When indulgence is a spoonful of peanut butter, something in your life has gone terribly wrong. But how to identify the wrong turn?
Oh, that's right. Perhaps it was the fat-flush diet. Or it may have been the "30 days to a thinner you" diet plan from that magazine that you hate. I don't think that diets are for people like me. By 'people like me' I mean, people who will dip anything (and I do mean anything) in honey mustard, people for whom a large pizza is a meal for two, and people who may or may not have had a weekend-long celebration to honor the introduction of the big mac snack wrap at Mcdonald's.
It's not that we don't want to be thin. We do, and are in fact not-so-secretly abhorrent of fatties. But when a plate of cheese fries arrives at our table, no amount of abhorrence can keep us from gobbling them down like there's no tomorrow.
One would think that simply giving up cheese fry binges and honey mustard obsessions would be enough to make us fatties feel good about ourselves, and yet... it isn't. I've found that when attempting to diet, I go all out, balls to the wall.
I recently found myself in an eating regimen that included no bread, no caffeine, and very little fat. One of the few fattening things I was allowed to eat was 8 almonds. Just 8. And that was meant to be a 'treat.' When you're sipping hot water (no tea bag, no coffee grounds- just hot water) waiting for it to be three o'clock so you can have the long-awaited 8 almonds, you realize that something just isn't right.
I think that perhaps the hardest thing about dieting is the people around you. I became hyper-aware of the people around me, constantly eating cupcakes, fudge, candy, you name it. It was when I started fantasizing about taking a cupcake from a coworker's hand and shoving it in her face that I admitted to myself that I had a problem. I think you can monitor how your life is going by what you consider an indulgence. Indulgences should be normal things like cakes, cookies- anything of the desert persuasion. If your indulgence of the day is anything in the nut or legume family- it may be time to reevaluate your life.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Just a quick one - you guys HAVE to check out my friend Doug's blog - just scroll down to the post on Emily Dickinson. Funniest thing I've read in a while.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Indulgence
People I would grant a plenary indulgence to, if I were the pope:
- Rosie, the woman down the street who freaked out when I was shoveling snow near her car. It's not her fault she's old and fat, and bitter about both aspects of her life. It's just that the sweet, sweet Twinkies keep calling her name.
- Larry Page and Sergey Brin. Yes, Google Buzz is ridiculous and potentially dangerous (look up the succinctly titled "Fuck You, Google" post and read the story); yes, it's unclear why Google seems to think that it will disintegrate if it can't integrate Facebook and Twitter (apparently Google seems to believe that the future of the internet lies in ugly baby pictures and barely formed one-sentence "posts" from the toilets of our collective future); and yes, Google Buzz is a pretty terrible title (though I submit it's a significant improvement over the previous iteration, Orkut). However, Pope Patrick has residual good feeling left over from the Super Bowl ad
- Benedict Arnold. I just feel like we've been hating on him for too long. By all accounts, he was a charming host and served the best whiskey in New York. Surely, we can forgive any man who has a good taste in a tipple.
People who I would not grant a plenary indulgence, and who needn't bother asking for one:
- Judas Iscariot. Still pissed.
- The fat guy across the street in the wifebeater, who complained about where I was shoveling snow, and who appeared to call the police about the issue. It's a snowstorm, douchebag - where did you think we were going to put the snow? At least Rosie was worried about her car: you were worried about snow on the curb. No doubt this is going to interfere with your rigorous power-walking routine, so I guess you won't have any choice but to head back to the deep fryer.
- Harold Ford, who appeared to want to ride rumors started by himself to a New York Senate seat, until a disastrous NYT interview revealed that he knew nothing about anything. Harold, we loved you in Tennessee, but you appear to have fallen rather badly off the rails. Try revealing that you're a sex addict. It's working for Tiger.
- Rosie, the woman down the street who freaked out when I was shoveling snow near her car. It's not her fault she's old and fat, and bitter about both aspects of her life. It's just that the sweet, sweet Twinkies keep calling her name.
- Larry Page and Sergey Brin. Yes, Google Buzz is ridiculous and potentially dangerous (look up the succinctly titled "Fuck You, Google" post and read the story); yes, it's unclear why Google seems to think that it will disintegrate if it can't integrate Facebook and Twitter (apparently Google seems to believe that the future of the internet lies in ugly baby pictures and barely formed one-sentence "posts" from the toilets of our collective future); and yes, Google Buzz is a pretty terrible title (though I submit it's a significant improvement over the previous iteration, Orkut). However, Pope Patrick has residual good feeling left over from the Super Bowl ad
- Benedict Arnold. I just feel like we've been hating on him for too long. By all accounts, he was a charming host and served the best whiskey in New York. Surely, we can forgive any man who has a good taste in a tipple.
People who I would not grant a plenary indulgence, and who needn't bother asking for one:
- Judas Iscariot. Still pissed.
- The fat guy across the street in the wifebeater, who complained about where I was shoveling snow, and who appeared to call the police about the issue. It's a snowstorm, douchebag - where did you think we were going to put the snow? At least Rosie was worried about her car: you were worried about snow on the curb. No doubt this is going to interfere with your rigorous power-walking routine, so I guess you won't have any choice but to head back to the deep fryer.
- Harold Ford, who appeared to want to ride rumors started by himself to a New York Senate seat, until a disastrous NYT interview revealed that he knew nothing about anything. Harold, we loved you in Tennessee, but you appear to have fallen rather badly off the rails. Try revealing that you're a sex addict. It's working for Tiger.
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