Skip to main content

Bloggy Blog #44

   The other night, I had big dreams I was going to take better control of my awful eating habits.This always begins with emails from my parents. What's interesting is that during their emails, they never mention food. It's a topic that simply never comes up. But, I know what's in their kitchen. I know it's full of packaged nonsense with preservatives and sodium and every possible loaf of bread imaginable, all of it mostly jammed into the refrigerator. My parent's fridge is one of great legend. Friends and lovers are always told amazing tales of the fridge's far-reaching depths of foodstuffs packed to the brim. Unfortunately, it is packed to the brim with utter nonsense. Foods they don't need and loads of dairy products that make my intestines rumble just thinking about it. The fruitless endeavor of trying to get them to change their diets goes in one ear and right out the other. And while I'm not about that packed fridge life, its existence alone reaffirms the foolish habits I need to break.

I like to think my insides aren't in terrible shape. I take in vegetables on occasion. Peanut butter. Opt for the wheat bread. A decent amount of water as well. But I often feel like a sloth. This could be for a variety of reasons. Delicious turkey sausage breakfast patties, egg whites, and cheese sandwich just about every morning. One patty, maybe two if I'm feeling bold. Midday, a stupid bag of chips. Jalapeno maybe. Doritos? They're all the same. I don't usually have an actual lunch, so that's a plus right? Totally just eliminating a meal should count as something.

I've managed to narrow down my problem to evening meals and beverages. I can never decide if I want to try and make something healthy, or just order something hastily made and deeply regret it afterward. Lately I have found myself not too hungry at night, but more around five in the afternoon. That time frame comes brazenly close to when my parents eat dinner. So to make myself feel better, I am now calling my late-afternoon meal my lunch. It's for the best. Especially considering I stay up late as it is, I need some sort of buffer.

However, this still does not solve my late-night conundrum. What will I shove into my face? I'm already piling on the calories I'm sure with all the beers and vodka tonics available, but I need something better than that. Something to absorb all those liquids for safety. My plan for the other night was a simple one - I would stir-fry some vegetables and toss on a few whole wheat noodles for texture or some dumb crap like that. Zap on a little peanut sauce and voila. It was all right there, all bought and stored right on the cutting board until that grand moment of food preparation captured my slightly buzzed mind. What would it take - twenty, thirty minutes tops? I'll have to boil noodles. Goddamnit where's the damn pot? I'll also need a strainer too I guess. Shit, that needs to be washed. Well look, the pan is all clean, I can just toss the vegetables into it and give it a whirl. Wait, who used all the stir-fry sauce? What the hell. No peanut sauce now? It's cold outside, I don't want to put real pants on.



In the end, there was much success as I finally got to eat. And there was just enough pizza for hungover breakfast the next morning.

Popular posts from this blog

Bloggy Blog #84

The first time I visited, I had to park across the street in the lot of an abandoned gas station. The lot itself went up a slight hill, and the station's sign would occasionally spin some slow turns whenever the town spirits wanted to have some fun.  She lived in a questionably constructed building on the second floor of this sleepy Revolutionary War town, adjacent to a craft store that was hardly ever open. In the basement sat a four-lane bowling alley and a small bar. It was by appointment only, which really meant the building's landlord had to be there to serve drinks and keep an eye on the action. I didn't get a chance to bowl down there, but seeing the construction of the building, this was probably a good thing. When she moved out of her place, part of the process involved placing a three-foot wide plank over the bowling alley basement stairs, in order to move big furniture out. Needless to say she left the heavy lifting to the moving experts.  The new plac...

Bloggy Blog #17

     From 2001-03, I called the northwest corner of Louisiana my home. My initial foray into the real world was met with a trip halfway across the country - a trip that consisted of a thirty-six hour bus ride (with plenty of transfers in sketchy towns in between) and a friend in Little Rock who took me the rest of the way to the Pelican State. Prior to this, my only moment spent in the state was interviewing for the position. That was early June, where I hopped aboard a couple planes and was whisked away to campus for hours upon hours of interrogation. The interview process wasn't really that bad, but what was bad was my ill-fated idea to take a walk around campus shortly after the interview ended. I was drenched in sweat upon my return, completely oblivious that the humidity there stuck around much longer than it did back in upstate New York. Regardless, I was in love. I was in love with this idea of continuing (starting, maybe?) my life elsewhere. The first few weeks...

Bloggy Blog #19

    I was, to put it mildly, an absolutely disgusting high school cross-country runner. No, disgusting is not slang for good. I mean bad. Real bad. A teammate - who wasn't a very proficient runner himself - often competed in what appeared to be casual street shoes or cross trainers. During some races I finished behind him. This happened for a variety of reasons, none of which have to do with him probably being a better runner than me. The most critical reason why I often found myself in the middle or close to the end of the pack of meet competitors is the fact that at some point during the races, I just stopped caring. I mentally shut down. Gave up. Waved a white flag. Why the hell am I even here? , I'd ask myself. Literally hundreds of runners have passed me already, and I'm barely halfway through. There may have been a race or two where I actually stopped running once we got into the woods and knew there was no chance of anyone seeing me. I'd walk a couple steps,...