we power walked away from bad carbs and sugar.

Look, I GET moderation. I moderate every day. Like, when I drink a mini 7.5 ounce can of Pepsi rather than a 16 ounce bottle.
I eat 12 baked Cheetos rather than half of the bag, or a small bag of movie popcorn with no extra butter rather than a large bucket with extra butter. Or when I eat two squares of dark chocolate as opposed to the entire bar.

I know moderation, kids. It's the life I now lead.

But, half a donut. I'd rather go without, thanks.

It's just not worth it. I'd walk away wanting the other half-and would enthusiastically Waterboy tackle and wrestle my husbands half right out of his sweaty hand. Trust me.
I love donuts that much. Like Pizza. Donuts are crack for chubby basic bitches like me, and pizza is Meth.

And my love for these things (the food...not meth and crack-to be clear)...are why I am large to begin with. I make no excuses or lame subterfuge about it. I can eat a half dozen in one setting by myself. It's a problem.

And wait a second...what's the deal with comparing delicious fattening food to meth and crack? Who started that shit? I mean, I am pretty sure that I have never seen a fat crackhead or obese meth barbie.
That's a skewed comparison, really.

So when husband asks if I want half of a donut, it's kinda like asking a man walking through the Sahara if he wants half of a teaspoon of water.  I mean, It's already too fucking small...and you offer me half? Yeah.
No...I'll just die here of dehydration, thanks.

So, we left our bangin' party night behind after self scanning our veggies and diet soda and headed home. I practically slammed a whole bottle of water and am still craving a donut.

But, because I am 16 GODDAMNED pounds thinner (seriously) I will shut up and eat a bowl of Special K with skim milk and like it.

Because, it's worth it.

All things in moderation.
But, I draw the line at donuts.

Crack is wack.

XOXO,
Donutgirl. 


  

Pizza....

...Is for old people.

So,  because today is my 30th birthday (ok more like the 17th anniversary of my 30th birthday) My husband asked me what I wanted for dinner. Being on this diet adventure, pizza is not on the menu, as you can easily imagine. Pizza happens to be my favorite food outside of chocolate and lobster.
Pizza is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy, It's not beer. It's pizza.

Is is because I said so.

Benjamin Franklin was wrong.

Have you ever seen that meme with the little kid coloring...and it says: "I fucking love coloring!!!!"
Gimme a sec, I'll post it:

Funny, huh?
Anyway, this is precisely how I feel...only about pizza, not coloring.
I like to color too, but the level of passion isn't quite the same.
I will choose pizza over sharpies any day, just sayin.

Pizza is like the best thing ever.
So, when I requested pizza, and was granted this wish, we chose Monicals Pizza. It's local, ridiculously expensive, and stupid yummy.

Anyway, we asked some friends to join us in the merriment of bread, sauce and cheesy goodness and chatted and had a great time.

Then...the bill came.

Ladies and gentlemen...please focus your attention on the fourth column of  the receipt....

YES. That does say senior discount.

Both couples had it.
Wait...um...what just happened? When did I qualify for the early bird diner and depends undergarments set? (I do pee a little when I sneeze...but that doesn't count.)
We all laughed at this heartily and made the comment going out the door, "it's time for us old folks to head on home, but we need to swing by the apothecary for some sticking cream for our wooden dentures, first.
Later we'll chase a hoop down the dirt road with a stick and milk the cows by hand!" 🙄

I dunno...It could have very well been the conversation we were having over dinner. You know, grunting when we stand from sitting position, dieting, old lady arm flab, vacationing in Florida. Or maybe the small line of burgeoning gray hair on my temples, or the salt-peppering my husband's hair. Or maybe the coffee my husband ordered with his pizza (only because he was saving calories and a drink comes with the deal...) Or maybe is was because our waiter was 12.

They have no frame of reference on what's old, those damn kids. For the record, I say this about anyone in their 20's. Sweeping generalizations are fun-just ask my 12 year old waiter.

Come to think of it, I DO actually yell at kids to stay out of my damn yard.

So to add to the list of concerns...now not only am I fat, but apparently now...I'm old too.

I'm 47 30 for crying out loud.

I mean, people are living longer, so technically...I am not even middle aged yet. For all intents and purposes, I am still young. I still check the 35-50 box on surveys! (old people do surveys, fuck.)Whatever.
I have 3 more years. Let's not rush me into the retirement community just yet, please.

On a good note...I weighed for the first time today since stringently starting this diet and exercise routine two weeks ago. My husband bought me a scale for my birthday.
Relax, it is what I asked for.
So, It's all fancified. Digital. It measures BMI, weight, calories, etc...
and today, I stepped upon its shiny metal foot- pads for the first time.

11 pounds.

Yes, really.

11 pounds in two weeks.

I am walking over 2 miles a day, and staying well below my 2010 calorie goal a day.
I have all but cut out Pepsi.
And snacks are extremely limited, and when I do snack...it's twigs and leaves.
Kidding.
It's NUTS, twigs and leaves.

So progress is being made. And I feel great.
Some mild stomach stuff...probably due to the drastic change in diet. Who knows. I'm dealing with it. But otherwise I feel fabulous.
More energy, more stamina, and ambition. I don't sit around as much. I get my steps in daily...no matter what.

And that's really cool.

I'm excited and happy...I'm still a smart ass-but I am a smart ass much more at peace.
I want to lose 50 total by October. Here's to doing that. 

Now- where in tarnation have I left my walker??? I need to take my night meds.

12 year olds, sheesh.

Happy Birthday to me-
XOXO,

Fat (geriatric) girl.

Job Hunting...

...Much like growing old...is NOT for sissies.

PE#1 (prospective employer): Can you lift over 50 pounds for over 6 hours a day? Boxes of books and such?

Me: Yes. I can do that.

PE#1: Oh. Um. OK. Well, I'm kinda looking for a guy-its a full day of lifting.

Me: Ok. I understand.

PE#1: Sorry, I should have been clear.

Me: No worries. Good luck in your search.

PE#2 The position you applied for in the office is filled, but I have other positions in the store that are available. Do you have any restaurant experience?

Me: I have a great deal of restaurant experience, would you like to review my food service resume?

PE#2 Yes, please.

Me: Great! I'll send along to you.

(two days later)

PE#2 I reviewed your resume and regret to inform you that we have no open management positions available at this time. The open positions we have available are typically counter and drive through-which we find you to be drastically overqualified for. If something comes up soon, we will be happy to schedule an interview. Thank you for your interest.

Me; (to self) ASSHOLE.

Me: Hi, my friend has recommended me to your agency, and we actually interviewed for the same position last year. If you remember me, I think I was one of two of the final candidates and you went with someone else. I see you have the same position open again, which I feel would be a great fit-given my seasonal position in my career. I'd love to sit down and chat again if you are interested.

PE#3 Yes, I do remember you. Good to hear from you. Actually, I do not have a copy of your resume handy...can you please send me another?

Me; Absolutely.

PE#3 I can look it over and call you in the next few days if that's ok?

Me: No problem at all. I can be available any time.

PE#3 Great-thanks for calling!

Me: You're welcome, I'll send that resume right away.

PE#3 Talk soon, and thanks!

(7 days later)

Me: Hello, Mr. ___ I was following up to see if you did receive my resume as requested.

I can be available at your convenience to sit down and discuss the open position.

Thank you again for your time.

(2 days later)

No response.

PE#4 (After a 1 hour phone interview and a 1 hour long basic skills and marketing test that I passed with flying colors.)

I should mention that you will have to pay in advance for licensing to be able to perform the job. It would be somewhere around $1000.

But, you can use the license anywhere. So it's worth it.

Is this something you would be interested in?

Me: (in my head) WTF????!!!!

Me: (on the phone) Oh. Well, I don't think I will have that kind of cash up front at the present time, I'm sorry. Could I work for awhile and earn it back through payroll deduction? I'm open to that.

PE#4 I'm sorry, but no. We can't afford to pay for every prospective candidate in case they decide the job isn't for them. I'm sure you understand.

Me: Sure. Thanks again for your time.

Me: (after hanging up the phone) ASSHOLE.

I don't get these people.

Every stinkin' year I go through this shit. And it's not only destroying my entire birthday/Mother's Day weekend...but also making me depressed.

It's like-between hearing at home: You have to find something soon!

To the voice in my own head saying: Gee, having some money to be able to have dinner at your own birthday party would be fucking swell.

I'm pretty much over it already.

The worst of it is. I may just have to quit my coaching job. The one thing (besides my husband and my kids) that truly gives me joy.

All because this endless cycle every year...and now child support that I have to pay-for a kid that I wish was with me full time. The same kid who is mostly unhappy living with his father (all because he has good character and is sticking to his guns and because he wants to play football)

And paying child support to a man who barely ever paid his until my son turned 12.

12 year in arrears. We struggled, we suffered, and we went without...

All because his father never paid.

Now, I am paying HIM. And now I am unemployed.

And as usual...no one sees my worth in the job market. And the ones that do...won't work around my speech schedule in the fall.

Same old shit, same month. Every year.

Hey Sallie Mae. You want that college loan money back...why don't you just come and take back this Goddamned degree. I'm not using it anyway.

-Another day in paradise, as they say.

And a depressing Mother's Day and 47th Birthday ahead.

Good times.

Someone better buy me a fucking chocolate cake. That's all I'm sayin'

Digging my whole.

XOXO,

Frustratedgirl.

They Don't All...

...Wear Capes.

I can appreciate the upcoming holiday for the most part. I mean, I love my son-and love my daughter. They are by far, the best reason I can think of to carry on-even when life seems long. (which isn't often, to qualify)
But, Mother's Day always sparks a bit of melancholy for me.

Ok so,  My mom. She's dead.

Ok, ok...I am not leaving it there-relax.

My mom...who I judge, a lot. Yes, even though she's gone. I still do it. I think of my skills as a mom and hers and think-OFTEN- that...my mom could have done this. She could have accomplished this. She could have been better as far as I am concerned.
She left me with so much shit-as you have probably seen in my reading.
My neurosis is SO deep.
My anxiety, my fear, my negativity, my coldness, my jaded and misanthropic nature, my inability to connect with people, and my anger.
The shit.

Sometimes I look at her picture on the wall, and I don't feel sad...I feel pissed off.
And then guilt because I feel pissed off at her.
Here's why: This whole "I do things so much better than my mom did", is just ego...it's false-yet...I somehow-even knowing that I am full of shit-hang on to it like some pathetic silk ribbon that saves me.
Guess what? It doesn't.
Because it always comes back to you.

My son (who is amazing and every other positive adjective you can measure) also struggles with anxiety, negativity, and demoralized behavior.
For all of my sanctimonious rabble-babble...here I am.
Here he is. A mini version of my horrible self (sometimes)

I did that.

I struggle with the mistakes a lot more than I should, I know.

What I also know is this: I am an asshole for judging her. 

You learn a lot as a mom, it's a never-ending process of education. Some things you really never wanted to learn. Like colors and consistencies of poo,  or the best sexual position after hemorrhoids, or the inner workings of a circumcision, or how to clean body fluids from a microfiber couch.
They are all real things...look them up.
Or-maybe- don't-unless imperative. Learning about these things is like hitting the wrong word or phrase in a Google search to find something horrible, that you worry the FBI has red-flagged you on-only you've done it purposefully. Don't say I didn't warn you, people.

So...when you learn the BIG lesson... (cue big suspenseful build music clip)

I am becoming my mother.  (cue horror movie scream clip)

It's like Armageddon in your brain.

And what's worse...when you see YOU-I mean, the true YOU-in something your children do or say. It's like Armageddon and the Holocaust all wrapped up in a tight silk ribbon.
And when you have wrapped this ribbon up too tightly... it cuts off all circulation.

So that ribbon?

It doesn't save you after-all.

The trick is knowing that you have to let go of all of it.
Unwind yourself, so to speak. Don't expect for one second that living inside your delusions will help you become super mom. That's a myth created by Johnson & Johnson. There is no such thing.

We are ALL stained shirt wearing, bad haired, scattered, shuffled, over-scheduled, over-caffeinated, making-it-up-as-we-go-zombies trying to muddle our way through everything. Relationships, football games, teacher conferences, custody battles and changes, acne, puberty, lies, grades, drivers permits, angst, puke, poo, breast feeding, bottle feeding, no sleep, labor pains, heartburn, positive pregnancy tests. ALL OF IT.
We were meant to be everything to everyone. Our significant others, our children, our family. When really...all we want to be is US.
And Mother's Day is the day we are supposed to get to do this.
So **celebrate it however you wish.

**Notice how I used the word celebrate, and not mourn?
Yeah, I teach myself lessons every-time I write stuff. It's a thing I do. Shut up.


Judgment, sucks.

The mistakes make the victories sweeter, and the learning deeper.

That goes for you too, mom.
I'm sorry I judged you.

I'm sure I will still glare at your picture occasionally when something really smart-assy comes out of my 17 year-olds mouth. Or, you know...when I try to make your homemade chicken and noodles (for like the hundredth time)-the recipe which you took to your grave and the noodles look and taste like wallpaper paste or the broth is too thin. Thanks, Jerk.
I may call you names-But, I won't judge you.

Chances are, I'll probably just judge myself.
Because that's what good moms do.

Because I'm just like you.

Happy Mother's Day to all of my fallen and alive homegirls out there.

Eat some cake, and I will too.
(with a side of guilt-it's not on my calorie count)

Smothering,
Mama T