Category Archives: you can’t fix stoopid

selfish bitch (and not me for a change)

edited, several hours later: OK, maybe I get overly angry at things before my third cup of coffee, but apparently this really rubbed me the wrong way. I’m over it now. But at least it got me to write a blog.

I just saw a news story on what I believe is one of the most single-mindedly selfish acts I’ve ever heard of. And I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be a heartwarming, “look how selfless and wonderful” story. So maybe it’s just me.

This woman, at the age of 41, after wanting a baby all her life, got pregnant. Then she found out she had cancer. Given the choice between chemo to save her life, which would end the baby’s, or carrying the baby and essentially condemning herself to death, she chose the baby’s life.

OK. I can see this. You have a family, a husband, you’re giving that family the choice between your baby and you and you’re making the choice for them – they’ll have the baby you’ve wanted.

Except – there was no husband, or even really father, in this picture. This woman was single, and the father was “not part of the picture at all” said the news report. The woman’s brother and sister-in-law – who already have six kids between them – are raising the baby.

So this woman, given the choice between saving her own life or ensuring that her brother (who appears to be in his 40s) and his wife, who at this point had likely had no plans to bring another baby into their family, are now stuck raising this newborn – premature – baby.

In all fairness, they seem to be OK with it. The wife says she loves kids. But when asked if the mother discussed it with them, he said no, her mind was made up.

I’m sorry. I think that’s really fucking selfish. There is nothing heartwarming about that story. It’s sad and it’s thoughtless and it’s stupid.

Oh, and to top it off? When asked if he knew how his sister would have wanted the baby raised? Apparently her only hopes and plans for the kid were “I hope she’s beautiful so she can be in pageants.”

There are not enough words.


mixed messages, with berries

Sure enough, another TV moment has grabbed my attention.

It’s this new commercial. For what? Well, we don’t know at first. Something wonderful, surely, because there are all these jeans, but instead of sizes, the tags say things like “sassy” and “radiant” and “ooh-la-la” and the voice-over says, “wouldn’t it be great if we focused less on the size and more on how the fit makes us feel?”

Great message, right? We let that number tag in our clothes dictate so much of how we feel about ourselves, so the idea of jeans without a number is empowering! and fabulous!

But then the commercial goes on to tell us that we can drop a size with the Special K diet.


So size doesn’t matter and shouldn’t define us but we still need to eat cereal three meals a day so we can be thin enough to fit in “sassy” jeans. So apparently even when there’s no numbers, there’s still a “right” size.

I get that Special K is, essentially, a weight-loss product (because let’s face it, would it really be your first choice if calorie count wasn’t an issue?), but why pretend then that sizes don’t matter and we should all feel good regardless of the label, and then in the next breath tell us how to get into a size smaller than the one we’re in?

Fail, Special K. Epic fail.

carb loading

I went to the doctor today because my jaw hurt. And because the Internet told me the hurting might be related to an ear infection and the Internet is wise and I didn’t want to  take chances. But as it turns out, the hurting was not related to an ear infection. There is something wrong with my ear, BUT it is not related to the jaw pain. Because it’s important that nothing in my life have cohesion.

So anyway. The jaw pain is TMJ, which I have never suffered with before but apparently I have, and I aggravated it by probably chewing on something. Right. It’s an EATING injury. Of course it is. So I start thinking back to what I ate that might have been a bit chewy or out of the norm last week. Two candidates come to mind: Bacon and bread. On Monday night I was at a reception where there were bacon-wrapped scallops. So naturally, I ate my body weight’s worth.  I think the bacon is the less-likely candidate though. Because on Monday night I wasn’t drinking (actually, that’s not relevant, except it’s kind of the reason I ate so much bacon. Next best thing, you know). But Tuesday I was drinking, and then was at a restaurant with lots of fresh, hot bread. So in my infinite wisdom I ate like, two loaves of bread so the alcohol wouldn’t absorb into my system.

So I think what I have is a BREAD-EATING INJURY.

I could not make this up.


I think that I am a fairly intelligent person. In fact, empirical evidence suggests that I have above-average intelligence. High IQ. Excellent standardized test scores. My parents say I’m smart. So why do I do stupid things? Repeatedly? Without seeming to learn from my mistakes?

Case in point: Vitamins. We all know it’s good for you to take vitamins. They help keep you healthy, keep the immune system strong, supplement a healthy and well-balanced diet. So I buy them, regularly and with good intentions. But here’s what happens:

Day 1: Ooooh, I’ve bought super-healthy vitamins with 10,000 percent of all my necessary recommended vitamins and minerals. I’m going to take these every day and be incredibly healthy and have a fantastic immune system to boot. And also probably lose 10 pounds and be younger.

Day 2: Take vitamin. Yay, healthy! (15 minutes later) Oh crap, shouldn’t have taken that on an empty stomach. I feel sick. Have to go find something to eat, quickly. Feeling so nauseous now that I really can’t stomach anything that would amount to a nutritious breakfast. Could probably stomach oatmeal but my steel-cut oatmeal takes 30 minutes to cook. Can’t wait. Must eat bread.

So now instead of having either the steel-cut oatmeal mixed with fruit or the egg beater-and-vegetable omelet that would have normally comprised my breakfast, I’ve had a hot-dog bun. And a vitamin.

Day 3: See vitamin but Super-Intelligent Brain Cells remind me that I can’t take it on an empty stomach because I am Smart, and have learned from the mistakes of yesterday. In an attempt to keep the vitamin top-of-mind, I put it in a pocket and carry it with me so I can take it once I’ve eaten something.

Day 7: Find vitamin in lint trap when pulling clothes out of dryer.

Day 38: Ooooh, I forgot I bought these vitamins! (Repeat Day 2 here).

I have done this at least 30 times over the last 5 years or so. It’s not a case of expecting different results, it’s not like I think I’ll not get sick this time. I just don’t remember that it’s going to make me sick. It’s sort of astounding in its absolute idiocy.

Fortunately, since I’m so smart, I have a really good vocabulary so I have a lot of different words for “dumbass.”

how not to diet

So in a rare burst of good sense, I just deleted a post about what a giant failure I am. It was a good vent, and I was really upset when I wrote it, but it didn’t need to be out there for posterity.

What does need to be out there is that binge eating is not a solution for anything, and the sooner I can figure that out and break the cycle, the better off I’ll be. “Sooner” being a relative term, since obviously in 40 or so years I haven’t quite gotten there yet.

It’s a pretty typical scenario. I get depressed, usually about weight or money or, more often, both. Maybe other stuff is added in. Maybe it’s February and I haven’t been to the beach in 4 or 5 months. Maybe the looming 40th birthday has me irrationally freaked out, particularly career-wise – I get terrified that I am not qualified to do any job out there other than the one I’m doing , and what the hell does my future hold if something happens? Even though the whole reason for that, of course, is my own crippling lack of self-confidence.

You know, just general stuff like that.

So the logical response to any of those issues is to eat. Even when you’re spending $40 a month on Weight Watchers and you’re so close to goal you can taste it (no pun intended) and so maybe possibly we can throw “self-sabotage” in there too as a reason for the binging. Because I know, as surely as I know anything, that once I hit my goal I’m going to think I’m fat at that new weight, and stress and obsess and screw up numerous opportunities to lose more weight. Repeat, ad nauseam.

I was doing great this week. I was a perfect little WeWa-er. I ate what I was supposed to, in its healthiest forms. Protein, complex carbs, limited sugars. Small glasses of red wine at night. Exercise. For four days. And the scale showed it, proving that if you just do what you’re supposed to, it works. So naturally, I fell apart in spectacular fashion. I binged. And I binged on what was in the house, so I binged on healthy food. Whole-wheat pasta with tuna added in because it’s important to have protein with every meal – even when your meal is about 6 serving sizes. A full tub of fat-free Greek yogurt with Swiss Miss mixed in for that chocolatey goodness that will make you forget to miss ice cream. Dark chocolate, because if you’re going to have a little chocolate, dark is much better for you, and if a little dark chocolate is better for you, a huge slab of it must be really, really better. A bottle of red wine. God, just think of the antioxidants coursing through my system.

So if you’re going to do shit like this, you want to be sure to save the worst of it for the night before weigh-in. That’s when, after a day when you cried more than you didn’t, you want to go OUT to dinner and make sure you get there in time to have three glasses of happy-hour wine, and since you’re splitting an appetizer-sized flatbread with your husband, who is at goal and will probably still be there tomorrow despite this, you should also order the bisque. Because nothing says Weight Watchers like cream- and butter-based soup. And then, just to be sure your weigh-in will be an utter failure, you should split a dessert the size of your head.

And just to ensure a complete meltdown on the scale, you should get on the treadmill to do a run and break down crying two minutes in. Crying does not earn activity points, sadly enough, even when done on a piece of exercise equipment.

What the fuck, people? What the FUCK? I can’t even get on that scale tomorrow – it’ll be up a good 5 pounds and I can’t even think of the tailspin that’ll throw me into.

you people are slackers

Jeez, my last post was on August 20, and here it is almost Christmas. Where have you people been? Well, while I was being too lazy to blog you people were gone, all kinds of crazy shit has gone down. Like, I have lost another 20+ pounds and am back down to a relatively normal weight for the first time in years. Also, probably not unrelated to that, I have actually completed a 5K. I can actually run slog 3.1 uninterrupted miles. In fact, I have even moved on to the Bridge to 10K program, which I estimate I should complete just prior to the end of the world in 2012, which is good because I’ll be able to run from the zombies. Also, Mollie has learned to walk perfectly on a leash and never jumps on my houseguests, and Savannah has overcome her fear of everything and battles dragons in her spare time.

OK, those last two things are not true, although possibly more believable than me voluntarily running 6 miles.

But seriously, it’s all about Weight Watchers, which I have been following and abandoning since 1997. Ironically, when I first started the program I weighed about what I do now. Of course I was  – wait, where’s my calculator? – much younger then. But even then I didn’t stick with it long enough to make Lifetime, which is a shame because it probably would have saved enough money over the years that I wouldn’t have to work now. This time, though, I am going to do it. Why? Because my husband is making me. Seriously – he is absolutely dead set that we see things through to the bitter end and get that Lifetime membership. Of course, he’s two pounds away from goal and will probably make Lifetime before the end of January, having had 60 pounds to lose to my 50. I have 10 pounds to go, which means that I might have to receive my Lifetime membership while running from the zombie apocalypse. Because that, my friends, is the difference between men and women. “Fair” is not part of the game.

So speaking of WW, they rolled out new program a couple of weeks ago, which is “revolutionary” and “completely revisits the science of weight loss.” Cool. So of course, this has meeting members freaking out. You’d think someone told them that steak is now made from chinchillas and they can only eat it while riding unicorns on Thursdays. And this is why I hate going to meetings. Because people are stupid. See that book on your lap? It is just FILLED with answers. It was printed and given to you because it contains the information you need, not because the tree population was getting out of control. You don’t have to keep asking the meeting leader how the points have changed for <insert every food item in the known universe here>. And to the lady who spent half the meeting asking various questions about KFC? Your first step to success on Weight Watchers might be STAYING THE HELL AWAY FROM KFC. Just a thought.

You people will be shocked to learn that my intolerance of stupidity has not changed at all while you were gone. And good lord, there’s a lot of stupid in this world.