Tag: Healthy

WTF Wednesday: Body Bummers and the Food Prep Blahs

What’s Annoying Me Right Now:

So can we talk a minute about food prepping? Um. I hate it. Like so, so much. I hate cooking and since food prepping is like cooking on kale-flavored crack, I’d literally rather clean the moldy hair goblins out of the shower drain than chop shit for hours on one of my precious days off.

Legit me every time I have to food prep…

Due to my utter distaste for preparing food, I do quasi- prep. I do the absolute fucking bare minimum and then wonder why I end up eating a brownie for lunch instead of garlic butter salmon on a bed of quinoa with steamed organic green beans on the side or whatever fancy shit ya’ll are eating.

I don’t have time for this. Like at all.

I “prepped” a can of peas and a frozen spicy black bean burger as my lunch the other day. Impressive, I know.

Between looking for a side hustle I can do on the couch in my holey leggings, working nine hour days, planning an epic European adventure, trying to maintain this stink hole of a blog, and getting some sleep, food prep just doesn’t fit into the equation.

I’m fully of the impression that if you religiously food prep and this takes up a good majority of your Sunday, this is your hobby, man. Your hobby is preparing healthy fare that all too often ends up tasting like rabbit food for your future self.

I’m not even hating, but that’s literally the worst-sounding hobby ever (really, I’m just jealous you have enough commitment to lose weight and be healthy that you dedicate time to proactive practices that help you be successful).

If you full-on food prep and do anything else besides go to work and sleep, you’re a Goddamn superhuman and I’ll pay you to do my food prepping.

Thanks a million!

(Can you just make sure to pan sear the chicken with lots of seasoning? Leftover blah baked chicken makes me gag.)

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

Why do I lose weight first in the lamest possible places on my body before any real dent is made in the obvious places?

So like, thanks, body for thinking I needed to lose the fat from my forearms before getting to work on my fat stomach that people think is housing a baby. Sounds right.

Or maybe we could have started with my flabby arms that knock art off the walls when they get carried away?

What’s that? My knee caps were first priority? Oh…

Where’s My Xanax

Speaking of flabby bits.

I’m in need of a new bathing suit for the Cinque Terre and I’m low-key dreading it like the plague (I know, poor me).

The thought of trying on bathing suits with the paper crotch protectors that never make me feel protected from the last person’s crotch makes my skin crawl. I know you try on bathing suits without your underwear WHICH IS HIGHLY FROWNED UPON, KAREN.

Me, walking up to the bathing suits, seeing all of those paper crotches with pubes stuck to them.

I’m also not looking forward to seeing the fat I was going to lose 18 different times over the years seeping out of every edge of the only bathing suit I could find that didn’t scream “64 year-old overweight retiree living the dream in Boca Raton, Florida”.

Oy.

Now I feel bad for the person who has to try on the bathing suit after me (because you know I’m not buying that floral-couch-pattern-from-the-70s monstrosity).

That face you make when all of the fat girl bathing suits are ugo…

Tomato Poop

I have missed complaining about how fat I am (while doing fuck all about it) so much. So much.
I’ve been pretty focused on my travel posts, because of my trip coming up (in two months-cue the obsessive worrying about literally every possible eventuality), that my I’m-a-failure-at-adulting-because-I-can’t-be-assed-to-put-my-registration-sticker-on-my-license-plate-for-four-months-until-I’m-pulled-over-and-I-eat-entire-tubs-of-Cool-Whip-in-one-sitting posts have kind of been put on the back burner.
But, good news (or not, depending on who you are) I’m finally getting around to trying to lose some weight before my trip, so I’m posting a diet fail post!
I think I’d have really shocked myself and disappointed you all had I attempted to get my dieting shit together in a timely manner.
No, just as can be expected with Fatty McCupcakes, I’m due to depart the states in two months, so now, when it’ll be next to impossible to make much of a dent in my blobby body, I decide it’s finally time.
I’m a fucking genius and I’m winning at life SO HARD.
So, I think I’ve mentioned that I’m a hardcore fan of Weight Watchers. Not only have I had success on the program (I lost 50 pounds 10 years and 60 pounds ago), I’m not keen on restrictive diets that don’t allow me a fucking doll-sized piece of cake even.
I LOVE that I can basically eat anything (within reason and expertly portion controlled) and still lose weight.
However, with the latest WW program, the points are less and the good stuff is worth more. Sugar is more of a sin than fat now. However, there are loads more zero point foods (chicken, eggs, beans, fruit, most vegetables, plain Greek yogurt, etc.). So, I guess it’s supposed to be easier or whatever.
Y’ALL, I CAN BARELY EAT ANYTHING.
If I want to eat my favorite Naked granola with my Greek yogurt for breakfast, there’s no way I can have carbs for lunch or dinner AND eat half a pint of Halo Top ice cream (Halo Top, your deliciously sinful, yet low-cal ice cream is my SALVATION).
So, choices.
It really blows I can’t eat granola AND ice cream. It’s not like I’m asking for donuts and whole pints of Ben & Jerry’s, damn.
I’ve decided that I’d rather eat Halo Top and popcorn like a fat piece of shit in the evenings than eat carbs during the day.
Thus, I’ve had to get creative.
Tuesday night I had beef stroganoff over broccoli, ya’ll. BROCCOLI. I got to *enjoy* my broccoli masterpiece while my boyfriend ate his stroganoff with egg noodles. The fucker.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, we had stroganoff for leftovers last night and since I’d eaten all of the broccoli like a starving sugar addict on day five without the white stuff, all I had left were Brussel sprouts.
Brussel sprouts and stroganoff DON’T MIX. It was not my favorite.

Brussel sprouts are not pasta. As my boyfriend says, “Barfel sprouts are the devil’s nads.”
I’ve also had to get more creative for lunch. I’ve been eating nitrate-free salami, cheese sticks, and cherry tomatoes. I swear it tastes almost nothing like antipasto salad.
But, it’s not terrible.
Well, yesterday, my organic greenhouse-grown cherry tomatoes were still a little wet from when I rinsed them that morning.
I was absentmindedly wiping them off onto a paper towel as I popped them into my mouth, eyes glued on my phone.
When I went to wipe my mouth, I did a double take. It was covered in yellow-green-brown stains.

The offending stain

I thought something smelled funny. I knew it wasn’t that fart.
Wait.
That doesn’t look right.
Fuck.
I knew I should have scrubbed them, instead of just splashed water over them.
Oh.Gawd.
At this point, I was obsessively smelling my paper towel, while one of my students, inside working on make up work, kept stealing “What-the-hell” glances at me.
Then, I smelled my fingers, the inside of the tomato tub, and the paper towel 34 more times.
Poop. It smells like poop.
Instant fucking panic.
While I was wondering how long it’d take for the tomato poop to make me get sick and die, I messaged my boyfriend.
His response, “Baby, I highly doubt your tomatoes are covered in poop.”
Because he had to be wrong, I took to a Facebook group I started to get a woman’s opinion. I shared a picture of the paper towel and basically asked how long I had.
Then, I sat at my desk, just waiting to die.
Oh no. My stomach is gurgling.
I probably have some deadly intestinal disease now.
I better just be proactive and put in for a substitute.
I wonder if the hospital would like a heads up?
*ding*
I got a response to my picture from a very professional-sounding person who regularly grows tomatoes in a greenhouse.
The green-yellow-brown stains from the tomatoes were tomato tar.
I’m still not excited that I ingested something called ‘tomato tar’, but it wasn’t poop. It.wasn’t.poop.
Another near death crisis averted.
See what perils I am faced with when dieting?
#donutsdonthavetar

I don’t know who said this, but they are my people

WTF Wednesdays #8

How in the crap have I been doing WTFWs for eight weeks already?! It feels like just yesterday that I chose to make my bitching a weekly, written thing (I had to distinguish written from spoken, because I vocalize my rants hourly).
Time flies when you’re being a bitch.
Today, my post is going to contain a lot of choice words. Brace yourself. Delicate flowers, you might want to go watch a cat video. 
Today is about the “Realization”. You know, when you finally realize you really can have too many cupcakes. 
Sometimes, it takes a lot. Sometimes, it takes getting into your car, in a pair of work pants that you haven’t worn in eons, and, as you squeeze into your seat, the button barely holding your pants closed, pops off and pings and ricochets off of every hard surface in your car, before it hits you in the eye, and finally, comes to rest in your fat crotch. 
Yes, this actually happened. Except, not to me (my Realization came in the form of a student being concerned about me falling on my belly, because, naturally, it’s got a baby growing in it. That’s why it looks the way it does. FML). It happened to my naturally thin, kick-boxing-obsessed boyfriend after we both gained our happy-to-not-be-in-the-dating-scene-anymore-weight. 
After he almost lost an eye to a Dockers Relaxed Comfort button, he thought about losing some weight. And, I shit you not, that’s all it took for him to go back to his Glory Days weight (watch for this to be a WTF Wednesdays rant. Men, the fuckers). 
Since I’m not a man, and my body hasn’t magically become a specimen of superhuman genetics, all of my cupcake eating has resulted in some added cushion. 
I’ve resorted to, again, getting on the Weight Watchers bandwagon. 
Years ago, I was super successful with WW, and lost damn near 50 pounds. I kept it off for close to four years doing the program off and on, and being somewhat resonable with food. 
Lately, all semblance of reason has gone out the window. Like, thrown out the window with my good arm. 
Thus, why I found myself on Saturday night, paying for three months of WW, while crying into a large Dairy Queen Reese’s Extreme Blizzard (just typing that, I’m fucking salivating and in heat). 
This first week I’m treating as a weaning period. Also, I just need some practice not eating everything in sight and I need fair warning for how much I’m going to be starving and dreaming of cake. 
The reason I loved Weight Watchers before was that I never felt truly deprived. Yes, my better-part-of-a-half-gallon-of-ice-cream-binges had to stop, but I still got to enjoy the occasional thimble-full of my favorite frozen treat. 
I’ve heard that “the fatties are in an uproar” over the new Weight Watchers points system, because it’s very restrictive. 
It’s only Tuesday, and I can confidently say, this Fatty is not happy. I’ll be positively starving on the new SmartPoints plan. It’s as restrictive as my no-longer-elastic bra strap. 
Here’s what sucks so far:
1. 12 tortilla chips are now five points, instead of three. Salsa and chips are now dead to me. 
2. TWO FUCKING TABLESPOONS of my favorite coconut cream creamer are three points. Now, I definitely can’t put my usual half cup into my English Breakfast. My mornings are ruined. 
3. This is SEVEN SHITTY POINTS:


These taste like fruit strudel. And, there’s frosting on top. But, these are no good to me anymore. I won’t be wasting seven whole points on a tiny fruit bar that I can down in two bites. R.I.P. 
4. The cream cheese chicken chili we are planning for dinner tomorrow will probably be 567 points, without the tortilla chips (I’m too scared to calculate it, so that’s just a rough estimate). 
5. And, this:


I.can’t.even. That’s practically half of the points I’m allowed in an entire day. 
I might as well just each dirt, or kale, they both taste the fucking same. 
Fuck.it.all. 

WTF Wednesday #2


Source
For this week’s installment of WTF Wednesday, it’s all about those dick diets that we all love so much (In no way am I insinuating that a particular body part is for lunch. I am using ‘dick’ like ‘jerk’. Got it?)
If you ever wondered why dieting sucks so much and it’s so damn hard (shit, I really shouldn’t have used the word ‘dick’, because now every other word has another meaning), it’s because diets taste freaking disgusting. 
For real. 
If I could, without guilt or consequence, continue eating marshmallow fluff and Nutella sandwiches for breakfast, till my dying day, I’d be a very happy, agreeable, and stress-free person.
But, because Heaven on Earth sandwiches make me fat and unhealthy, I get to eat unsweetened oatmeal and farty hard-boiled eggs for breakfast now. 
Yay. 
Along with finally trying to get my eating back on track, I’ve recently purchased organic colon cleanse pills and doTERRA Slim and Sassy. 
Because anything that’s quick and easy is my game. 
Let’s start with the colon cleanse. 
Never have these two words together ever sounded like a good time to me. Sure, it sounds like it’s maybe a good idea, because it’s supposed to rid you of the nasty sludge that gets built up in the intestines. But, the actual process of a colon cleanse? 
Just no.
When I bought these pills, I specifically asked if they’d make me poop my pants. I was assured it was a slow, not unpleasant process.
As much as I’d like to share some embarrassing story about how I was lied to and that I did actually crap my pants at school, it’s just not what happened. 
In fact, nothing has happened. Like, nothing. 
Maybe they are magic pills and they cleanse unknowingly, invisibly, magically. Or, I got scammed. 
I could have performed a more successful cleanse by eating from the shady roach coach that parks across from the strip club downtown. 
Next, let’s discuss Slim & Sassy by doTERRA. 
First, I have to make it clear that I am a hardcore fan of doTERRA essential oils. I know and love a couple consultants, and they are why I’m addicted to the amazing Past Tense for my headaches. So, I’m in no way dissing the company at all. 
But, Slim & Sassy is straight up “I’ll Just Stay Fat & Nasty”. 
This morning, I excitedly dropped a couple drops in my water, did a sniff test, and nervously took a tiny sip. 
I CAN’T EVEN EXPLAIN THE FLAVOR. 
It’s like your water has been tainted with grass-flavored peppermint grapefruit bark. 
And, now, my brand new “Boss Lady” metal water bottle will never be the same. 
Needless to say, S&S is not my jam.
Not only did it taste just incredibly odd, it mildly burned my lips and then left them numb.
In the middle of my light and sound read aloud, I started slurring my speech and drooling down my chin. 
As a teacher, this is just not a good look.
I don’t think I can stand trying Slim & Sassy again. My gag reflex is activating just thinking about it. Anyone want an almost-full bottle? 
In ending, I’m literally a walking billboard for the fact that almost all diet “tricks” do.not.work. 
The only thing that works is to stop pounding cake into your fat gob as if it were the end of days. 
This is why I struggle, because feeding Bertha* tastes a million times better than tainted water, sulfur eggs, and grass pills that just make my belch-y breath smell like fertilizer. 
#cakeme
*Bertha is my belly 

Why Salad Sucks

Actually, I will be referring to vegetable trays in particular, but it might as well be called ‘salad’. Besides, “salad sucks” is just fucking poetic.
So, last night I volunteered to bring a vegetable tray to a student art exhibit at a local coffee shop. One of my student’s art pieces was featured, and the coffee shop in question has amazing chai. No, I did not only go for the syrupy, cinnamon-y sweet chai. Well, kinda I did. Sorry not sorry.
Anyway.
I picked up a tray at a local grocery store, because ain’t nobody have time to wash and cup up numerous kinds of vegetables (except my mom. She will spend hours preparing a beautiful vegetable tray that just gets decimated in minutes. No thanks).
I was careful to choose the prettiest, freshest looking tray that wasn’t $1,000.
When I arrived at the coffee shop, our beautiful, sweet, thoughtful art teacher gratefully accepted my store-bought tray of health and placed it on the counter.
At this point, I went to get my chai. While I stood waiting, our school dean came in. As we stood making small talk, I suddenly smelled ass. Like, rotten-pumpkin-left-in-a-hot-dumpster-ass.
OMIGAWD. The dean just cut ass right next to me.
It’s permeating my delicate, virgin nostril skin.
It burns.
It was so bad, I had to move away, using the excuse that you have to pick your drink up on the far opposite side of the room.
But, the smell was over there, too. For a moment, I was worried maybe he had had an accident. I was momentarily quite embarrassed for him.
Wait, the smell is worse over here. So, much worse *gag*. It is worse over here, by.the.tray.
My $100 vegetable tray smelled like hot farts.
I looked around at the others in the room. Could they smell it?
Of course they could fucking smell it, you noob. Someone with no sense of fucking smell could smell it. 
I was immediately self-conscious.
People are judging me. The art teacher is judging me. She is thinking, “Why would this idiot girl bring the smell of death into my event?”
Then, I couldn’t decide what to do. From the other side of the room, with my nose inside my shirt, I tried to decipher if the vegetables were rotting. From feet away, they looked fine. Perfectly fine. Right?
I contemplated asking the art teacher if she noticed the fart smell, and if she thought everything was a-OK, but I was feeling incredibly self-conscious. I wanted to continue pretending that my vegetables were not enveloping the fresh air in the room with the smell of dying asshole.
Eventually, the smell dissipated and surprisingly, the veggie tray was eaten completely.
Then, I freaked.
What if it was bad? What if people died? What if it’s my fault?
When I got home, I messaged the art teacher and asked her if she smelled farts. She thought I was silly, and said the vegetables tasted great.
Still, I spent an hour googling, “Is broccoli supposed to smell like farts?”
Cupcakes would never have smelled like farts. Never.
 
 

Wherefore* Art Thou, Cupcakes? 

Damn it all to Carb Hell. Why is it so hard to make good food choices? Why does movie theater popcorn taste so damn delicious? Why does a piece of Boston cream pie at 2 AM always sound like a good idea? Why do carbs make you feel warm inside, like you’ve found the promise land of gluttony and instead of guilt, all you feel is sweet or salty goodness on your tongue? 
I mean, really. Sure, eating healthier has long-term benefits. I can attest to the fact that eating better makes you healthier in that I haven’t had a single migraine since I’ve been eating better. Not one. Before, during the height of my Cup O’ Crack days, I was having a migraine once a month. Once a month. Anyone suffering from true migraines (I say, “true” migraines, because a regular take-two-Ibuprofen-and-you’re-good headache ain’t no migraine, ya hear?) would understand why this is so monumental, so joyous, so motivating. 
So, why isn’t it motivating when I’m faced with a decision- to sneak a pink sprinkle donut into the early-geriatrics-only movie, or not, and I choose to be that person inhaling a donut that, more or less, made it into my mouth, the rest melting between my fat boobs? 
Why? 
Why, Diet Gods? With all that is good and Holy, why? 
I have made some positive gains. It hasn’t all been disappointment and let down. I’ve found that eating more than two pieces of rich fudge practically sends me into a diabetic coma. So, I have started eating only one 5 inch square piece of fudge. Progress. 
I’ve found that cabbage steaks are actually really good (not the same as actual steak-dripping with salty, bloody garlicky goodness. Erm, excuse me a minute, while I…). 
I’ve found that chocolate protein pancakes with banana and sugar-free syrup almost tastes like the real thing. 
I’ve found that baking an egg in half of an avocado is the most disgusting fucking thing I’ve ever eaten (do not be fooled by those beautiful Pinterest images of a beautiful egg inside of an inviting avocado, all lightly sprinkled with pepper. It’s horrible. Don’t do it. 
I’ve found that drinking more water makes me have to pee every 15 minutes, but I actually do feel more alive. 
These are just some of the discoveries I’ve made. What remains glaringly obvious, however, is that resisting a vanilla cupcake with rainbow sprinkled frosting will almost certainly take the strength of the gods. 
Sometimes I might be feeling Herculean, most other times I might be feeling like a damn cupcake. 
*sigh*
 

Oopsie-daisy. I accidentally got two donuts.

 
*’Wherefore’, despite the common misconception, does not mean ‘where’. It roughly translates to “Why the actual fuck, cupcakes?” 
You can read about it here. 

Small Triumphs 

I’m trying to live a healthier lifestyle, despite being Fatty McCupcakes. It’s a process and, if I may, I’d like to compare it to withdrawals addicts experience. Yes, really. My mind craves the sweet carb-y goodness of cupcakes, but my body can’t take the abuse any further. It’s a real battle, an immense struggle. I would like to share how I’ve made some (subtle) changes to my frame of mind and behavior. 
1. I ate one Girl Scout cookie. Not the whole box. Win.
2. Instead of purchasing a new IPhone, I preordered the Fitbit Alta. I.cannot.wait.until.it.arrives.
  My phone looks like this and, still, I chose the Fitbit. That is true dedication, my friends. 
3. I ate one cup of Multigrain Cheerios with 3/4 cup nonfat milk and four strawberries for breakfast today. AND I didn’t go back for three more cups of cereal to eat with the rest of the milk, either. 
 I eat my cereal in a mug so it looks like I have more than I really do. Genius, right?
4. I went on a walk four times last week. It felt good to be outside, inhaling the cool air tinged with the smell of fireplace. It felt good to get my blood pumping, muscles working. 
  
  
5. Perhaps due to my better eating choices and physical exercise, I didn’t get a premenstrual migraine this month for the first time in six months. 
Small gains that may seem silly to some, but these little things have given me the motivation to keep on, keepin’ on. 
#fattymccupcakesgetsfit
 

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.