2012 - The year of RECKONING (or something)

Hello, sorely neglected food blog. Have you missed me?

I'VE MISSED YOU!!!

And this morning, my scale told me it missed you.

Actually it said:

"SERIOUSLY? YOU WERE DOWN TO YOUR LOWEST WEIGHT IN NEARLY 20 YEARS...JUST A YEAR AGO. AND NOT JUST THE LOWEST WEIGHT, YOU WERE IN FANTASTIC SHAPE!!! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO, EAT THE ENTIRETY OF THE FOOD SUPPLY IN WASHINGTON? DID YOU? DID YOU????"

Ok maybe it wasn't my scale saying that.

MAYBE...it was me.

So I learned something today (and by "learn something" I mean reminded myself of something that I already knew):

YOU CAN'T STOP EXERCISING AND TURN INTO A GIANT WHALE SHARK, EATING EVERY THING IN YOUR PATH, WITHOUT PUTTING YOUR HEALTH IN DANGER.

I can't?

What a freakin bummer.

It's true, guys. You can get in the best shape of your life - and you can undo it all in a year. Or less! IF YOU'RE DILIGENT ENOUGH!

Oh, and OH, WAS I DILIGENT!

I knew this, already. Obviously. And I've watched "Biggest Loser: Where Are They Now?" shows that occasionally show the ones that did exactly what I did. And I'm so sad for them.

I'm not sad for me, I'm annoyed with me.

Sure...I've had a stressful year. I've moved, had some personal life changes, etc. And to be FAIR, I did have some health issues and injuries at the end of this last year that put my triumphant return to healthytown on hold.

Although, let's be real. Those were drops in the proverbial bucket of FAIL.

Being a meth...er...food addict sucks. It really does. The one thing I DID stay on top of is staying pretty active - for the most part - this last year. I never did go fully back to slug-form.

But you can't eat 5,000 calories a day unless you're Michael Phelps. YA JUST CAN'T.

WHY WOULD I THINK THIS WAS EVER A GOOD IDEA?


So...I'm back on Weight Watchers. I need the accountability I had when I was going to Fierce Fitness, this fabulous kick boxing fitness gym in Portland, OR, that was my PLACE OF WORSHIP the last few months I lived in Portland. It was amazing, I logged my food every day, they kicked my ass every day, and I got in shape.

Unfortunately they're not in Bellingham, WA (i.e. damn near Canada). And when I moved up here, I was all sadfaced and missing them...and proceeded to do nothing about it for entirely too long.

But there are other gyms, and there IS Weight Watchers.

And I DO miss how I felt last year. A FREAKIN' LOT.

So I'm back to Weight Watchers. I'm back to lean proteins and vegetables with the occasional healthy starch. And the occasional treat...and treating them as such. You do not fuel your machine...with TREATS. Every day is not a goddamn special occasion. As much as I like to tell myself it is, it's not. At least not where "special occasion food" is concerned. Piggy.

I'm back to treating my body like the machine it has shown me it can become - seriously man, kick boxing has been an eye opener for me, and getting through the Warrior Dash last year without dying was INCREDIBLE.

I want all that. And more. MORE MORE MORE.

I'm greedy about feeling better. Sue me.


Stay tuned for more sarcasm laced B.S. and the occasional amazing recipe.



.

And this is why I'll always be a chubby bitch. LOL

Geezus...

This IS a gripe...it almost doesn't seem like it should be a gripe, but it is.

I try to watch my weight. I try!

I'm a huge food addict. I only realized in the last year that, while I've sat and wondered why my siblings are all druggies and alcoholics, how I escaped a life of that.

Well I didn't.

I'm addicted MASSIVELY ADDICTED to food.





And fucking strangers, but that's neither here nor there.

Ok not really.

Ok not really not really.

Hi.

ANYWAY

(Sorry for typing like a bard)


Food is my meth. I have issues with it. Unhealthy fucked up issues, and now that I really really know that, fine. FINE.

So I try to either avoid places that I know I'll overeat (like home...stay away from home for fuckssakes!) or I go in WITH A PLAN.

A PLAN, BY GOLLY!

But I swear to christ, it's like there are little nazi devils at every turn trying to fuck with me even when I TRY HARD TO BE GOOD.

I TRY SO HARD TO BE GOOD.

For instance!

I go to Jamba Juice and order my meth smoothie (i.e. the Peanut Butter Moo'd that is approximately 43.9 billion calories per drink).

I KNOW it's bad (fuck you, Gwen, for turning me onto those. lol), I know it is.

I'm allowed a bad thing once in a while. Dammit. A small bad thing.

Like EVERY OTHER FOOD ITEM IN THE WORLD, I will eat to the point where I'm sick - unless I breathe in / breathe out and order a specific size and ONLY that.

So I go into a Jamba Juice, AND I SWEAR TO GOD, 3 OUT OF THE LAST 5 TIMES, I'VE ORDERED A SMALL - AND THEY'VE GIVEN ME THE 'POWER SIZE'.

THE FUCKING POWER SIZE.

"Um, I ordered a small..." "Yup, I ordered a small and only paid for a small"

"Oh...woops? Ok, well no worries!"

FUCK!

Of course the REASONABLE PERSON would say for them to put it into a small cup and pitch the rest.

BUT IF AN ADDICT GOES TO BUY A BUMP OF COKE AND THEY GIVE HER A GLAD BAG FULL OF IT AND SAY, HEY, NO WORRIES, DOES SHE SAY, NO GET RID OF THE FUCKING COKE?

NO SHE DOES NOT.

BECAUSE WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

(Yes, I'm losing it, fuck off)



So I can't go to Jamba Juice anymore. Unless I don't have money and someone else is with me and orders for me.

Yes that's pathetic.

Suck it.


MOST RECENT EXAMPLE OF FAIL:

I order lunch from this nice little deli in the biz park where I work. They have homemade bread, fresh baked lunch meats, organic stuff, fresh baked cookies - which I will order ONE of once a week.

I glance at the sammich menu, and I eyeball this sandwich I have never seen before on there, and it has on it: Alfalfa Sprouts, Herb, Mayonnaise, Stone Ground Mustard, Roasted Turkey Breast, Swiss, Green Leaf Lettuce, Tomato, Red Onion, Cucumber, Dill Pickle, Avocado, Italian Vinaigrette, Ranch Dressing, Black Pepper. and and and...just huge. It's called "The Chairman".

Geezus, Mayo, Ranch AND vinaigrette...and avocado.

Nah, that sounds a little much, I think I'm going to make dinner tonight and would rather hold back a bit on lunch.

So I order a Vegetarian Sandwich, which is on some italian foccacia bread and it has mozzerella, marinated tomatoes, organic spinach, stone ground mustard, and pesto.

Simple enough. Sounds tasty.

And one cookie. Yay, it's cookie day.

I order one vegetarian sammich, one cookie, and one Fuze Cranberry Rasberry drink, and I go sit down, watch the hippies bake bread, and wait.

They call my name, and I glance in my bag - no cookie.

Dang, yup, I paid for my cookie, "Hey...yeah, I didn't get my cookie."

"Oh sorry!" the bad man says, "Here, let me give you two - shhh don't tell they're right out of the oven and all warm still."

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

"But..but...ok thank you."

/small hyperventilate



Fuck.

Ok fine.

I'll save one for later! (/dies laughing)

So I walk across the parking lots, cross the street, go up to my desk, and I open the bag and pull out my sandwich.

Damn that's a heavy sandwich for a vegetar....


WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?


This is not my sandwich....

I open it up....

IT'S THE MOTHERFUCKIN CHAIRMAN! WHAT IN BLUE HELL??

I check my receipt to see if I went into some kind of sandwhichgasm trance and actually ORDERED the fuckin thing, but no! My receipt says VEGETARIAN SANDWICH.

Motherfucker!

So I eat the fuckin thing. Because hi, IT'S IN FRONT OF ME AND I'M LIKE A RETARDED GOLDFISH THAT WILL KEEP EATING THE FISH FOOD FLAKES TIL I EXPLODE IN MY BOWL, AND FURTHERMORE, I DON'T HAVE TIME TO WALK ACROSS THE PARKING LOT TO HAVE THEM MAKE THE RIGHT SAMMICH...and it's damn tasty.

And I just ate both cookies. Suck it.


You know, a normal person can manage a healthy diet and still leave the house. They can go somewhere and order one thing AND GET ONE THING.

Most people get fucked over and don't even GET all the items they paid for.

But not me, ohhh no. I GET EVERYONE IN THE WORLD'S FOOD TIMES TWO. WITH EXTRA MAYO.

AND COOKIES.



It's really fucking nice to know my fat ass has such powerful thoughts.

Why can't it wish for a winning lottery ticket? Fuckin A!



/meltdown *off*


I'm packing lunch for the rest of the week. LOL

Geez, just answer the question!!

Ok, so when I'm on track, I become kind of a nazi when it comes to knowing what is in the food I eat.

And if I go out to eat, I fucking expect the people in there to know what is put into my food.

SO I go to this place, B.J.'s pizza and brewery and I order a Caesar salad.

I get home and I think, ya know what, I wonder if that dressing had sugar in it. REAL Caesar salad dressing shouldn't, but they use some bottled stuff - and it was DAMN good for bottled, but yeah, you never know. A lot of bottled dressings have sugar.

So I sent an email to their "Contact Us" email, and I ask, "Hey, a girlfriend of mine with gestational diabetes and I enjoy dining at your restaurant for lunch and I was wondering if you could tell me if your Caesar salad dressing contains sugar? I'm watching my sugar intake and my friend can't consume sugar due to her pregnancy related diabetes."

This gal responds back with a semi canned but semi not response saying that they don't have all of their nutrition information compiled for the public blah blah blah with their ever changing menu blah blah blah...

So I write back with, "So you cant tell me whether there is or isn't sugar in the Caesar salad dressing?"

To which she replies that no, there isn't any sugar, but she thinks there's corn syrup.

Hi, that's sugar.

Sneaky bitch.

Fine. Whatever.



So last night, Bryan and I go to Red Lobster - which I actually pretty heavily despise, but I figure I can get some crab legs or something.

I see the shrimp and lobster stuffed mushrooms on the menu.

The item description on the menu SAYS it's "Crab, shrimp, and cheese", so I ask the waiter if there is any bread or wheat products in the stuffing.

He's not sure so he goes to ask and comes back and says no. So I'm like, that's killer, let's order some.

I am eating these fuckers and...um..yeah...pretty sure there's some sort of bread crumb in there holding them together. The texture just says there is to me.

Chock full of bready goodness

So I get home and I try to find the nutrition facts online to no avail ...thought I did find some non-Red Lobster site that had nutrition facts that said it had no carbs, which means no possibility of bread - but then I saw that it said breaded clam strips had no carbs either. Right. Fuckers.

I write an email to Red Lobster asking if there is any bread or cracker product in the mushrooms, as I had dined there the night before and ordered them - and that I had asked the waiter BEFOREHAND - and he said no, but he seemed uncertain to me.

So they send this fucking email to me:



August 26, 2008

Dear Mrs. Myers,

We appreciate your inquiry regarding the availability of gluten-free items on our menu. Because your health is so important to us, we cannot guarantee anything on our menus to be free of gluten.

Red Lobster's kitchens are not allergen-free environments and neither are those of our suppliers. In addition, all of our fried food selections are prepared in shared fryers and our grills are shared cooking surfaces. Because of these processes, we cannot guarantee that seemingly gluten-free items have not come into contact with gluten.

To minimize potential contact with gluten-containing items you may wish to consider ordering steamed crab legs or steamed Maine lobster, broiled fish or chicken with no seasonings or marinades and steamed vegetables with no seasonings.

Please speak with the manager and your server prior to ordering to alert them of your specific dietary restrictions.

Sincerely,

Shari
Guest Relations Representative


MOTHERFUCKERS!! DON'T SEND ME YOUR CANNED GLUTEN FREE SPIEL. I DON'T NEED A FUCKING GUARANTEE THAT MY FUCKING MUSHROOMS DIDN'T COME INTO CONTACT WITH GLUTEN OR THAT YOUR KITCHEN IS ALLERGY FREE. I DIDN'T ORDER A FRIED ITEM, AND I DON'T NEED YOU TO GIVE ME HELPFUL GLUTEN FREE HINTS. AND I DID FUCKING ASK THE SERVER PRIOR TO ORDERING TO ALERT THEM OF MY FUCKING DIETARY RESTRICTIONS - MEANING I LIKE TO FUCKING KNOW WHAT I PUT IN MY MOUTH WHEN I GO TO A RESTAURANT.

God.




So instead of typing all that, I just hit reply and said "Thanks for the canned response. You didn't answer my question."

Dicks.




ONE MONTH LATER EDIT:

I just realized those fark faces called me MRS. Myers.

I am not my mother, nor am I married, you presumptuous twits!!! LOL