Category: Uncategorized

Free Donut Day 

  
This shit, THIS SHIT right here is why I’m always gonna be fat. Friday is “National Doughnut (donut? Why are there two spellings??) Day”. Every damn day is some “National Excuse to Eat Day”. Every damn day. Do you know what this bullshit does to an impulsive eater? It isn’t pretty. Today is “National Chocolate Macaroon Day”. Did you know that? Basically, this means that I need a chocolate macaroon now. I mean, it’s only patriotic to celebrate, right? It would be un-American to not participate. I think the macaroon is French though, so now I’m all confused. I’ve never had a macaroon and have no idea where to purchase one, but it’s on my to-do list to find out. I bet you’re saying to yourself right now, “You mean the chubby girl has never had a macaroon?” I know, right?! 
Let’s get real about this donut business. Donuts are my absolute weakness. I would probably sell my soul for the right donut. I’m very particular about my favorite naughty food, however. A dry 7-11 donut just won’t do. I also don’t like the fluffy ones. My donut needs to have some meat on its bones. I like the really dense cake donuts. You know, the kind you have to be careful not to eat too fast or you get it stuck in your throat, and it feels like it’s knifing you on its way down (why you gotta play me like that, donut? I love you and all you do is hurt me). My absolute ideal donut is a dense, yellow cake with pink frosting and sprinkles delight. I don’t even know what the flavor of the frosting is supposed to be, but it’s pink, and it’s fucking delicious. The sprinkles add some grit, and sometimes crunch, if some stray sugar sprinkles hop aboard. Sometimes, I can find the rare purple frosting donut, and that’s like seeing a unicorn. It’s so beautiful, rare, and just magnificent to behold. This past autumn, Raleys had a blueberry cake donut with blueberry frosting, and it far surpassed any of my donut expectations. I was more sad to see that go when the season passed than the PSL. My dream is to visit Voodoo Doughnut in Portland, Randy’s Donuts in L.A., and Top Pot Dougnuts in Seattle (keeping my obsession contained in the west). I’d like to go on a donut road trip if anyone cares to join me…I told you I take my donuts seriously. 
In actual seriousness, this constant temptation all around me makes for a really hard time. I can’t even log into Facebook without seeing some sinful thing I want in my mouth. I honestly make a huge effort to eat right. Every morning I bag up my healthy food I spent hours prepping, I make coffee at home to put my homemade creamer in, and I count every calorie that goes into my mouth. Then, advertisements for S’mores Frappuccinos happen. Or, I get asked to go to sushi. Sometimes even, I smell McDonald’s breakfast on the way to work and my willpower is demolished. Just like that. It sucks. Unless I want to spend my life unattached to the outside world, I need to learn control. I need to learn how to not allow myself to be tempted. I need to learn that, while Cherry Garcia does make all the stress go away in such a sweet, sweet way, eating the whole pint in one sitting is disgusting. 
If anyone has any pointers, I am all ears. I’m really close to buying the food addiction hypnosis class on Groupon, if all else fails (which it will, and I’m ALL about trying to not eat whilst sleeping). I do believe that choosing to not eat or exercising control is 100% mental. I do know enough to understand that my stomach isn’t calling the shots. As my new experience with yoga is a journey, so is my relationship with food. Maybe someday I can actually buy a box of Girl Scout cookies and have them around longer than 2 hours. Maybe. 
Just in case anyone was curious, I did celebrate “National Chocolate Macaroon Day” with an It’s It. It’s like a macaroon in shape, only its bigger and not coconut and there’s ice cream. So, not a macaroon at all, but delicious just the same. 
Also, I will attempt to not claim a free donut on Friday, or eat one in any way, but if I happen into the staff lounge, all bets are off. I call the pink donut, bitches! 
*The fact there was an ad for KFC on the page about “National Dougnut Day” was not lost on me. While I know full well that move was the media intentionally sabotaging every chubby girl’s diet, I can’t help but find it genius. Everyone knows that after three donuts, you’ll be wanting some salty gravy. Brilliant. 

Try Again 

This is my second post of the day, but only because I had to try downward dog again after speaking to a friend about what I was doing wrong in my previous picture. She said to lean into my hands more, and yes, that does sound like what the instructor said last week, but I was too busy trying not to pass out to pay any attention to her. 
I tried to lean forward into my hands more, while raising my ass into the air further. My wrists still seem so weak, but I felt like what I was doing seemed more accurate. I will know more when I go to class on Thursday. 
Along with working on my flexibility, I am also trying to strengthen my core. I am starting the plank challenge over, as it seemed, we, as teachers, don’t have the time before and after school to stay consistent with doing our planks everyday. So, here I am starting at the beginning with a 20 second plank, because, shit yes, that’s nothing. 
Here we go! 
  
I’m not sure, but it looks better? As avid fans can see, this time I’m watching Girls (such a great scene to pause, at least it’s not Hannah’s bewbs). 
  
What you can see here is that my belly looks über unflattering in this position. What you can’t see is that, after 10 seconds, I was shaking like a leaf. 

Hangry 

Do you ever get to that point in your diet when you could ravenously eat anything in sight? That point when anything sounds better than spaghetti squash? Preferably, that “anything” would be something that is a direct opposite of what is on said diet. Like, I could really go for some movie theater popcorn, drenched in warm, fake butter. Even better, movie theater popcorn with Reese’s Pieces mixed in (they get all soft and warm, and the sweet and salty together is practically orgasmic…)
Anywho…
I am in the super-ridiculously-hungry-for-really-bad-choices stage of my “diet”. I am currently “hangry”. Yes, I am angry because I can’t eat Cheesecake Factory for dinner tonight. Hangry. It’s a real thing. 
I may sound ridiculous right now, but wait until you get a load of my thoughts on the ride home today. This is my brain. My brain on hunger pangs. 
OMG, I’m coming up on Ijji Sushi. Tempura shrimp, sticky rice, dripping soy sauce. Fuck. I can literally eat my weight in sushi. All You Can Eat is a challenge, not a suggestion for me. I get down to business when it’s Sushi Time. 
OK, I can’t see Ijji anymore, phew. But, there’s Applebee’s. I can smell them cooking. Like, through my car vents, 50 yards away, I can smell them cooking. They know I’m driving past. They know I’m hungry. Assholes. I haven’t been to Applebee’s in ten years, yet I could really go for some of their baby back ribs right about now. I don’t even really like ribs, they’re too messy, but I want them. Now. 
Thank God I can’t smell ribs anymore. Oh, of course it’s KFC. It’s like the world wants me to be fat. It’s all a big game, it’s sabotage. *Practically licking imaginary grease off fingers*. I know no less than eight people who have gotten food poisoning from various KFC restaurants, but I would risk it for their gravy and mac and cheese right now. I don’t even care. 
Finally, I’m on the freeway, and I believe I’m clear. There aren’t many food places along the freeway, as in there are none. However, I pass by The Nugget. The damn Nugget. I don’t know how they do it, but you can always smell their buffet as you pass. It smells like coming home. 
OMFG. I smell room temperature prime rib. I smell soggy pasta. I smell unseasoned steamed veggies. I smell runny soft-serve ice cream. I smell…I smell *almost exits, but remembers buffet food always smells better than it tastes*. 
When I’m finally home and exhausted from my hungry ride home, I see that my boyfriend has eaten the last of the six My Favorite Muffin muffins I got for free last weekend (I’m part of their rewards program. It really says a lot that I got a whole $12 worth of muffins for free after only being a reward member for a month). Normally, I would be happy that he has removed the temptation. Today, I’m hangry. I see red, I start to shake. I count down from 20, practice my meditation, and lick every last dry, crunchy, stale crumb from the box. I’m not even ashamed. 
*Thanks to Ms. Friend, who reminded me today of my favorite word, hangry. 

Beginning 

I’m sitting here, looking at the pictures my boyfriend just took of me doing two very basic yoga moves, and I’m contemplating two possible responses: 
1. Wash a red velvet cupcake down with a s’mores Frapp, while crying all over my floral-print Muu Muu.
Or
2. Never eat again, subsisting on only air, while living the life of a hermit, relying on Amazon Prime to deliver anything I’ll ever need so as to never see the outside world until I don’t look like that in a picture. Ever. Again. 
I felt saying, “drive off a cliff” was too morbid. 
Actually, what I’m going to do is get a sugar-free Frapp and then scroll through Pinterest, looking for healthy food recipes, because THIS GIRL ain’t giving up. As mentioned in my previous post, I am beginning a journey to find my hidden, possibly natural, flexibility. I used to be lithe and fit (when I was 8). I think I can find that body again (I mean, I don’t want to look 8, just fit). I want to be able to contort myself in all sorts of amazing yoga positions. I think I can do this. No, I know I can do this. Furthermore, since posting the following super embarrassing photos of myself, and claiming I’ll be successful, it would be far too embarrassing to fail. I can’t fail. 
So, without further adieu, here are my level Negative 0 moves. Please don’t critique at this point. If I’m not doing something right, it’s because I can’t, or I simply don’t know how. I will learn. I will continue to post my progression via pictures and experiences as I learn more about yoga and my body. Wish me luck. 
Ugh, here we go. 
   
 
I thought I had a butt, but I guess I don’t. Also, I need to work on my concentration face, yikes. 

Diet-ish Day 1

The first day of my healthier, clean-ish, no artificial sugar (except some sugar-free gum, or my mouth feels like the Sahara and smells like Epoisses on a hot day) diet-ish started today. I consumed two protein balls, baby carrots, raw almonds, hard-boiled eggs, turkey, strawberries, a sweet potato, asparagus, and an apple with natural peanut butter. Before anyone hates on me because one or more of these food items is not really “clean”, take note of the “ish”. Also, take note of my opinion that eating clean kind of sucks, and there is no one I know yet who has succeeded doing this long term. I mean, the thought of eating like this is only made tolerable because I know it’s ending soon. 
Not surprisingly, I was as ravenous as a Cougar housewife first thing this morning. Surprisingly, my balls did the trick. I was hardly hungry at lunch, but my hard-boiled egg and cottage cheese was just too tempting to resist. 
Because I feel weird not eating when it’s Eating Time, and I’ve heard you should eat every 3 hours, I choked down some raw almonds and more effing baby carrots after school. I also did not get into my candy horde. How I was able to abstain is unknown. 
I’m actually quite shocked I so easily bagged up my candy and bid adieu to my only school-appropriate way to self-soothe. Katie took my bag of Kisses, Dum Dums, Smarties, and Jolly Ranchers to keep it safe from my monstrous gob WAY too easily. I’m sure I’ll never see that candy again. I’m still numb. 
I don’t know why this was so easy today. I’m sure It’ll be a different story tomorrow when the novelty wears off and Katie comes in to co-teach with my chocolate still in the corners of her mouth. I will most likely want to pounce on her, and by the end of the day, I can see myself shaking like a coke fiend, desperate for a fix. 
As I’m writing this, my sweet potato is still hard as a rock in the oven. Why does it take 5 hours to bake a potato? All the directions saying, “45 minutes to an hour” are blatant lies. Lies. Also, I’ve been prepping, cooking, and washing since I’ve been home. This is bullshit. I have got to figure out a way to make this easier, because I am way too lazy and unmotivated for the work required to eat like this. I’m also super grouchy that I’m not eating a Skinny Cow ice cream bar right now. Balls. 

Health Balls 

So, it’s no secret that food is the culprit for my fatness. It’s also no secret that I have zero control when it comes to food. If something is tasty, there is no just sampling it, or eating a normal, decent amount of it. No, I eat something until it’s gone. I eat it until my insides are crying out in agony. I eat it until I drown out the voice of reason, the voice saying, “Er, I think that’s good. Enough. Stop”. Shut up, you deceitful bitch, and take this cheesecake like you want it. You know you want it. 
Anyways. 
In a nutshell, I’ve always struggled with food. My cupboards are bare, and not because I can’t afford to stock them, but because I can’t have any temptation just lying around. You would think I was a crackhead. In a sense, I am, just my drug of choice is kettle corn and caramel cookie crunch gelato. 
Since Amy and I are getting all physical with our yoga and plank challenge, (I think the squat challenge has been dismissed for reasons of “fuck that”) we decided to go all the way and try to eat clean for a whopping 3 days. Yes, I know. “Go us”, in a really haughty, sarcastic way, “3 whole days, I don’t think we will make it”. In defense, I don’t think we will make it. Or, I won’t. I can’t speak for Amy. Let me explain, we are teachers. Chocolate, and large doses of it, is practically prescribed by our physicians. I have a drawer in my desk, specifically reserved for my chocolate horde. I have decor made of Dum Dums in my room. I will have to cart all of that crap out of my classroom to be successful with this no-eating-sweets business. That’s the plan, actually. Another 3rd grade teacher will be “watching” our chocolate for us. I can pretty much just kiss it ‘goodbye’. 
After a fair amount of tears and mourning for my chocolate, I got on good ol’ Pinterest and pinned “clean” and Paleo-ish shopping lists and recipes. I can’t say we are going all gangbusters as far as eating 100% clean or Paleo, just drastically cutting down on highly processed foods and sugars. One area in which I intake far too much artificial sugar is with my morning coffee and granola bar. Instead of my usual chemical-laden coffee creamer, I made my own with almond milk, honey, and vanilla. I can’t take credit for this recipe as its all thanks to Pinterest, but I can take credit for the cute fabric flower on top of the jar. That was all me. It was also very necessary, obviously. 
  
Coffee creamer recipe: http://pinterest.com/pin/113997434294579075/
Next, I knew I would need a “sweet” fix, outside of my morning coffee, so I made protein balls. I would like to say I’ve been a total adult, in regards to the naming of this health “treat”, but alas I’ve been making jokes all day about my balls.  I don’t really have balls, but I made them. They started out too small, and I felt so bad for them. No one wants small balls, and they just wouldn’t satisfy. So, I made my balls bigger. Also, I thought that they resembled Snuffleupagus’ balls, if he had any, that is. I mean, don’t they? 
  
PB Granola Bites: http://pinterest.com/pin/113997434294561989/
I found this recipe on Pinterest, as well. I did not add the mini chocolate chips, as I felt they were the direct opposite of what I should add to health balls. I also nixed the chia seeds, because that is the only thing Winco does not have in their bulk section. Oh well. I used Adam’s natural peanut butter and raw honey. I ate one ball, and wowza. I never knew balls could be so tasty!
Tomorrow, these health treats will be the most exciting thing I will eat, outside of the raw almonds and zero taste Greek yogurt on my menu. I will really have to start beginning to live for something other than food. I’m getting the shakes just thinking of it. Perhaps, I won’t make it one day this week, or maybe it will be so fantastic to eat this way, it will be a total lifestyle change. Either way, it will make for great material for my blog. Stay tuned. 
*The lack of commas in the ecard image in no way signifies my knowledge (or lack there of) of commas. It was too funny, and too true to not include. 

Is That Me? 

I am always aiming to be more zen. When I want to rip into our neighbor after the tenth scrape of his chair across the kitchen floor (who sits down and gets up so often in a span of 20 minutes? As a concerned neighbor, I think he should see someone about that). When the driver in front of me is deliberately driving under the speed limit, like they are purposely trying to hold me up. When my boyfriend eats my last Skinny Cow salted caramel diet bar (the only thing I look forward to some days). When I’m asked the same questions over and over and over all day long, and then, “What should we eat for dinner?”, when I get home. I need more zen in my life. It’s certain. Coincidentally, I also need more fitness in my life, so yoga it is. 
My friend and coworker, Amy and I purchased Groupons for The Studio in Midtown. We decided that last Thursday would be the day to start. The only class we could both attend was Heated Vinyasa. If that didn’t terrify me enough, Katie, another friend and coworker, thought Thursday would be a fine day to start a squat and plank challenge. I would just like to go on record stating that whomever makes a squat challenge with 50 squats on Day 1, does not, in fact, need to do a squat challenge, and therefore does not know how many squats the layperson can actually do right out the gate. 
Immediately following our 50 squat nightmare, my students came in for the start of their day. I was sweating and could hardly catch my breath. I was asked six times if I was alright by my concerned 3rd graders. Then, upon sitting down to take roll, my leg gave out and I almost fell on the floor. I’m just glad my students are still super innocent, or it could have appeared I was drunk. I’m honestly gonna give it my all with this squatting business, but the last day requires 250 squats. I wonder if I could get a good deal on wheelchairs on Amazon? 
Because I’m a masochist, I actually didn’t bail on Amy and our yoga date. Throughout the day, we stole glances at each other that communicated, “Do you really want to do this? Should we go get Cold Stone instead?”, but not an actual word of protest was uttered, so we both found ourselves removing our shoes upon entering The Studio, and wondering how gross the floor might be. 
Heated Vinyasa yoga is a type of yoga that connects breath with movement in a room heated to 95 degrees. Basically, heated Vinyasa means sweating your balls off while you ignore the fact you have done so, because you must always concentrate on your breath during movement. I cannot do this. I can either breathe or move, not both, especially when I’m sweating from places I did not know existed.
It should also be known that this heated room will stink. Like so, so bad. So bad. I kept smelling a horrible stench that I thought had to be the men in the room; I couldn’t possibly smell like that. Well, during a stretch that brought me too close to my feet, I discovered the smell was, in fact, me. It was my sweat. It was the stank of my feet because I wore my Toms all day. It was the smell coming from crevices that aren’t usually sweaty. It was ME. That was a very humbling moment. 
The stretches spanned from beginner (I felt like a total pro when I was able to meet my knee with my elbow) to Never In My Life Will I Bend That Way. When your ankles are sweating, they are kind of hard to grab. Finally, those sweet words, “One more set and we will move into our floor series” were uttered. I love horizontal fitness! New to yoga, but not to Pilates, I’ve always been a huge fan of any exercise that is spent, for the most part, on the floor. Can it get any better for an über lazy person? 
It was during the floor series that I came up close and personal with my neighbor’s sweaty taint. There really ought to be a proximity rule in yoga. If I can taste your balls, you’re too close. I felt mildly violated, so I got into child’s pose and thought only of happy things. 
Despite the high temps and the fact that the sweat coming off of everyone’s body seemed to hang in the air, my first heated yoga experience was pretty positive. The Studio is clean, welcoming, and close to home. Amy and I both agreed that we got a positive vibe, and we will be back this week. 
The thing I know I need to work on the most is my “ohm”. I have always had a hard time with the “ohm”. I get the giggles big time, because everyone is so serious and their “ohm” sounds so zen, while I just sound like a gutted pig. I doubt I’ll actually practice this guttural yoga staple, but maybe I’ll just mouth it next time. 
Here’s to being zen. Maybe soon, I won’t care about everyone who annoys me, because I will be a calm yoga person, the kind who can say ‘Namaste’ seriously. Someone who has more peace and joy. Here’s hoping I can become a ‘yoga person’. 
If you want to read more about my experience and my review of The Studio, you can find me on Yelp. I’m Katie “Eh” P. I can’t figure out how to change that, or how or why I’m “eh”…

Me's


Today, the fine Alice Reno posted this picture with the above question (I’m shocked they spelled “you’re” correctly). Of course, because I like to speak my mind, I posted my opinion on the topic. And, of course, some uber-sensitive person declared that I was shaming my fellow woman with what I had to say.
I’m sure I’ve spoken via Facebook on this topic before, and since it’s a heated one, and I’m feeling a little hot under the collar today, I felt a blog post was necessary.
Let me get a few things out of the way first. Does this woman have a beautiful body? Yes. Am I slightly jealous of her taut, seemingly stretch mark-free tummy? Does a bear shit in the woods? Do I want her body? Yes (if possible, since this is fantasy and almost like ordering off a menu, I would like slightly larger bewbs too).
Now, can I be honest here, and say I’m growing tired of our incessant need to photograph ourselves and post it all over social media?
Disclaimer: I am in no way indicating I am an innocent party to the selfie. I have my fair share of embarrassing duck-lipped selfies and an even larger collection of pictures that didn’t make the cut. Before “duck lips”, it was “the Katie” and I’m not even barely joking. I’m not perfect, and I, too, suffer from the Me’s.
Thanks to our ever-growing technological age, our generation has the luxury of having information, any and all kinds of information, at the tip of our fingers. Where should we eat? Let me check Yelp. How do I get there? Let me open the Map app. What is the best way to remove grass stains from Toms? Google. It’s exciting and easy.
Remember when you loaded film into a camera, took pictures on your trip, and then had to wait until you got home to see how hideous you looked in your bathing suit on the beach? Now, you can delete, try another angle, or stand behind a sand dune, or something.
Taking pictures of ourselves and the term “selfie” are concepts bred from narcissism and easy access. No one took pictures of themselves with a camera needing film, too many could have been fails, and you would have had to wait until you could get to the store to drop off the film…etc. I’m not even going to finish the list, it’s already too much work.
Thanks to Instagram, Facebook, and the like, everyone is a model, and they all honestly believe we want to take a look. Let’s be honest, did you all really care I got a new #supercute shirt? I think not. Don’t even get me started on the Free the Nipple movement and how too many people think it just means that it should be alright to go topless at Raley’s. (Oh! Were you just in the freezer section?)
It’s just a theory, but I think this woman might be screaming behind her hair, “Look at how hot I am! #jealous”. Yeah, we are, but you also seem quite transparent and shallow. Notice I said, “seem”.
As women, we should be supporting each other, but I’m having a hard time getting behind the “Let’s take pictures of ourselves half naked and post it on social media” movement. It’s shallow. It’s offensive. It’s putting Kim Kardasian stank all over the work done by Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and every other woman activist who fought so hard for us to be respected. I think these women would want better and because it’s saying, “this is my value, this is all I have to offer”, and that’s not true (or maybe it is, if you just a ho).
In ending, we all suffer from the Me’s. We all want to be accepted, loved, desired. Perhaps finding that validation won’t come in the form of how many likes you get for your boobs. Perhaps.

Harvey

Harvey: I’m-m-m-m gonna w-w-w-whoop yer a-a-a-ass at cards.
Wayne: OK, sir. I bet you will. That’s a mighty fine hat you have there (referring to the man’s fabulous, pointy Andes-style earflap hat colored pink and turquoise)  Can you tell me about it?
Harvey: Oh, this h-h-h-hat is, is mighty f-i-i-i-ne. It covers m-m-m-my bald spot!
Wayne: That does make a hat pretty useful.
Attendant: Harvey, tell him what your hat is really for.
Harvey: It’s r-r-r-really (as he moves in close to whisper) a ch-ch-ch-chick m-a-a-agnet.
Harvey laughs so hard, the attendant caring for him has to turn his oxygen back on.
This was an honest-to-goodness coversation had between my boyfriend and an elderly man who had to be pushing 100.
My grandma passed away two years ago after years of battling dementia, a cruel, truly demented disease. My grandma died many years before we laid her to rest. Dementia robbed her of her memories, her ability to reason, her ability to know her own children. It wasn’t until the grandma I knew and loved was gone from her blue eyes did I realize what I had lost.
Every single day, I drive downtown and I see elderly men and women living on the streets. I watch, long before I pass, to make sure they make it, slowly, across the street. They are in rags held together by their own filth. They are cold, hot, confused and beyond mistreated.
Why are our elderly living on the streets, abused in retirement homes, and left to rot in the back bedroom? Being of advanced age should be an honor, not a curse feared worse than leprosy (or is ebola a more relevant disease?). Being the elder should come with built-in respect and hospitality. We should be housing our grandparents in accomodations far better than our own. We should be teaching our youth to revere them like gods. They are our past and our future. They are old and wrinkly. They can be as mean as a dog shitting tacks, and they are painfully slow. They are also brilliant and worldly. They know what it means to do without and still find happiness. They understand and love a world without TV, without smartphones, a world in which you sat down and wrote a damn letter. In cursive. We have so much to learn from our elderly, yet they are withering away in our streets and in dusty rooms under lock and key.
I would give anything to go back to my 8-year-old self, during the summer it was just me and Grams at the cabin. I would slow down and really taste her tomato and noodle soup. I would take off my discman headphones and listen to her story about Grandpa. I would make my bed and vacuum without being asked. I would scoop her a bowl of ice cream and add the dry Nesquick she liked so much. I would wash the Ziplock baggies without complaining. I would take her dry, soft, wrinkled hand in mine and say, “Let’s go pick honeysuckle, Grandma, just you and me”.
To have been able to witness the exchange between Harvey and my boyfriend would have been a real treasure. Just two young lads relating about the trials of life, love and the pursuit of women. Just two young lads.