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The power of suggestion is amazing. I had brushed my teeth. No intention of eating again this evening. I start reading Jessica's blog about baking and of course I want baked goods. No surprise there. Her pictures are amazing. But I don't have any baked goods in the house.
I'm no fool.

Well eventually it gets to me and I go into the kitchen and eat toast with honey. It certainly isn't a gourmet cupcake or a flipping chocolate croissant (I would kill for one of those) but it's bread and that is the closest thing I have.

Rose just called and bemoaned that she had Mexican food two nights in a row and ate the chips.

I'm eating tortilla chips as I type.

Cruel cruel world.

And now for some breaking news...

I just read in Oprah Magazine that "people with thighs less than 24 inches around face a higer risk of heart disease." Apparently thigh fat might help flush the blood of something bad and helps you live longer.
And and and
"The antioxidants in chocolate have beneficial effects on blood pressure." Not just dark chocolate either, they actually said Toblerone (shut the F up).

Pretty sure I'm living forever.

Yes, I do know there was an earthquake in Haiti. Stop yelling at me.

The latest diet craze...

I had a bad night at work and so I turned to my old friends bread and cheese for some comfort. They never fail to make me feel better/worse and tonight was no exception. (Whole Wheat and Feta, thank you for asking). As part of my "just drown it," ritual I, of course, looked around for something sweet to eat before I had even finished swallowing much less waiting to see if I was actually hungry (that is key when you chain eat, fyi). My eye alighted on some frosted cookies that Newshead had left them out like a little grenade.

Me: You know what? I had a really shitty night so YES I AM going to have a cookie, I...WTF?

I opened them to find just the frosted top eaten off of all but two of the cookies. Ummm Gross. No thanks.

When I asked Newshead about it in the morning he wasn't even embarrassed.

He actually offered to do it to all of the junk food for me.

I'm really very touched.

For the sake of argument...

Flat hair and straight hair are simply not the same thing and while we are not on the subject, honey could very well be classified as a controlled substance and someone should call the DEA on me right now.

Stat.

You think you know someone...

I got a new job.

I've worked in restaurants most of my life and yet my knowledge of food and wine is generally restricted to trying not to consume it. I've never been an adventurous eater. I'm really low end when it comes to food (I actually like grape jelly). I'm not fancy. I'm not a total country mouse, I mean, I know what a cheese plate is. I'm just saying that it has been a great challenge to try and educate myself so that I can sell this menu. This experience has caused me to come to a crushing and life altering realization...I am NOT a great server. All this time I thought I was. Turns out, nope.

I am a workhorse.
I am really sharp, I'm a prolific multi-tasker, I don't tire easily and I'm pleasant even when I'm in the weeds.
I am a great waitress.
I might even go as far as to say one of the best ever (and trust me I am aware of exactly how proud I should be of that).

I really suck at formalities and rules, exotic food, terroir and wine from every country. The whole experience has been unsettling.
It's like I don't even know me.

And that's not all. On top of all the stuff I have to learn (and act like I already knew) and the unsettling discovery that has created a fundamental shift in my whole identity...
There are NO UNIFORMS. Not even a dress code or color restrictions.

On the surface that could seem like a great thing, that is until you factor in the burden of freedom.

That, however, is a discussion for tomorrow.

Right now I have to go look up what pig trotters, ras el hanout, and lengua are.

Double edge sword

Why is something that is so good and kind of good for you so so so bad at the same time?
Curse you cashew trail mix.
Curse you.
Your quantity is killing me.

If you had any doubt, I've always been this way

(you can click on the image and enlarge my humiliation for easier viewing)

This is an actual page of my "food diary" from Jr. High. Typical of me I only have this one page but this one page really speaks volumes.

I distinctly remember my inner monologue going something like this:
"It is so unfair. Why aren't I skinny like Denise Goodwin? I try so hard. I'd do anything to not be so fat."

Really?

Looking at the above food journal, I would have to agree, the reason I was overweight is still a complete mystery.

If anyone is wondering what a crispito is, it is a fried meat and cheese Mexican type food. Please note, I only ate 1/2. I was really watching it.

And if you think you can't read the last line, it does, in fact, say 1/2 mayonnaise sandwich (again, cutting back) and 4 oreo cookies (not the whole bag? Good work).

My continual weight gain was still a mystery in college.
"What is going on? I eat salad every day and I cannot lose a pound. I am so frustrated by how unfair this is!"

Ummmm that "salad" was a BREAD BOWL of iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing and whole wheat crackers crushed in it. Dessert was two boxes of granola cereal with milk ("it's granola! It's like natural and good for you").

I have since grown up. I realize now that my weight gain isn't happening to me, it is happening because of me.

My inner monologue sounds more like this now:

"Ugh this is so unfair. I just want to be really skinny and I don't want to have to do anything to achieve it."

The more things change, the more they just really don't change

I'm revisiting the idea that we create the patterns in our lives. I feel like I have gone through immense changes and yet, as I read excerpts from my seventh grade journal I am realizing that I am EXACTLY the same person. I have not evolved one bit. Nary an iota. I'm obsessing over my hair and my clothes, my weight and the fact that I heart some guy named Frank. I'm pretending that I hate everything (when I know, in fact, that I didn't). I mean it is ridiculous. Change the guys name to Newshead and I'm practically living my seventh grade life right now.

Earlier today I grabbed one of my many notebooks so I could write out some of my annoyance with myself at not being able to keep a jar of honey in the house for more than a week and my firm decision to go clean and lean starting tomorrow. In this notebook I found four days of "journaling" from 2002.

"Crabby, unmotivated, puffy, bloated, fat, fatigued, fucked up sleep, PMS. I feel I'm so close to breaking the barrier and then I go into a slump. I have to dig deep to find the magic feeling called confidence and strength. I really miss Ned. Glad I'm going home next week.
Things I can't have in the house:
Peanut Butter
Honey
Whole Wheat Crackers
Oreos
Ate almost a whole jar of honey today. What made me think I could have it? Duh.
Ok, I'm going to bed and I'm going to get up and try not to eat and hate myself some more. It will pass. This too shall pass..."

Seriously? And what's with the dramatics?

Well that is it. The jury is in. I am the common denominator. Time to take some responsibility. I am using this stuff as my identity. It is like a comfy blanket that I wrap myself in. When am I going to grow up and get over this stuff? Right now. That's when.

Actually, on second thought, why would I do that? If I actually achieved some level of self acceptance, what in the world would I talk about?

For anyone who is wondering

You know it doesn't take that long to eat an entire bag of Craisins.
You'd think it would.
But no. It really doesn't.

I know what you are thinking but I'm doing it anyway.

I had a dream I was waiting on the Obamas.

Me: Hi, how are you? What can I get for you this evening?
President Obama: Hello, Krista. (huh, they know my name now) Well, what will you be having?
Me: (terribly impressed at the invite) Oh, thank you! I'm really not very hungry tonight.
President Obama: Now come on.
Me: Oh you know it is back to school time so I'm really watching it, plus I'm feeling really puffy today (at this point I streatched out my arm and pinched the lunch lady fat under my tricep)

Everyone at the table chuckled with understanding and then Michelle Obama ordered the low cal plate (hamburger patty with a scoop of cottage cheese and canned peaches) and President Obama ordered the fish special as a complete dinner (tapioca instead of rice pudding). Why they were regulars at a diner in Carol Stream, I will never know but apparently they were.

Then I told my assistant (uh huh) to get them whatever they needed because I was excited to go and chat with my friend Kristina who surprised us with a visit and she had a sassy new haircut. It was a shorter version of the haircut I had freshman year of high school and it looked really cute.

Now I know that people say no one wants to hear about your dreams (jonathan) especially if they aren't in them (rose) but this one seemed really important.

Plus, I'm a rule breaker.

Death by carbs

What if I had an "all carb" day. What if I had a croissant for breakfast, pinkberry as a pre-lunch snack, 9 mini almond biscottis for lunch (man those things don't fill you up. They are "mini" after all), polenta as an appetizer and then for dinner, pasta and garlic bread with an apple crisp chaser. And then on the way home what if I heard the song "Pour some sugar on me..." how appropos. I AM "hot, sticky sweet from my head to my feet" because I ate all that crap. "You've got the peaches, I've got the cream..." I never heard that part before. Hmmm.

That would just seem like a weird day. Wouldn't it?

I feel gross.

One step forward two pieces of cake

Did you ever notice that when you are determined to eat just to eat, you eat the weirdest shit? I'm just going to assume you can relate.

Often this is because you wisely got rid of everything junky in the house back when you were feeling healthy and strong. So, now you are forced to find something reasonably bad to help you carry out your self sabotage moment.

Hence the crackers and ranch dressing combo or the never before eaten walnuts AND peanut butter with three year old sugar in the raw sprinkled on top. And/or you get the flour and sugar down from the top most unused shelf and mix it with fake butter in an attempt to create makeshift cookie dough. Then in disgust you throw it in the garbage but immediately regret it and make some more.

It is like you just don't know what you want because you really don't want anything but you want something to make you feel better/worse. I find that these moments really punch up the fact that I have a mental problem. I try to blame PMS or free floating anxiety or just the fact that it is late at night, however, most of the time it is just passing madness. No getting around it.

Sometimes after work I stop at the grocery store and walk through every aisle telling myself I can have something while simultaneously talking myself out of everything. This is where the burden of choice can play in my favor.

It doesn't change the mental thing though.