Sugar Rage?

Yesterday I was at training for my new, part-time Census job. I'm looking forward to this little gig; but, back to talking about weight.

I do not do self-care well at all. We've been in training all week, and the first two days I went out for lunch. Which is what I normally do at my main job. It finally occured to me that I am spending WAY too much on eating out. I decided I would bring my lunch the third and last days of training.

Well, I went to the store, got the ingredients for this really yummy salad that consists of soaked raw cashews, fresh basil and tomatos (sun dried are best), tossed with a little bit of olive oil, lemon juice, and sea salt. It is totally to die for, at least in my world, it might not be in yours. I was really looking forward to this meal.

I went and got the ingredients late Tuesday night. I considered making it right then for the next morning, and then thought, oh, I'm tired, I'll just get up early and prepare it.

I don't know who I'm kidding when I say these things. Once I go to bed at night, i am out. I have the hardest time getting out of bed once I get in. It's like the bed had little suction cups in it that are just oh so snuggly to me, I just get right in and never want to leave. Schwloop! There I am, awake at six, but if I have no where to go until 9, I don't leave that bed until 8:10. Dont' know why.

And so, I had no lunch the last two days. Those tasty ingredients just sat in my fridge, waiting to be prepared into a dish. They sit there still.

So what did I eat those two days? Well, on Wednesday I brought a can of wax beans. Mmmm. That was satisfying, she stated sarcastically. On Thursday, I had bought a bag of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from the grocery store bakery. Ate those for breakfast and lunch yesterday.

Interesting thing, since I've erased so many foods from my life, I instantly see how foods affect me. When I ate the cookies, I started sneezing after about 20 or 30 minutes. My nose started running. The wheat? Not sure.

Then, that afternoon after we were let out for the day, I went to Taco Bell to get something quick to eat. Again, since I didn't have any food prepared at home, I ate out. I was craving a cheese quesadilla and the Nachos Bell Grande, no meat and no beans. They served it with beans. I had ordered through the drive through, and although I checked it before I pulled away, I noticed the beans and thought, well, I haven't had their beans in a while. I'll just eat it this way.

I ate my Taco Bell. And I spun into a rage after it was gone. And not because I was hungry for more. I think that it is possible that our food choices affect our moods.

I have been quite happy - nothing has been happening to bother me. Then, I ate this meal of mostly corn, wheat, and processed cheese items... and suddenly I'm furious? Is it possible there's a connection? And if there is, how can we find this out accurately?

If I were to say, Taco Bell Food Creates Rage in People, can you imagine the backlash in that statement? As well as the reaction from say, oh I don't know, Taco Bells lawyers? OK. So I won't say it creates rage in people. All I can say is that it created rage in me.

Even at that, can I really blame the food? It is awfully coincidental. But maybe I had been storing up some anger, and it happened to present itself at that time. Maybe I had something hormonal going on that coincided with the ingesting of the food. And maybe, just maybe, having the beans on my Nachos Bell Grande when I didn't want them to be ... well, maybe that was just the straw that broke the little boy holding his finger in the dam's finger. I don't know.

What I do know, is that on Wednesday, the beans weren't all that satisfying, but I didn't go off into a rage. On Thursday, I was fucking LIVID. About EVERYTHING. It was quite a show.

I still haven't bought my dehydrator. I am taking a look at my bills today, and figuring out when I can buy that. The deal is, I used to make food on Sunday and take it to work with me all week; I need to get into that habit again. Especially now that I'm working my full time job and doing the census thing in my spare time ... no time to cook. Thanks again for listening. Until next time.

Now What?

Hello, my lovely Blaugdience.

So, here it is. Mike left for his new job in Louisville yesterday. My main source of social company, social finance, and sponsor of creative endeavors is gone. I'm not quite sure how I'm feeling about it.

On the one hand, I think - I'm free! This must be how it feels for a mom when the kids go off to college; a bittersweet mix of thank god I have my life to myself again and what the hell will I do now? It's relief and fear wrapped into one.

Because I am in charge of my time again. Not that I wasn't before - it was just really easy to go to his house after work, lay on the couch, order food and watch movies to erase the day.

Now, it's just me myself and I. And I'm not sure who's in charge. Father Son and Holy Spirit. I just don't know what the eff to do with myself.

How does this relate to the eating? Well, now I have time. I have time to go work out, I have time to do food prep.

blah blah blah puke.

It's all whining bullshit. The fact of the matter is that I went to bed last night thinking of all these great things I could do today before work. I wake up at 5 am, get up, do my Artist's Way morning pages, meditate for ten minutes, and then go back to bed by 6 am. Woke up at 9, do this blog, then it's get ready for work. I'm not even ready for work. I can't stand this.

My belly is big and round like I'm 9 months pregnant. Sometimes I wonder - do I want my belly to look this way? I like being able to rub my hands on it, like rubbing a lamp hoping a genie will pop out. I like the feeling of heaviness, like it's a big fat protection, or insulation, or buffer, from the world. I like feeling it sit on my lap when I sit down. It's like having a built-in kid all the time, only it doesn't cry, and there are no labor pains. Maybe in a past life I got out of a lot of work by being pregnant all the time, and so I'm recreating that feeling of pregnancy now. It does feel like I'm pregnant. These days I could definitely pass for pregnant.

My belly protruded before when I was overweight, but never the top belly. The belly below my belly button was always protruding,but my upper belly was always fairly under control, very little extra weight went up there. Well, it's up there now. Now when I sit, I have a definite ball of flesh that sits just below my breasts and the only way to describe it is like that of a pregnant woman's body. That's how it looks.

And I've come to love that belly. I think that's the next thing I need to look into - when I have lost weight in the past, I felt sadness when my belly went away. Like I was losing a friend, an ally, or protective services. Could someone really have such a relationship with her gut? Could someone really be in love with her own fat? Like a love-hate relationship? Could I have a Sonny and Cher thing going on with my own fat stores?

All I know is that being overweight is all I've ever known, and when I go into the unknown territory of being thin, it's very unsettling to me. How do I get past this? Just do it, right? Well, I have, many times over, and each time I go running back to being heavy. And when I gained the weight back the last time, and didn't know where to go from there and decided to try getting heavier, I didn't think I'd come to love it. It's like I'm in relationship with it; like I can't date anyone else, because I'm already committed to my fat. I, Ann, take you, Fat, to be my lawfully wedded body. We are already one. I think about taking off the weight and I feel like I'm killing it. I really do. That's part of why I felt I needed to get to 250 - if I cut myself down to 125, then I am allowing that other 125 pounds that I've lost to possibly stand on its own. I take half of myself to keep, and the other half to bury. When I had only 60 pounds to lose, it seemed like I was cutting off the deformed surrogate twin and leaving it to die, gasping and struggling for air. If I give the weight it's own fully formed body, then maybe I can kill it and get it off of me. If I cut it off from me, if I stop feeding it, maybe it will be strong enough to survive on it's own. In the ether. In the spiritual realm. In the air.

I don't know.

Maybe I shouldn't be posting these blog entries. This latest development is too strange ... even for my standards. Well, that's where things are at today, April 25, 2010, in my life. Maybe my psychologist and I can master this strange new development. Thanks for listening; until next time. If there is a next time. I have to admit, even I was surprised by that find. Thanks again.

A Realization

This morning I woke up, and realized I've been keeping myself about an arms length away from the life I want.

The question is, how do I bridge that distance? That short distance from where I am to where I want to be?

That's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

"You'd Be Too Skinny!"

Yesterday at work, a couple things of note took place.

The first: I had a customer who completely gave me hope about aging. I've often had customers I meet trigger reactions in me, some good and some bad. The first time this happened, I was working in a grocery store deli in college, and I met a couple who were in their 40s who still had the playfulness and banter of newlyweds; and I thought, that's how I want to be when I get married. Haven't found it yet, but I'm willing to hang around long enough to find it - and I won't mind a bit if I can be half as youthful as this 76-year-old woman I met yesterday.

The woman comes in to the store and asks for some product. We chat a minute about her project, at which time she mentions how she's 76-years-old and had no idea that a kitchen remodel had so many details to it. She continues talking, but all I can think is "76? There's no way she's 76!" So I tell her that, I really would not have put her more than 55 or 60 - a dubious compliment, I know, but I meant it as a compliment and she could tell the sincerity of my statement.

She got flustered at this compliment, saying oh my gosh, with this sagging skin ... but she was clearly happy to have been pegged for younger.

In all honesty, if her body weren' betraying her age, I would have put her energy around 27 or 28. She had such vibrant and enthusiastic energy. She was carrying some extra weight, but that didn't matter. She had so much life in her. It was something to strive for, in my eyes.

Next, the title of our blog today, "You'd Be Too Skinny!"

Yesterday at work we had our weekly meeting. During it, we got talking about the "8 Pounds in 8 Weeks" challenge that I am running. It's a corporately-created program, and as the Wellness Captain, I am going to start it May 7, and it'll run through the end of June.

We got talking about the things different people wanted to get out of it. One girl said I want to do it, but I don't want to weigh in. She is thin, there's no reason for her to not want to weigh in; she said she's going to be lifting weights to tone up, so she might end up with a weight gain. I said that's fine, whatever she wants to accomplish.

Then, everybody starts talking about what the doctor's office says is a healthy weight. My manager shared, with incredulity and a bit of a smirk, that her doctor told her that her healthy weight, being five feet 2 inches, would be 125 pounds. My manager said, Now, I weigh 250 pounds right now. I'd have to

cut myself in half I said with her outloud. I said, yeah, kind of misty, relating my own need to do the same thing. We are in exactly the same boat, I thought, and it's depressing. Another entire person we are both carrying around on us as extra weight. When my thoughts cleared, my coworkers were having a fit.

WHAT!? 125 POUNDS?! Well, do you know how thin your face would look on 125 pounds!?!? No way! No way should you weigh that little! Mmn-nn. I can't believe those doctors charts! They're crazy!

I listened to everyone else's states of panic around this woman getting into a more healthy weight range. I said, along with the girl who wants to weight train, that well, that sounds about right for your height. I even thought the doctor was being generous - I've always operated on the basis that you should weigh 100 pounds at five feet tall, and then add five pounds for every inch over that. So, at 5'2", her ideal weight would even be 110 pounds.

But I didn't say that here. Everyone was too busy throwing into drama for me to interupt their fun with a sobering comment like that.

I just listened to everyone's opinions, but more interesting to me, was how much the thought of her being thinner bothered them. It was as if they were being personally assaulted by the suggestion of her weight loss.

Then, my coworker Dawn chimed in. She's pretty quiet, but she then said, "Why does everyone have to look the same? If you lost that much weight, well; that's what I weigh."

This interested me. I said quietly, you weigh 125? Dawn said, yeah. I nodded, just taking in the conversation as Dawn went on to seemingly defend my manager's 250 pounds.

Dawn and I are the same height, 5'7", and I went to myself; so that's how I would look if I weighed 125 pounds. Dawn is thin, but not too skinny. Nobody ever says, "That skinny designer," when describing her. They describe her as thin. There's a difference. To me, Dawn's got a healthy amount of meat on her bones, while still maintaining a trim frame.

It was interesting to hear them defend our 250 pound, 5'2" manager. One of the guys said, "Well, I get the same thing - my doctor says I should weigh 165. There's just no way. I think they're crazy." He's probably 5'5", and very fit, except he's got a nice round belly that he seems to love and be quite comfortable with.

And that's what my manager was then saying. She says, "Well, I love the curves on me. I love my breast, my booty, I just really like all this." She smiled like a little girl showing off a new dress for everyone.

I said quietly, "Well then, maybe you don't need to set a goal for weight loss. If you're happy with how you look, then stay how you are."

Well, she and the other guy didn't like that either. Then they went on about ways to lose weight, and at that point, I realized there is no arguing - people are on the journey they are on. I don't like being told I need to lose weight. In all honesty, I don't want to lose weight on this weight loss challenge, either. I feel like I am in the home stretch of going through my eating whatever I want Marianne Williams suggestion in her book "A Return to Love." I read through that entire book, and the one thing that jumped out most at me was the page on our infatuation with weight. She said the only way to conquer it is to let yourself have whatever you want. You will heal a lot of feelings of fear and scarcity around food. And then, your body will find it's natural resting point, you will find your body wanting to exercise to take the weight off, you will find yourself craving nutrient rich foods, because you will have satiated the part of you that felt you didn't get enough. I embarked on this journey about a year ago, and feel that I am on the tail end of it. But, who knows. Maybe I am to stay fat my whole life. I will tell you, now that I am at this weight, I don't feel concerned about my weight anymore like I used to. That much I do know. I feel calmer and more in tune with myself. So, we'll see. That's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Date Rape and Taking Off Some Weight

I will get to the date rape teaser in a moment. First, though, I want to touch on my feelings of fear around a challenge that I am facing as my work's Wellness Captain; a weight loss challenge.

The corporate offices give us outlines of what they want the Wellness Captains to cover, and a "Lose 8 Pounds in 8 Weeks" Challenge is one of them.

I've been avoiding this. Mainly, because of my own experience with goal setting - I then avoid that goal like the plague - and then simply, the gaining back of the weight. I don't doubt I can lose it. What I doubt is whether or not I can keep it off.

So the inner turmoil I am experiencing about losing some weight got me thinking about many things. For one, I have been not going out and meeting with old friends and aquaintances. I say yes to their requests, and then push out the dates we set.

On one level, I know I am doing this because I think they couldn't possibly want to be seen in public with me now that I weight 230ish, 240ish pounds. Whether male or female, I just simply believe they must cringe at being associated with someone who looks like I do. It's really interesting to be confronted by my own beliefs. I mean, all I'm doing is projecting my feelings about fat people onto them. And honestly, I didn't think I was that kind of a person.

Then, an old high school classmate of mine, Matt, moved to town a few months ago, connected with me on facebook, and suggested that we get together. Fine, old classmates are great.

Well, he friends me on facebook, a bit later he messages me to go out sometime, and then finally calls me and asks when I'd like to go out and get a drink or some coffee. I say, oh! Yes, that would be lovely! How about next week sometime? I'll call you!

I have not called him back.

That was about three months ago.

Mike is moving out of state with a job transfer, and this is revealing to me how little of a social life I have had. It has dwindled without me realizing it. The fact of the matter is, Mike and I have been like an old married couple for the last 10 years. His moving is making me realize that I am going to have to "get out there" again.

How this relates to my high school friend, and possilby my fears around having to bite the bullet and lose some weight? Last night I was driving around, and I got thinking, you know, I really should call Matt. I've been avoiding him, and I don't want to be like that. So, why have I been avoiding him? Why do I refuse to call him back?

And then it occured to me. Enter Joe.

Joe and Matt and I were all in the same smart kids classes growing up. I wasn't all that close with Matt growing up, but I liked him all the same. I'm not sure how close he and Joe were in high school, but Matt and Joe both went to the same Big Ten college together, and I know they are very good friends still.

Joe and I ... hm. How do I sum this up. Maybe the quickest way is to say that while I am getting facebook friends requests from many old high school friends and aquaintances, Joe and I have not requested that of each other. And here's why: The short version is because we have a sordid past. The long version follows. If you don't want the long version, you can skip to the last paragraph or so for the feel-good lesson. If you want the long version, then continue here:

Joe and I were both in the smart kids classes together growing up, debated politics -he the conservative, I the liberal, already in the 8th grade - and overall, I thought, had a basic like and respect for each other.

In high school, a few months before prom, Joe asks me out on a date. I thought this was great! He would have been who I envisioned going to prom with. In fact, freshmen year, the girls all got together and decided who would go to prom with who. It was determined I would go with Joe. That was good with me, I had always liked and respected Joe, and thought he'd be a fun prom date. Done - at least from the girls' end of it.

Now it's the fall of our junior year, and Joe has asked me out on a date. I think; awesome. We are laying the groundwork for having a great prom together. Yay!

Joe picks me up for our date. I have no idea what we are going to do for the evening, but I'm picturing a pretty standard dinner and a movie. And here's where it all went horribly wrong.

Looking back on the night, he did not get out of the car and come to the door to get me. Maybe I was too excited and didn't give him time to come and properly take me away. I have since that night always viewed this perceived action - or inaction - of his not wanting to meet the parents as an early signal of imminent danger. But that night, I go out to his car and get in. I don't know what we talked about or how we greeted each other. I think we were both a little shy about our little date.

At the end of our road, Joe takes a right instead of a left. Left would have taken him to Madison, about 40 minutes away and where most dates took place in our small town world - at least the good ones, anyway.

Turning right can also get him there; just a little different route. I thought maybe he didn't know which way to get there, as I lived out of town a ways and was going to head back into town to get there. Not necessary - and notice how I don't offer any information or questions? It's how I was taught to be with guys. But I digress. He didn't seem to need any help. He didn't ask for directions. He seemed to have a plan in mind.

We drive around the country block, and Joe pulls into one of our neighbors field roads. Now, for you city folks out there, I know you think the hicks out in the sticks just magically have these paths that nobody uses. But what the city folks don't realize is that there is a reason these paths aren't grown over with weeds. It's cuz we use them. All the time. Somebody owns that path, that field road. And if somebody is on his field road, the owner knows it. Especially if there's a house nearby.

So Joe pulls over on to one of my neighbor's field roads. I thought about saying, hey, we know these people, but I really didn't know what Joe had in mind or why he was pulling over. Joe was an upstanding guy, a smart guy, a football player but not a player with the ladies. It never occured to me that Joe had anything malevolent in mind for me.

Joe stops the car on my neighbors land. We were completely facing the house and although we were probably a quarter mile away, knowing how my dad had the binoculars out at the slightest notice of anything going on on his property, I didn't doubt that the neighbors were doing the same thing now.

Joe suggests we get out of the car and sit outside for a minute. Sounds nice, except all I can think is that people are going to see us, we're on somebody elses land. But I say nothing, I don't know what Joe's got in mind or how long we'll be here. So I decide to just roll with Joe's seeming plan.

He then pulls out a pint canning jar with a clear liquid in it. He tells me its vodka, and suggests we both have a little to loosen us up. We chit chat a little as we pass the drink between us. I remember him telling me how he noticed a slight mark on the lable of the bottle; he thinks his dad marked the bottle, and that he re-marked it after he took this bit for us. It was about a pint of liquor. I thought he was oh so smart for that.

What happened next? I do not know, and Joe wouldn't speak to me after that night to tell me what did happen. He and I both went to school together and worked at the same after school job, and he wouldn't say a word to me after that night. Which made me suspicious on two counts: you know me day in and day out - you can't be that mad at me for not knowing how to handle my liquor. So what happened that night that makes you not able too look me in the eye? What happened that was so wrong that you won't talk to me?

What I do know is that I was so nervous about our date, I hadn't eaten all day, and although I had drank beer at parties, I was not a seasoned drinker; I never did the hard stuff, and had no idea how much vodka - or how little vodka - was needed to catch a buzz. Or get me wasted.

Within less than half an hour of him picking me up, I was completely drunk. The last thing I remember is laughing and Joe opening up my shirt and sucking on my tits. I was surprised by his doing this, but I was so drunk, this feeling so new, that what Joe was doing to me was an after thought. I was just laughing! And laughing! I blacked out after that point.

I vaguely remember being dropped off at home at midnight, maybe; I just know that it was late and very, very dark outside. I remember throwing up in our bathroom, and my mom coming to check on me. Seeing that I was visibly drunk, she says, "I'm not going to tell Dad about this," and sends me up to bed. I remember waking up fully dressed in my clothes, in a position that I must have passed out in. My sister, home from college for the weekend, commented on how strange I was for sleeping in my clothes.

I go downstairs to the bathroom that next morning and notice a big scrape on my forehead. What the hell? A few days later, an itchy rash developed on my forearms. I showed a teacher at school; ironically, it was the chemistry teacher, who was also the football coach. He told me it was poison oak, then said something like it must have been some weekend you had, with a slightly raised eyebrow and a smirk. My mom didn't talk to me about what may or may not have happened; didn't tell me you might want to protect yourself a little bit and not drink or take drinks from boys, for they might have different motives than you do when they do this. It was as if nothing happened at all. I had to get ointment for the poison oak. Nothing. No comments, no concerns. Just tight lips and no help.

Back at school, Joe wouldn't talk to me about what happened. I asked him what went on, and he just said, Ann, you were totally drunk. You were eating dirt. I said, I was eating dirt?! He said no, I mean that figuratively. I went, oh, I couldn't stand up or walk straight ... then that explains the scrape on my forehead ... and the poison oak. Joe just walked away. More silence. I wasn't the one who supplied the liquor! It didn't matter. Joe wouldn't talk to me. I tried getting info from his friends, who I thought were my friends, too. Nothing. The most I got was out of Casey, who said, Ann, you were really drunk. Joe came and got me to help ... You just puked all night. That was it. All night. Just you puking.

So, as I write this now, I laugh at the image of this trainwreck of a date. In all honesty, this is the first time I have ever laughed about this night. I have, for all these years, harbored immense anger at Joe. Oh, I've read the positive psychology books and tried the think happy thoughts clinics. I've told myself to let it go. I thought I had. And it's not like I think about it every day ... but when I do think about it ... it was kind of a date rape attmept. Right? Get her drunk to get a little? How shitty is that? How tragic is that? Sadly, it's a standard operating procedure for a lot of guys. Especially where I come from.

This is what I got thinking about last night; and I realized how badly I needed to let this go. Holding on to the anger was doing me absolutely no good - but how do I let it go? I realized the reason I wasn't calling Matt is because I WAS still harboring a lot of anger about this. And maybe, it's part of why I keep the weight on, as well; a sort of hope that there has to be a point where I get so heavy that no one will try to take advantage of me. Ever. Again.

However, once I got looking at it, really looking at my life and my experiences, I realized Joe wasn't the only guy who fed me drinks and then tried to get a little. Joe was the only one who I got angry about over it. And I realized, the reason that Joe's crime was more offensive than the others' is because ... I didn't expect that kind of behavior out of him. The other guys, I was surprised that they did that to me, but I wasn't surprised that they would do something like that. I felt betrayed and hurt when these guys made their attempts when I was inebriated ... but they had kind of douche bag tendencies any way. Joe wasn't a douche. Or at least I thought.

As I drove last night, trying to clear my angry heart and head, I conjured up images of hurts from the past. I started looking at my own culpability in those occurences. As I look back, there were about five guys I knew from my home town who pulled similar stunts on me. These guys hadn't fed me the drinks, they just tried stuff after I was good and drunk. One guy even did it when I was passed out. I woke up after a night of all of us old friends partying together at a friends house to him sucking on my tits. When I stirred and found him there, he just kind of slunk off me, laid down on the floor, and acted like he was sleeping. He was a neighbor of mine, was in good ol' 4-H with me. I never confronted him about that. His slinking off without a word seemed to tell me that he wasn't up for that conversation.

I remember talking at my college job about that experience; that experience of being passed out and waking up to find a guy in essence diddling me. I told it in the classic "my friend had this happen to her" point of view. One of the guys that worked there was in his 30s, and when I said how appalling I thought it was of this guy to do that to "my friend", he defended the guy. Your friend was stupid for getting drunk and NOT expecting a guy to do that, he stated. I was shocked. I said, why is she unsafe? What gives the guy the right to think he can even do that? Where is the guy's responsibility? He said you can't expect a guy to NOT do that; your friend is the one to blame for being passed out at a party. I just remember thinking, wow - he and his wife had just had a son, and I remember looking at the picture of that sweet little baby, and wondering what he was going to be taught about what it means to be a man.

Long story still long, as I drove last night, I was finally able to let go of that hurt and anger. I forgave the guys for being taught horrible, um, interpersonal skills (?). I forgave Joe for pulling a trick that other guys I'm sure told him would work. And I forgave myself for having to learn the hard way. To me, getting drunk was just a fun way to let loose. I never ever thought I was putting myself in danger. I now know better, even if it has taken me about 20 years for the lesson to sink in. Strangely, as I look back on that night, me getting as drunk as I did probably was a bizarre protection of sorts - it's hard to go all the way with somebody who's puking.

In my forgiving these acts, I am not AT ALL saying I condone the behavior. I also am not saying I condone my part in these acts. However, that belief that the guy has to get the girl when she's not thinking clearly is definitely in the water where I come from. Everyone just accepts it as fact.

I like to think that this is all part of our evolution as human beings. I like to think that we will grow out of teaching our boys that they have to trick girls to be with them, and that we will grow out of teaching our girls that they have to accept it. At least, I hope so. You might have had completely opposite teachings in your upbringing ... my hope is that it will all shake out in the end to two things: love and kindness. And that's all. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

The Devil and The Corn Refiners Association

This morning I was watching some news stories online, which instantly discredits this entry, I know. After the story about the standing cat, and before the one about the Kardashian Diet, was an interview that a trusted news show conducted with a man who believes sugar needs to be a regulated drug.

It was no secret that the reporter thought this guy was full of shit. And to prove the guy was full of shit, the reporter showed the counterpoint to his argument. Fair enough. That would be called good, balanced reporting. What I have a concern with is that he used The Corn Refiners Association as his counterpoint source.

What would any logical person do if they needed information on the physiological effects of a food on the body? Well, probably talk with a few more doctors, some nutritionists. Maybe even people who have personally been heavy and ask them what they did to lose the weight and keep it off.

This reporter, however, used the Corn Refiners Association as his source.

Anybody think the Corn Refiners Association would p o s s i b l y have a vested interest in assuring the public that their product is safe?

They're not evil, I'm not saying that. I'm just asking that people start living their own lives. Testing things on their own. Making their own decisions based on their own experiences. We can have people debate all day and all night whether or not sugar is "bad." I can't say that it is. For me personally, I have found that I perform better and more clearly without it. Have I completely stopped eating it yet? No. It's not completely out of my diet yet. We hang out less, but I haven't completely kicked him out of my life. But I have realized he might not be as good to me as he's claimed to be. As with people, so too in our relationships with food. Sometimes it takes a while to realize the relationship has no substance. But it gets found out eventually.

Just think. That's all I'm saying. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Bells; Southern and Taco

Two quick things:

I went to Kentucky with my friend Mike last week. He is moving there and it might be correlated to this but I have been eating like a mad woman. I am back up to 240 pounds. I feel my body trying to figure out where to pile up some of this extra poundage. It seems it is deciding to put a layer of fat onto my neck. I can feel extra fat on my neck; specifically on the front where if I had an Adam's Apple it would be. I feel so huge.

The trip to Louisville, KY, with Mike was interesting. He was looking at apartments, and most of the building manager's were women.

A born and raised yankee, I have never had much respect for Southern women. My stereotype of them is that they are manipulative and treacherous. They are thin but they do it just out of insecurity. They are weak. They are tragic. Sorry, South. But that how I've seen you.

As we interacted with these women, two things jumped out at me. Our first building manager was a young black girl, around 20 something. She was very cute, thin, she had the fake Loius Vuitton purse that is so common for girls in Chicago to carry, too.

What struck me about her was her accent. She talked in a cute, Southern drawl. Hey, ya'll, where ya'll movin' from? Wayell, I think ya'll will like it down here. Yes, that's right. Ya'll can choose the first or the second floor plan.

I. Have. Never. Heard. A. Black. Person. Talk. Like. That. My experience has only had two accents: Northern White, like the Newscasters speak, and Inner City Black. I've never heard a black person speak with a southern drawl.

It occured to me that speech is random, and different regions put different values on different accents. It seemed to me that down here in the south, speaking with a southern accent was Proper Speech. In the rest of the country, not so much, but there, it was business appropriate.

The next place we went to, there was another girl in her twenties showing Mike apartments. She was about a size 4; maybe a size 6, but I'd place her in a size 4. She was dishwater blond, wearing black dress pants, a pale blue shirt, a matching pale blue cardigan, and black beaded necklace and bracelet. What struck me most was here shoes - she looked all professional, and then had on these black, strappy heels. They couldn't be comfortable to be showing apartments in all day long. But they looked sexy. That was for sure - they added a bit of sass to an overall conservative outfit.

Between the cute black girl, who was also about a size 4 or 6, and this girl, I suddenly had a new respect for Southern women. It occured to me that for them, staying fit and in shape is part of being a woman in their culture. Being sexy was expected of a woman, it was part of the deal. In my culture - I'm not saying the North in general, I'm saying in the upbringing that I had - only trampy girls were thin and attractive and wore strappy heels to work. Only girls that were "asking for it" wore such things to work. Only slutty girls made men feel the discomfort that comes from seeing a beautiful woman. And a beautiful woman causes discomfort, not joy. A beautiful woman causes competition. A beautiful woman causes pain.

But not in the South. I could feel an edge to both of these women who had helped us, a deep and sincere kindness in each of their hearts. But also, a distance, an arms distance between us. Not that I'm expecting building managers to be hugging us and inviting us out for the evening. It was just something I sensed, a sort of strength of self-protection. I found it interesting. I thought, hm. Maybe I need to live in The South for a while so I can learn this skill of staying thin. For it was definitely in the air, it seemed to me. The expectation of a woman to stay thin and beautiful floated all around us. Not like up north here, where once you get married you can let yourself go. It was an interesting experience.

Then, I have been letting myself to continue eating what I want. I am simply not able to eat the same things. I bought two desserts for Easter - a fresh fruit tart, and a flourless chocolate cake. Interesting to note: I tried eating the tart, which had a pastry base and a custard filling, topped with fresh fruits. Had one bite, and knew I'd end up wheezing and allergic from the custard. Ate the flourless chocolate cake with fresh cut up strawberries. No reaction at all. Later in the day, we ordered a pizza. No more thick, bready crusts for me. Where I used to be all about Pizza Hut's pan pizza, we ordered their thin crust. It was really good. As we ate it, and I couldn't even eat more than two peices, it occured to me that I might be ready for this raw food life and making pizzas from all natural ingredients. It was a good feeling. It's taken me a long time to run through all my eating, but I think I might be there. Now I just have to figure out how to bring this in as wellness captain. It can be done. Now let's get out there and do it?