Smoothie Gone Awry

Back from family-land and in the mood to detoxify and nourish my body, I decided to get uber-creative with smoothie-making tonight. The brilliant idea: use tomatoes! Now why hadn’t I thought of that before? (Wait and see). I mixed half a box of cherry tomatoes, some frozen raspberries, a little OJ, yogurt, and a banana, and at first it seemed fabulous. The consistency was smooth, it tasted great, and it was a lovely pink color.

However, 15 minutes later, the world was less rosy and unexpectedly gelatinous. While I had been innocently talking on the phone, getting ready to savor my creation, my smoothie, which had flowed beautifully out of the blender, had gradually solidified into a gelatinous pink lump that looked suspiciously as if it was on the verge of curdling. I stuck my finger in it to test the viscosity and got a jiggling mauve lump of gunk on my chest for my trouble. How in god’s name did that happen?

The culprit is clearly the tomatoes. I’ve used OJ, yogurt, bananas, and frozen berries many times before in smoothies and have never created an inadvertent jello mold. Take it from me, if you’re in the smoothie mood and you get the urge to use tomatoes, fight it. The results are less than appetizing.

Turkeys: Before The Table

I don’t eat meat. It used to be for health reasons, but now it’s mainly because I literally cannot stomach the cruelty perpetuated against animals in the industries that prepare them to become food. My personal view is that we all have a responsibility to understand what happens to animals before they wind up as carcasses on our dinner plates, and it’s also my belief that if more people were aware of the poor treatment that animals receive they would work to make the system more humane – so at least if humans must eat animals, we can do so in a way that minimizes the pain caused to them.

If you are interested, check out the below video, filmed by an undercover investigator from PETA. It’s short and not as informative as some of PETA’s other videos, but it gives you a sense for the kind of senseless cruelty that turkeys are exposed to while waiting to be slaughtered. If they have to die, they should at least be treated with dignity and compassion. After all, if giants invaded the world and started eating us, wouldn’t you want to be treated – at a bare minimum – with dignity and compassion?

Dill Pickles

What’s the deal with Dill Pickles having zero calories? How is it possible that cucumbers and vinegar have ZERO calories? Are they bad for you? Good for you?

On binge eating, I was talking with my friend today and she said that she doesn’t keep food in the house in order to not binge eat. I asked her, “No food? None whatsoever?” It seemed somewhat radical to me, but also elegant in its simplicity. It’s true that if there was no food in the house, you wouldn’t binge eat because it would be impossible to do so.

Maybe I’ve been looking at this eating issue from the completely wrong perspective. I’ve been asking myself questions like “Why am I doing this?,” and “What can I binge on that is not unhealthy?” I pretty much know the answer to the first question, and asking the second question basically makes me an enabler.

My Black Dress

What do you do when you come home at night after a very long day to relax? When it’s just you, you’re hungry but you’re too tired to eat, and you’re totally key-ed up by a day filled with stress?

It’s hard for me to relax during the week, and especially at the end of a really long day. Even if I’ve gone out and had fun, it’s still hard to wind down when I come home. Sometimes I knit, which is relaxing. On occasion, when Rumi is gone, I have baths, which I enjoy.

But, lately, for the past couple of months, I’ve gotten into the terrible habit of munching. Munch, munch, munch on anything and everything. Salt, sweet, creamy, crunchy – nothing is exactly what I want, or everything is what I want, and I hope from one snack to the next completely unsatisfied.

At my worst, I stop when my TV shows are over or I feel sick.

I can’t believe I just wrote that, but it’s true. I’m way beyond not stopping when I’m full; I only stop when I feel sick. It only happens at night, when I’m stressed and I have been going, going, going.

I’ve been going back and forth with this issue for a while now – the issue being this thing with food that has become a problem of late (i.e. when I realized I had gained between 7-10 pounds and was definitely not as skinny or fit as I used to be). At first I thought it would just work itself out. Then I tried a diet, started internally rebelling, and messed myself up more. Then I got off the diet, felt better, and was sure that things would work themselves out. But, now I’ve realized that the late-night munching thing is yet another expression of this same problem.

It hit me forcefully last night when I went to try on this beautiful black satin dress that I had worn once a few years ago to a black-tie event. It’s a gorgeous dress and I still remember how the sales girls oooh-ed and aah-ed over me when I tried it on in the dressing room. Well, last night I couldn’t even zip the dang thing up. The unforgiving satin showed clearly where I had gained weight on my hips and butt. Just when I was thinking I should start embracing being a bit curvier, seeing how much I’ve changed from what I used to be made me sad.

The fact is, I don’t want to be curvy. I want to be tight, thin, and strong. I know that eating at night and eating unhealthy things is definitely contributing to this food/weight issue. I know it, but I haven’t been able to change it.

I haven’t wanted to change because it feels like I would be depriving myself of something good – the taste of chocolate, ice cream, etc. But, looking at that dress riding up on my hips, having to suck in my stomach to get the zipper to fasten all the way, it was inescapable that my bad habits are depriving me of something as well.

I guess I have to decide what I value more: sweet things and the food coma that comes with eating too much or feeling good about myself and being able to wear my old clothes with confidence. It seems like the latter would be a no-brainer. It’s so clear that it’s mind boggling to me why I’m even having this issue.

What, pray tell is my problem? If I’m really eating as a way to self-medicate, I need to figure out the underlying issue and resolve it. If not for me, then for that black dress. It’s far too beautiful to never be worn again.

Artwork Found Here

Excellent Evening

Today was a good day because… I went running. I motivated and left work at a little after 6 pm, and then ran for over 4 miles. I’m psyched. I’ve noticed that though it’s sometimes hard to make myself go to the gym, usually once I’m there and running I end up feeling great. It’s probably the endorphins, but I think it’s also just being proud of myself for motivating. While I’m running I’m also aware of my body in a way that I’m not throughout most of the day, and that awareness usually leads to an appreciation of its strength, and how cool it is that my body can do things like run 4 miles. It makes me want to nurture and care for it and feed it lots of protein and green leafy vegetables (not fudgsicles).

I think women, including me, need to do that more, think about why they should love and value their bodies, as opposed to focusing on what’s wrong with them. I don’t spend enough time valuing my body for everything that’s great about it and treating it the way I should. It’s a superb machine and it needs certain things to function at an optimum level, and too often I deprive it of nutrients and feed it semi-toxic things like sugar (and spoonfuls of peanut butter).

After I went running, I stopped by Origins and bought plantidote face serum because I really digg Dr. Weil and all of his mushroom-based potions. One of the new things I saw there today that I want to try some time are mini herb flavored honey-ies. So cute, and I love that honey can be so beneficial for the body. Yum. After Origins, I went to a little boutique for some more hanky panky undies. I’ve decided to throw away almost all of my other underwear because all I wear anymore is hanky panky. The rest of my undies just sit in a pile smushed together in the pack of my drawer. They need to be pruned. It’s on my list, as is purging my closet of any piece of clothing that I haven’t worn for the past year. Egads! I don’t know if I can do it, but it’s on the list.

Another thing that made me happy today was that I bought a “calm to your senses” lavender and vanilla scented candle at Origins. I lit it in my bedroom and then went downstairs to make dinner. An hour later, when I went back upstairs, my room smelled amazing! So luscious and relaxing. I love it. Every time I light candles, it makes me happy. I think it also makes me feel calmer and more at peace. I need to remember to light candles more often. It’s a nice way to really be in the moment.

Photo by Buttercup – Garden in Millennium Park, Chicago

Issues Galore

BC: Hi, My name is Buttercup and this is not a cry for help.

Peanut Gallery: Hi Buttercup!

BC: Today, I went to an after-work cocktail event and I had two glasses of wine and lots of green jelly beans (they were free and lying around everywhere). Immediately after downing my second glass of wine, I jumped into a cab and headed uptown for therapy.

Peanut Gallery: Ohhh…

BC: I was buzzed which was bad enough, but what was even worse was that at the event I had played a game and won a huge bottle of organic vodka. It was organic! So, not only did I show up at therapy buzzed, but I was also carrying a large bottle of vodka with me. My therapist asked whether it was a cry for help.

Peanut Gallery: Was it?

BC: No! I told Therapist that of course it wasn’t a cry for help; my issue is food, not alcohol. Duh. But, then a few minutes later I started to cry and Therapist asked me whether I was going to remember our discussion tomorrow. I reminded her that I had only had two glasses of wine and told her that I was way less inebriated than she seemed to think I was. The problem is that in those situations any attempts at denial just make you look worse.

Peanut Gallery: *collectively nodding sagely*

BC: Therapist tried to get me back on track by asking me what had been kicked up for me related to food during the past few weeks that had made me start rebelling. I summoned all my powers of focus and tried to think of all the things I had been thinking I should tell Therapist during the last few days. I ended up telling therapist that I felt sad and like I had no one in the universe who was there for just me. *glaring at Peanut Gallery*

Peanut Gallery: What? Continue.

BC: I told Therapist, after warning her several times that I was about to tell her the most corny thing she had ever heard, about a story I had read somewhere – perhaps some Buddhist script or possibly some random piece of internet trash – that explains the struggle of human existence like this: Each soul is born with half of a heart and spends their life longing for and seeking their other half. I said -

Peanut Gallery: Yes?

BC: I said that sometimes that theory on human existence, suffering, and love made sense to me. Sometimes, I feel like I’m missing something. Sometimes, I feel more powerfully than other times that I would like someone to be there just for me, and I would like to be that someone for someone else.

Peanut Gallery: Um hmm…

BC: We talked some more about dating, and food issues, and how at the moment – possibly exacerbated by the fact that alcohol is a depressant – I felt sad and wanted to binge on chocolate. Therapist suggested that perhaps I could weigh whether the value I would get from binging was worth it to me. She also suggested that I consider calling someone I love as I had just talked about the importance of connecting with those I care about, and how relationships are the most important things in life.

Peanut Gallery: And?

BC: So, I muttered that I would think about it, gathered my resolve, felt ridiculous for contemplating a drunken binge immediately after therapy, left the building cradling my enormous bottle of vodka, and called Bean. We talked for 40 minutes, and it was good and we laughed a lot, and then my phone died. Then, I had some frozen grapes which made my teeth hurt. But, I didn’t have chocolate because I didn’t need it because Bean had made me feel better.

Peanut Gallery: Good work.

BC: Eh.

Me and My Rebellious Alter Ego Are Free!

My tortured attempt at a six-week weightloss program has finally come to an end. What a relief. I had my last my appointment with my nutritionist yesterday and it went something like this (similar to how it had gone the last 4 weeks):

Nutritionist: How did you do?

BC: Bad. I cheated almost every day, didn’t write anything down, and just had a big lunch with dessert. I also had wine last night, a brownie, and pinkberry late at night, and the night before had 3 Bacardi and diet cokes.

Nutritionist: (smiling and at a loss) BC, Really?

I weighed myself with slight trepidation, knowing that I did not feel “skinny,” and confirmed that feeling when the scale flashed 135 in big, glowing, red numbers. That’s about 5 pounds less then when I started the diet, and about 7 pounds more than I ultimately want to weigh. It didn’t phase me that much because over the weekend I had been consistently weighing 131 pounds (does anyone else’s body fluctuate so dramatically?). The nutritionist congratulated me on losing 5 pounds (and for what we think is really more like 7 as a result of random weight fluctuations and temporary water/waste weight gain), and then we started talking about why I had not been sticking to the diet. Because, seriously, I was the worst on this diet. The. Worst. Em says I was the “problem child” of the program and she’s right.

I got several positive things out of the program. I lost some extra weight, got back in the gym, started thinking about what I was eating, and came up with some healthy options for meals and snacks. But, in causing me to really think about what I was eating and why, the program also pushed pretty much every single food issue I have out onto the table. Food issues have dominated my last four therapy sessions, and have also been the source of innumerable conversations with friends of late. On the program, I developed a number of unhealthy habits such as weighing myself approximately 7 times a day and thinking about weight and calories all the time.

I also started to rebel, massively. My wilful fudgsicle consumption is a perfect example of my blatant rebellion. I didn’t even try to stop myself from eating the entire box. I just did it because I wanted to and someone had told me not to. Someone also told me I couldn’t eat wine, fun alcoholic drinks, chocolate, candy, chickpeas, peas, beets, sugar, carrots, or too much soy, and I didn’t like that.

Last week, my nutritionist told me to completely cut out sodium. Her instructions were very clear: NO SALT. That was a Wednesday. Do you know what I did on Thursday? I made myself a large bowl of air-popped popcorn with 1 tblsp butter, salt, curry powder, and cayenne pepper (Indian-style, the way I like it) and ate it for dinner. I was craving salt like mad and it was absolutely delicious. I also didn’t overeat or make myself sick so it was totally fine. I brought this up to my nutritionist yesterday and she kind of sighed and smiled again, and then admitted that a bowl of air-popped popcorn and a mango (I had also had a mango) was a low-calorie meal and that “once in a while” it was fine (at which point the ravenous, scary, and super intense 16 year old inside of me jumped up and started shaking her fist, threatening to eat air-popped popcorn ALL THE TIME!!!).

Shortly after I told her the air-popped popcorn story, the nutritionist asked me, seemingly out of a genuine sense of curiosity, “Do these rebellion issues come up everywhere in your life, or only in food?” Good question, right? I’m still thinking about it, but I told her, and I think it’s right, that the rebellion issues only come up with food. And, even with respect to food, they’re a new thing. Before, I used to eat pints of ice cream on occasion as a reward, to procrastinate, or because I was depressed, but as an act of open rebellion (against who?), no. In fact, I can’t remember ever using food to rebel before I started this diet.

(Which is making me ponder whether and to what extent I’ve rebelled in other areas in my past, but I’m going to have to save that for another post).

This whole development (although I’m sure it relates positively to my emotional and psychological growth as a human being) of using food to rebel, is somewhat unfortunate. This diet seems to have unleashed this rebellious force within me, a force in the form of a 16-year-old alter ego who’s balanced on a razor sharp edge between silence and impassioned and indignant rage, who goes ballistic at the faintest whisper of deprivation or grumble of hunger, who can not be controlled, who bristles at the idea of control and wants to ram it down the throat of whomever it is she identifies as attempting to exert the control, who has the power to stomp all over my rules and efforts at self-restraint with her grit-encrusted combat boots, and who can eviscerate my willpower with a single, defiant glance. It’s funny how food raises control issues, isn’t it?

I’m hoping my alter ego won’t feel so put upon now that the diet is over, now that there’s not a nutritionist telling her what to do, or the specter of a weekly weigh-in to piss her off. However, I’m slightly worried that she’ll continue to feel rebellious and will, in the absence of the nutritionist, see me (and the parts of me that want to be healthy and focused), as the last remaining enemy on the block. She’s powerful and if she wants to go to war, I’m pretty sure she’ll win. If she wants me to be all rolley-poley and filled with chocolate, so be it. My only hope is that I think she rather likes it when we’re all strong and skinny, and feeling sexy and good. I think we want the same things… But, maybe not. Maybe she just wants to eat fudgsicles all day. I really have no idea. She’s a mystery.

Time will tell. But, for the moment, I think I’m as relieved as she is that we’re done with the stupid diet. Yay!

Fake Crab

Do you know what imitation crab meat is made of?

According to Ask Yahoo!, imitation crab meat (which I just ate in my salad for lunch) is made of Alaskan Pollack fish which is skinned, deboned, ground into a thick paste, and then combined with the following ingredients: Sugar, sorbitol, wheat or tapioca starch, egg whites, vegetable or soybean oil, (for form), natural and artificial crab flavorings, carmine, caramel, paprika, and annatto extract (for color). It’s ridiculously high in sodium.

I can’t believe I thought I was picking a healthy lean protein choice. I suppose the “imitation” part of the imitation crab meat should have tipped me off.

I’m supremely grossed out.

Date Antidote For Chocolate Addicted Personality Disorder ("CAPD")

Wow, thanks for all the support and great ideas about my apartment! I can see that the black mold really freaked y’all out. Me too! You guys truly are the best. I love and appreciate all of your comments so much. Thank you!! Candyminx, I’m totally buying a mini-pedicure tub. Awesome idea.

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This past weekend was so-so. It limped by on Saturday, owing in part to the fact that I completely and catastrophically BINGED Friday night and was still in a food coma and too ill to rouse myself into action on Saturday. OK, so it wasn’t “catastrophic.” I mean that’s being a little dramatic. It was however 12 fudgsicles, some cottage cheese, blueberries, and a pile of cherries. Twelve Fudgsicles! And you thought eight was bad!!

Actually, after just re-reading that post, I, err, don’t think I even told you I had eaten 8 in an earlier binge. Dang it. Well, the truth is out now. As I said, fudgsicles should come with a warning label. A huge one, similar to the skull and cross bones that the Senator in “Thank You For Smoking” wanted to put on the front of cigarette packages. Except the skull and cross bones should be an obese person who is at least 800 pounds, like a “Feedie,” who has sacks of flesh hanging down their legs pooling around their ankles. Or better yet, that naked guy from the Borat movie who rolled around the bed with Borat and gave me an image of what some men look like that I’m still trying in vain to forget.

So… I binged and I don’t know why. I had had a great week, a good day, and had just come from seeing the Bourne Ultimatum with Em (it was AWESOME by the way). Life was good, I was craving something sweet, and after foregoing my usual junior mints at the movies I felt like I deserved something sweet. I was feeling so good and strong that I conned myself into thinking that I could handle buying a box of fudgsicles and eating just one.

Hah! I showed Me! To Me’s horror, I ate the whole box. That’ll show Me next time she thinks about tempting us like that. Humph.

… But, that’s not the whole truth. It’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth. The whole truth is that in addition to feeling happy and good about myself, I was also feeling just the slightest bit … discouraged about other things in my life. I was feeling a tad blue. It was Friday night, I was home by 12:30 am, had no one to snuggle with, my friends were all going out of town for the weekend, and me with no date for Saturday night. Need I say more? It’s funny how your feelings can ping-pong around so rapidly from one day to the next, or maybe that’s just me?

Anyway, why did I not leave town with my friends, you ask? Why did I not have a date for Saturday night? In response to the first question, I could have left the city and gone to the Hamptons or out to Long Island but I didn’t want to. Instead, I wanted to stay in the city, get some good rest, and go running in Central Park both days. I was really tired from last week and needed to chill. I also didn’t want to eat a lot of junk, and I didn’t want to get trashed. My intentions were pure, productive, and positive. It’s in the actions that everything fell apart.

Now, on to the second question, the date-less issue. I suppose there are many reasons why a relatively good-looking and fairly spectacular human being like myself would not have a date on a Saturday night. I mean, I’m only in this boat with thousands of fantastic women all over New York (and the rest of the country). A lot of the reasons have to do with the fact that this 32-year old has standards, isn’t into meaningless hook-ups, divides men into the kissable and non-kissable category and in the past has only gone out with the former, refrains from dating cocky male-chauvinist pigs, and would rather be alone then spend her time with someone she wasn’t interested in.

Putting those reasons aside, the two other main reasons I didn’t have a date last Saturday night were that (1) I had been putting my dating energy into texting with a dashing though unavailable 42-year old who’s currently living in California, and (2) I had refrained from seriously considering going out with anyone from Match.com, mainly because all of the internet prospects were dull, old, totally incompatible, or not cute at all (and I was crushing on IP – the dashing 42-year old).

Now that I’ve dragged you through this tortured post about binging and boys, allow me to leave you with something positive. This week, I decided things were going to be different. I am not going to be a slave to my ping-ponging emotions, and I am not going to drown my sorrows in fudgsicles, at least not for another month. Instead, I resolved this afternoon that this was the week that I was going to go on a date with some lucky gentleman from Match.com. Yep, this week’s the week.

As of two hours ago, I had 2 dates set up, one for tomorrow night, and the second one for Friday, and I’m angling for a third. The best part of all of this is that all three guys, at least from their pictures, emails, and profiles seem cute, interesting, and relatively cool. Maybe they do exist in cyberspace?

Take that fudgsicles! Take that Me! We’re going on 2 dates, maybe 3. You’re sneaky, but even you couldn’t find the time to binge on that schedule.

Running, Explosions, and Ani

As you could probably tell by the infrequency of my posts last week, I’ve been incredibly busy. I miss my blog! I miss you all! Mostly, the busy-ness is related to work. I’m doing all these things I’ve never done before and there’s a steep learning curve. At my new firm, it’s like I’m a real lawyer! Insanity.

After finally finishing my work this afternoon, I went for an awesome run around the reservoir in Central Park. There’s a 1.57 mile loop that goes around the reservoir and I did it THREE times for a grand total of 4.7 miles! After a week of stress-related, late-night binging on creative peanut butter concoctions and tamari roasted almonds, I was incredibly proud of myself for going on the run. Running outside is so much better than running on a treadmill inside a stinky gym.

Now that I’m done with my work, I finally have a chance to post about the Ani concert. It was AWESOME! Awesome, awesome, awesome. She freakin‘ rocked. I almost didn’t go because, as you might have heard, there was an explosion in Manhattan the night of the concert, and it happened two buildings away from mine. That was some nerve-wracking craziness, but thankfully it wasn’t a terrorist attack, and it didn’t prevent the cabbies from driving to Brooklyn.

Because of the explosion, I got to the show late and missed most of the opening acts. However, I made it in time for Ani and that’s really all that mattered. Standing around on my own before Ani came on, in a sea of dread-locked hair, pierces, patchouli, and girls caressing one another, I felt a little out of place and just the tiny-est bit lonely. I’m no longer a college kid with hippy-esque leanings; I’m a boring lawyer. Sometimes, I think that I might be one of the “Napoleons” of Ani’s songs; not really, and not on the inside, but I certainly must appear to be that way on the surface at times. None of my friends had wanted to go to the concert, so I had to go on my own, and I think those kind of things – like most things, probably – are more fun shared.

But, the minute Ani took the stage, all of those feelings were banished, and I was overcome with a sense of exhilaration and excitement to be seeing her perform again. Her guitar sounded fierce, her vocals were incredible, and she peppered her set with the usual bits of laughter and stories in between songs. Watching her up there, I was so happy that I had made the decision to go to the concert. One of the things I love about her is the sense of joy she brings to her performances, songs, and commentary, even while singing or talking about profoundly serious issues, such as our infamous President, the state of the world, war, poverty, and issues of race and gender. She’s constantly giggling. She sees humour and irony amidst pain and sadness, and that’s inspiring.

While the show was going on, I texted myself the playlist and will post that later. The show sparked a lot of feelings and thoughts that I also plan to post about, but at another time. I’m still letting them percolate. One thing I learned at the concert that I had not known is that Ani recently gave birth. How awesome is that? Thirteen years after first listening to her music, I still have a mad girl-crush on her. I hope she’s happy. She deserves nothing less.

* * *

By the way, the picture above, which was taken at a different concert than the one that I went to, shows a shot of Ani’s fingers wrapped in black electric tape. That’s how hard she rocks; she plays so intensely that she has to wrap her fingers in electric tape to keep from shredding them against her guitar strings. That’s pretty much one of the most bad-ass things ever.