Why is fast food so damn fattening?
I see why people patronize fast food restaurants, and I've certainly been guilty of doing so. It's quick, kids love that shit, and when you're finished, even if you got it to go and took it home, cleanup consists of wadding up the wrappers and bags and throwing them in the rubbish. But does it really taste good?
I had an experience a couple of months ago. What the hell, I'm not doing anything, might as well relate it for the existential crackhead incident it was. So, there's this woman that lives in a small apartment complex about 1/8 of a mile from my house. Let's call her "Kathy." She knew my neighbors, socialized with them quite a bit at one point, and then the neighbor woman ran her off after getting the impression Kathy was hitting on the husband while neighbor woman was at work.
Kathy's dad lives in this same neighborhood; in fact, Kathy passes my house on her many walking trips to her father's house, and I've occasionally waved to her and her very bratty daughter, aged somewhere between 8 - 11.
One day, about noon, someone knocked the hell out of my front door. It was Kathy, and she was practically crying because she had an awful toothache, her ride to the dentist had backed out, today was the last appointment she could get because she'd had to cancel a couple of times, etc, would I please take her to the dentist? It was only a few miles away, so I thought I'd be a nice person (and I learned my lesson).
Now, Kathy is rotund. From the thighs down, she isn't big at all -- and maybe this is because she walks to her dad's house a million times a day (good for her, maybe). Kathy was so grateful for the ride, she offered to treat me to lunch with one of her free "sammich" coupons from McDonald's. Um, after about an hour and a half to two hours at her dentist, she exited with a mouth full of gauze (they'd pulled the offending tooth, which looked to be about a cuspid, fairly close to the front), and doing that spitting sort of thing people do when they've just been to the dentist. She wanted to stop at MickeyD's on the return trip, but I had, quite frankly, no desire to eat a meal with this woman and her "look at my toof - is it still bleeding?" mouth. I tried the diplomatic route, that it would be inconsiderate for me to eat when she wouldn't be able to due to the extraction. But hell no, she wanted to eat. So we pulled into the lot, to find the drive-thru was closed for construction. I insisted I wanted nothing, and Kathy went into the place, then came out with a couple of bags and a tray with a large soda and some sort of shake with a dome lid.
Then Kathy asked me to stop at Meijer, so she could get her antibiotic prescription filled for free. OK, it was on the way. I'm so fucking nice. After waiting about 30 minutes, Kathy informed me it was taking too long and asked me to take her down the street to CVS for their 15-minute express pharmacy or whatever. Ok, get in the car. Um, first, she wanted to pick up a couple of things there at Meijer. So I waited in the car. We went to CVS, and I guess it was within the time, but at this point, it was 4 fucking 30 and I was tired of her ass. I dropped her off at her apartment, where bratty daughter was waiting outside, as her bus had dropped her off 10 minutes earlier. Bye!
But wait. Around 7 that evening, Kathy showed up at my door. Her prescription at Meijer -- wtf? what was CVS about? -- was ready, and some church friend of hers was unable to pick it up for her. Oh, part of the deal with the dentist appointment was that a local church had written a check to that dentist for Kathy's dental work, because she's poor. This is why she had to go to that dentist. So Kathy begged me to take her to Meijer again, and I didn't want this fucking drama in my life. But then her friend called, and he had the prescription and was waiting in front of her apartment, and Kathy still wanted to buy me a sammich with her coupons (how many did she have?) and when I tried to beg off she wanted to do it tomorrow, so I thought, what the hell, get it over with.
This time we went to the McD's closest to my house. Kathy wanted to do an electronic application for employment, but after trying to help her dumb ass with that for 10 minutes, I told her the computer was broken, that the error (she couldn't type in her fucking email address) indicated a network error. I'm not going to hell because I don't believe in hell. So she moseys over to the counter -- there was no line at this time -- and starts quizzing the employees as to what she can get with her coupon.
And I thought, what the hell, where's the damn sandwiches? Kathy had "sammich" coupons, so I had assumed McD's had something like ham sandwiches (I guess those are Arby's commercials) but all they were good for was fucking burgers. It had been years since I'd been to a McDonald's, so I just said I'd take a Big Mac, because those are delicious, aren't they? Kathy just kept sliding the upper part of her body down and back on the stainless steel counter, and a fucking line formed behind her, to which she was oblivious. She'd already been to one McD's... Finally, she ordered whatever, plus fries and a drink. The tab was about $3. Good for her. But no, I did not want to share her fries after seeing her grubby hands fingering them. Plus, I was trying not to look at her face with her fucked up teeth.
On the way out, she wanted to get a shake and something for her kid. So she ordered, they started making the shit, and her fucking debit card (or more likely, food stamp card) didn't have enough to cover it, so I gave her about $3. Whatever. I paid for my own Big Mac, and it didn't even taste very good. Kathy swore she'd pay me back. But then, she wanted to stop at Deal$ for ibuprofen. By this time, it was 10 o-fucking-clock, and I told her Deal$ was closed, so we went to the damn Dollar General behind McD. Kathy put the cashier there through hell getting her the best quantity for what ended up being MY money -- $2.06. And then this freak demanded I let her use my cell phone to call her 20-year-old daughter, who had taken the younger daughter to the mall for the evening. I informed her it was a prepay, and she'd be busting my dollar and racking up 10 cents a minute, but she huffed that she would pay me back, and at this point, I felt like I was in a David Lynch movie. She ran out of the store without even taking her Advil. When I caught up in the parking lot, she was SCFEAMING into the phone that CPS would take the kid away AGAIN. Sweet fucking tea, what did I get into here? Kathy said the girls were both at her dad's, the street down from mine, so we went there. On the way, Kathy stuffed her prescription bottle from her purse into my glove box and rambled about how no one needed to know it was there. Grandpa was outside when we got there, and started yelling "where the FUCK have you been? OUT BUYING DRUGS???!!!!" While I sat in the car, Kathy tried to sweet talk her dad, saying it was her birthday the next day, while he kept yelling at her not to set foot in his house. The older daughter said, "if her present is cash, you better not give it to her." Could this be any trashier? Her present ended up being a carton of cigs.
So while I was driving this trick home (I KNOW, I'm an idiot), Kathy coached the younger daughter as to what to say to the police and her dad when we got there.
The next day, this crazy pillhead pounded on my door again, and I told her I can't help her. She yelled that what the older daughter and dad said were lies, blah blah, but I just told her to leave and closed the door.
Moral of the story #1 - FUCK thinking you're helping people out. This bitch probably fucked her own tooth up to get pain pills. And I was too stupid to see what was happening. Probably her church was fucking stupid, too.
Moral of the story #2 - Mc Donald's LOVES fucking addicts. I was not impressed with that Big Mac at all. That was about 750 calories that I will never get back. And this bitch ate MickeyD's TWICE in one damn day. She deserves a heart attack, or 5. She certainly deserves to be a fatass.
Like I said, I hadn't been to McDonald's in a long time before this incident. I'm inclined to think I will never eat there again.
Taco HELL is another story.
This week, I made burritos at home. I used about 1/4 lb of ground sirloin, cooked it with some onion and some tacobell seasoning I had bought for 30 cents at meijer. I made 2 burrito meals with that amount of burger, some shredded lettuce, beans, a sprinkle of cheese, and some hot salsa. I didn't calculate the calories, but it was probably acceptable for a diet situation. And since I don't go to the Rachel Ray school of cheese, I'm sure I used far less than my heroes at Taco Hell, but the burritos tasted pretty good, with stronger flavors.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Strawberry Fields For Never
I do so like to eat. I'm sure most people do. I know that any and all weight loss plans claim that the key is diet and exercise. But I am not able, at this time, to commit myself to a forever of never eating tasty food. I think moderation is the key.
Unfortunately, I am not much of a cook. I know that people say that all there is to it is following a recipe, but shit seems to happen to me in the kitchen. Plus, it's just me, because while I don't live alone, exactly, I am certain that human food is not good for the cats. As a result of my solitary humanoid existence, if and when I cook, I resign myself to the fact that that meal may be what I'm going to eat for a few days. Bor-ring.
For a long time, I've relied on single-portion microwave meals. I've tried the Weight Watchers (TM) and Lean Cuisine (TM), and they taste like lightly-seasoned cardboard. There doesn't look to be a big calorie difference between the "diet" microwave meals and the regular ones, so I usually get Stouffer's something or Marie Callendar's or whatever is on sale. Honestly, they only taste slightly better than the diet stuff, but still. It seems like most of the microwave meals -- including the diet ones -- are loaded with some sort of pasta. I'm sure it's because it's a cheap filler, meant to camouflage the sorry portions of meat and vegetables.
At times, I've thought, "I can make pasta. Surely, I can make pasta-based meals and freeze them myself." But really, should anyone be eating pasta more than once a week?
I decided to try to learn to cook by watching tv. Because I refuse to pay for cable, I'm limited in this area to Saturday PBS shows (and AVG tells me Lidia's website is infected), which only air on Saturdays, and the Monday through Friday Rachael Ray show.
I really tried to like Rachael. She's sweet and bubbly, right? She's irritating. When I started watching, she was about to go on hiatus and have throat surgery. I told my tv, "you know what, bitch, if you didn't shout all the damn time, maybe you wouldn't need surgery. Why do you shout? You have microphones. Tell the crew to turn them up if you don't think people living on ice stations in Antarctica can hear you."
Aside from Rachael's voice, there's the format of her show to hate on. Why can't she just cook? Why does she have to have "guests" that have nothing to do with food, whose asses she kisses in the most embarrassing ways? The very worst are the audience/fan makeovers. Every time, Rachael drops her jaw in the MOST unsurprised fashion. OMG, I don't recognize you! I bet Taylor Swift took "surprised face" lessons from her, because TS's awards show expression is almost as patently fake.
There must be a good part to the Rachael Ray show, and it must be the cooking, right? WRONG! Four out of five days of the week, her main recipe features approximately 12 ounces of cheese per suggested serving. Three days a week she says that she and her husband John -- her very, very short husband John -- will eat the entire meal between themselves (with a bottle of wine to class it up). Yes, because Shoney's doesn't serve wine. And once a week, Rachael cooks the BEST burger ever. Sometimes it has cheese on the inside. Sometimes it has macaroni and cheese on top. Sometimes Paula Deen is there and she laughs and says, "we're goin' to jail for this, y'all."
I swear, it would be healthier to eat fast food five days a week than to serve the "that's what's for dinner tonight!" recipe that Rachael serves up. Honestly, Hamburger Helper does it cheaper.
OK, I'm finished with Rachael. On to me.
My very smart sister told me to buy meats, divvy them up, and freeze them. Last month, my local Meijer had fresh skinless boneless chicken breasts on sale for $1.99 a pound, the catch being that only the family pack size was on sale. I wrapped each piece (I guess each is a half-breast?) in saran wrap, then put them in a big freezer bag, and pushed as much air out of it as possible before zipping it up. I must have done that ok, because almost a month later, the two pieces I pulled out to defrost on Sunday night had no signs of freezer crystals on them.
I found this recipe http://allrecipes.com/recipe/baked-garlic-parmesan-chicken/detail.aspx to try. The page allowed me to change the number of servings to 2, and I followed those quantities except that I used an entire clove of garlic, and -- due to my aversion to commercial bread -- I used 12 smashed low-fat Club crackers instead of bread crumbs, and only 2 tablespoons (FU RR) of grated Parmesan (I used the kind that comes in a canister). I sprinkled a little cumin in there, too, since it just seemed like chicken should have cumin. My finished product looked less like the main recipe photo and more like this:
I'm paranoid about meats, so I left it in the oven an extra 6 minutes, and then cut one of the pieces open to verify that it was cooked through.
This was the most delicious chicken I have ever cooked. I expected it to be dry, but it was pretty damn moist for white meat. I ate a piece with a serving of microwave corn (I know). It was a pretty big portion, so I have to wonder if that calorie count of 281 is accurate.
My problems with the recipe have to do with the breading. It was a little soggy on the bottom. The recipe didn't call for flipping the chicken while baking, so I didn't, but I have to wonder if maybe I should have? I used cooking spray to grease my pan, and I really don't know if that means turning it would have led to sticking. Also, when i cut into it, the breading sort of fell off, so I forklifted breading with each bite. How do you keep the breading from falling off?
I figured I would save the second piece for the next day. However, later in the evening, it called to me, and I ate it cold from the fridge. I think I will file this recipe under Crack Chicken.
Unfortunately, I am not much of a cook. I know that people say that all there is to it is following a recipe, but shit seems to happen to me in the kitchen. Plus, it's just me, because while I don't live alone, exactly, I am certain that human food is not good for the cats. As a result of my solitary humanoid existence, if and when I cook, I resign myself to the fact that that meal may be what I'm going to eat for a few days. Bor-ring.
For a long time, I've relied on single-portion microwave meals. I've tried the Weight Watchers (TM) and Lean Cuisine (TM), and they taste like lightly-seasoned cardboard. There doesn't look to be a big calorie difference between the "diet" microwave meals and the regular ones, so I usually get Stouffer's something or Marie Callendar's or whatever is on sale. Honestly, they only taste slightly better than the diet stuff, but still. It seems like most of the microwave meals -- including the diet ones -- are loaded with some sort of pasta. I'm sure it's because it's a cheap filler, meant to camouflage the sorry portions of meat and vegetables.
At times, I've thought, "I can make pasta. Surely, I can make pasta-based meals and freeze them myself." But really, should anyone be eating pasta more than once a week?
I decided to try to learn to cook by watching tv. Because I refuse to pay for cable, I'm limited in this area to Saturday PBS shows (and AVG tells me Lidia's website is infected), which only air on Saturdays, and the Monday through Friday Rachael Ray show.
I really tried to like Rachael. She's sweet and bubbly, right? She's irritating. When I started watching, she was about to go on hiatus and have throat surgery. I told my tv, "you know what, bitch, if you didn't shout all the damn time, maybe you wouldn't need surgery. Why do you shout? You have microphones. Tell the crew to turn them up if you don't think people living on ice stations in Antarctica can hear you."
Aside from Rachael's voice, there's the format of her show to hate on. Why can't she just cook? Why does she have to have "guests" that have nothing to do with food, whose asses she kisses in the most embarrassing ways? The very worst are the audience/fan makeovers. Every time, Rachael drops her jaw in the MOST unsurprised fashion. OMG, I don't recognize you! I bet Taylor Swift took "surprised face" lessons from her, because TS's awards show expression is almost as patently fake.
There must be a good part to the Rachael Ray show, and it must be the cooking, right? WRONG! Four out of five days of the week, her main recipe features approximately 12 ounces of cheese per suggested serving. Three days a week she says that she and her husband John -- her very, very short husband John -- will eat the entire meal between themselves (with a bottle of wine to class it up). Yes, because Shoney's doesn't serve wine. And once a week, Rachael cooks the BEST burger ever. Sometimes it has cheese on the inside. Sometimes it has macaroni and cheese on top. Sometimes Paula Deen is there and she laughs and says, "we're goin' to jail for this, y'all."
I swear, it would be healthier to eat fast food five days a week than to serve the "that's what's for dinner tonight!" recipe that Rachael serves up. Honestly, Hamburger Helper does it cheaper.
OK, I'm finished with Rachael. On to me.
My very smart sister told me to buy meats, divvy them up, and freeze them. Last month, my local Meijer had fresh skinless boneless chicken breasts on sale for $1.99 a pound, the catch being that only the family pack size was on sale. I wrapped each piece (I guess each is a half-breast?) in saran wrap, then put them in a big freezer bag, and pushed as much air out of it as possible before zipping it up. I must have done that ok, because almost a month later, the two pieces I pulled out to defrost on Sunday night had no signs of freezer crystals on them.
I found this recipe http://allrecipes.com/recipe/baked-garlic-parmesan-chicken/detail.aspx to try. The page allowed me to change the number of servings to 2, and I followed those quantities except that I used an entire clove of garlic, and -- due to my aversion to commercial bread -- I used 12 smashed low-fat Club crackers instead of bread crumbs, and only 2 tablespoons (FU RR) of grated Parmesan (I used the kind that comes in a canister). I sprinkled a little cumin in there, too, since it just seemed like chicken should have cumin. My finished product looked less like the main recipe photo and more like this:
This was the most delicious chicken I have ever cooked. I expected it to be dry, but it was pretty damn moist for white meat. I ate a piece with a serving of microwave corn (I know). It was a pretty big portion, so I have to wonder if that calorie count of 281 is accurate.
My problems with the recipe have to do with the breading. It was a little soggy on the bottom. The recipe didn't call for flipping the chicken while baking, so I didn't, but I have to wonder if maybe I should have? I used cooking spray to grease my pan, and I really don't know if that means turning it would have led to sticking. Also, when i cut into it, the breading sort of fell off, so I forklifted breading with each bite. How do you keep the breading from falling off?
I figured I would save the second piece for the next day. However, later in the evening, it called to me, and I ate it cold from the fridge. I think I will file this recipe under Crack Chicken.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
A History of Fatness
As I stated in my first post, I have a few ideas about how I became a fat person.
No, they're not excuses. I'm sure that to the perpetually thin people of the world, everything sounds like a fucking excuse. Hey, thin people: you're just metabolically lucky. I've been alive long enough to know that life isn't fair, and some people have to work harder and deny themselves more just to not be hugely fat. Yes, some people are pigs, but not every lardass you see on the street got that way from eating ice cream and 15 lbs of mashed potatoes and gravy every day.
So the story goes, that I was born prematurely; I'm not sure Mom was truthful about this. I was born 44 weeks after my sister, and I've heard that Mom arrived home from a doctor's appointment 6 weeks after my sister was born, in tears, because she was pregnant again. This was back in the 1960's, long before EPTs existed. Since Mom once told me her "due date" for me was June 14, and I was born on May 22, I wasn't born that prematurely.
Her doctor advised her to leave me in the hospital to gain a little weight. Mom said she took one look at the dirty nipples on the bottles said, "no thanks," and took me home. She was worried that I slept too much, so sometimes she woke me up to feed me. She found out, years after the fact, that while I was an infant, my father habitually came home from his nightshift job for lunch, would hear me fussing, change my diaper and give me a bottle and put me back to bed. She thought I was just a good baby, and probably didn't realize how worn out she was. How she missed my Dad's expert diapership, I don't know.
Within a few months, my dzia-dzia told Mom that I was the fattest baby he'd ever seen. This from a man who had 11 children and at least 20 grandchildren before I was born.
Thus, I started out with a fat disadvantage.
My family wasn't poor -- more like working-class -- but money was a bit tight, since the parents had 7 kids and ended up with a grandkid living with them, too, when their own youngest was 5. We didn't eat much fast food. Mom used to make meals that would stretch the expensive meats, such as chili with a high ratio of beans, or gawumpki with more rice than beef. She baked chicken, always. She cooked hamburgers in the oven, on a broiler pan, that were loaded with bread crumbs and onions and a lot of the fat got drained away. We had meatless meals. She made stews and pot pies. They weren't low-fat meals, but they weren't high-fat meals, and we got vegetables. Mom portioned meals onto plates and handed them out at dinner; there was no putting everything out on the table for the kids to help themselves. There weren't a lot of leftovers. Guess who was the only fat kid? My parents used to "set the buzzer" for the bad eaters, but that never happened with me -- not because I always ate everything on my plate, but because I was fat enough that they never made me finish what was on my plate. I probably usually did.
In my teens, I started walking a lot. Once my best friend, Lisa, dumped her boyfriend (she was way too young), she often joined me, and we walked at least a couple of miles a day. I slimmed down.
Lisa died, and I went to college. The campus wasn't exactly sprawling, but it was hilly, so I had lots of steps to traverse, up and down, several times a day. And I got to choose when, what, and if I would eat. This is the only time in my life I was thin. My freshman year, I was not healthy. After a very light period, and then missing one, I knew it was my diet since I wasn't sexually active. Sure enough, after gaining 10 pounds, my periods returned. Subsequently, I'd gain 10 - 12 pounds each school year, then lose it over the summers when I worked full-time at a pizza place.
After getting my degree, I started working desk jobs. I gained weight. When I worked as a tax auditor, I was required to travel I don't know, 10 - 12 weeks per year or something. Every time I went somewhere, I gained weight. A one-week trip meant I'd gain 4-5 pounds. I'd work on losing it, but it mostly accumulated. Once, I went on a 2-week trip to Ft Myers Beach with 3 co-workers. It was a good trip, in that we had full kitchens in our hotel rooms, and we cooked fresh seafood instead of eating at restaurants for all of our meals. The beach was great for walking on, because sand is much harder to walk on, and I think I got good exercise there. When we got back home, I had only gained 4 pounds on that trip, and I was fucking proud of that. Upon telling one of the guys from the trip, he asked me what the hell I was doing, eating candy bars in my room? He couldn't understand why I gained weight when I ate less than he and the other man and woman did, and got more exercise than they did. We drank a lot on that trip, too, so there's some beer to blame.
Somewhere around 1995 I had a job working as a cashier at a convenience store, on the 10pm to 6:30am shift. I never packed a lunch. On my breaks, I'd eat half or all of a $3 bag of Lay's or Ruffles, dipping them in queso. Because hell, with my on-the-clock discount, that would cost me about $2. In my first 3 months there, I lost 30 pounds. I was on my feet for the most part 8 hours at a time. Often paired with a fat slow co-worker, I ended up doing most of the parking lot sweeping and oil-drying.
So, what has my history taught me?
1 - I don't get enough exercise. THIS is my biggest problem.
2 - I can eat better.
3 - I can control what I eat. I do have willpower, but I'm often too lazy to exercise it.HA!
Love,
Suzy
No, they're not excuses. I'm sure that to the perpetually thin people of the world, everything sounds like a fucking excuse. Hey, thin people: you're just metabolically lucky. I've been alive long enough to know that life isn't fair, and some people have to work harder and deny themselves more just to not be hugely fat. Yes, some people are pigs, but not every lardass you see on the street got that way from eating ice cream and 15 lbs of mashed potatoes and gravy every day.
So the story goes, that I was born prematurely; I'm not sure Mom was truthful about this. I was born 44 weeks after my sister, and I've heard that Mom arrived home from a doctor's appointment 6 weeks after my sister was born, in tears, because she was pregnant again. This was back in the 1960's, long before EPTs existed. Since Mom once told me her "due date" for me was June 14, and I was born on May 22, I wasn't born that prematurely.
Her doctor advised her to leave me in the hospital to gain a little weight. Mom said she took one look at the dirty nipples on the bottles said, "no thanks," and took me home. She was worried that I slept too much, so sometimes she woke me up to feed me. She found out, years after the fact, that while I was an infant, my father habitually came home from his nightshift job for lunch, would hear me fussing, change my diaper and give me a bottle and put me back to bed. She thought I was just a good baby, and probably didn't realize how worn out she was. How she missed my Dad's expert diapership, I don't know.
Within a few months, my dzia-dzia told Mom that I was the fattest baby he'd ever seen. This from a man who had 11 children and at least 20 grandchildren before I was born.
Thus, I started out with a fat disadvantage.
My family wasn't poor -- more like working-class -- but money was a bit tight, since the parents had 7 kids and ended up with a grandkid living with them, too, when their own youngest was 5. We didn't eat much fast food. Mom used to make meals that would stretch the expensive meats, such as chili with a high ratio of beans, or gawumpki with more rice than beef. She baked chicken, always. She cooked hamburgers in the oven, on a broiler pan, that were loaded with bread crumbs and onions and a lot of the fat got drained away. We had meatless meals. She made stews and pot pies. They weren't low-fat meals, but they weren't high-fat meals, and we got vegetables. Mom portioned meals onto plates and handed them out at dinner; there was no putting everything out on the table for the kids to help themselves. There weren't a lot of leftovers. Guess who was the only fat kid? My parents used to "set the buzzer" for the bad eaters, but that never happened with me -- not because I always ate everything on my plate, but because I was fat enough that they never made me finish what was on my plate. I probably usually did.
In my teens, I started walking a lot. Once my best friend, Lisa, dumped her boyfriend (she was way too young), she often joined me, and we walked at least a couple of miles a day. I slimmed down.
Lisa died, and I went to college. The campus wasn't exactly sprawling, but it was hilly, so I had lots of steps to traverse, up and down, several times a day. And I got to choose when, what, and if I would eat. This is the only time in my life I was thin. My freshman year, I was not healthy. After a very light period, and then missing one, I knew it was my diet since I wasn't sexually active. Sure enough, after gaining 10 pounds, my periods returned. Subsequently, I'd gain 10 - 12 pounds each school year, then lose it over the summers when I worked full-time at a pizza place.
After getting my degree, I started working desk jobs. I gained weight. When I worked as a tax auditor, I was required to travel I don't know, 10 - 12 weeks per year or something. Every time I went somewhere, I gained weight. A one-week trip meant I'd gain 4-5 pounds. I'd work on losing it, but it mostly accumulated. Once, I went on a 2-week trip to Ft Myers Beach with 3 co-workers. It was a good trip, in that we had full kitchens in our hotel rooms, and we cooked fresh seafood instead of eating at restaurants for all of our meals. The beach was great for walking on, because sand is much harder to walk on, and I think I got good exercise there. When we got back home, I had only gained 4 pounds on that trip, and I was fucking proud of that. Upon telling one of the guys from the trip, he asked me what the hell I was doing, eating candy bars in my room? He couldn't understand why I gained weight when I ate less than he and the other man and woman did, and got more exercise than they did. We drank a lot on that trip, too, so there's some beer to blame.
Somewhere around 1995 I had a job working as a cashier at a convenience store, on the 10pm to 6:30am shift. I never packed a lunch. On my breaks, I'd eat half or all of a $3 bag of Lay's or Ruffles, dipping them in queso. Because hell, with my on-the-clock discount, that would cost me about $2. In my first 3 months there, I lost 30 pounds. I was on my feet for the most part 8 hours at a time. Often paired with a fat slow co-worker, I ended up doing most of the parking lot sweeping and oil-drying.
So, what has my history taught me?
1 - I don't get enough exercise. THIS is my biggest problem.
2 - I can eat better.
3 - I can control what I eat. I do have willpower, but I'm often too lazy to exercise it.HA!
Love,
Suzy
I have fat ass and I can not lie...
I'm having a hard time getting started here. I think I first attempted this over a month ago, and maybe I was drunk, but I just trashed whatever I started and let it go.
So, I'm fat. And I have a few ideas how I got this way. I just can't seem to get myself going on a "weight loss journey," but I think that if I commit to it by blogging about it, even if no one else reads it, it will be out there, on the internet somewhere, and this might just be the foot up my ass I need.
My sister reminded me of this MadTV skit:
A few years ago, I needed some CPEs, so I took an at-home course about personal organization. The woman who wrote the book (whose name I can't recall) seemed very practical, but also understanding of how people's lives become so cluttered, and how difficult it is to just throw things away. One point she stressed was something like, "if you haven't used it/worn it/looked at it in the last 6 months, throw it away." Some of her advice must have sunk in with me, because when I got around to following it, I must have donated the book to Goodwill. This is unfortunate for me, because the book included a very handy template for a day planner, and I've recently decided that the best way for me to get my shit together is to start organizing and planning my life.
So, anyhow... I think if I examine my life and my historical fatness, organize myself, incorporating some adjustments, I will have won half the battle.
So, I'm fat. And I have a few ideas how I got this way. I just can't seem to get myself going on a "weight loss journey," but I think that if I commit to it by blogging about it, even if no one else reads it, it will be out there, on the internet somewhere, and this might just be the foot up my ass I need.
My sister reminded me of this MadTV skit:
A few years ago, I needed some CPEs, so I took an at-home course about personal organization. The woman who wrote the book (whose name I can't recall) seemed very practical, but also understanding of how people's lives become so cluttered, and how difficult it is to just throw things away. One point she stressed was something like, "if you haven't used it/worn it/looked at it in the last 6 months, throw it away." Some of her advice must have sunk in with me, because when I got around to following it, I must have donated the book to Goodwill. This is unfortunate for me, because the book included a very handy template for a day planner, and I've recently decided that the best way for me to get my shit together is to start organizing and planning my life.
So, anyhow... I think if I examine my life and my historical fatness, organize myself, incorporating some adjustments, I will have won half the battle.
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