Monday, December 05, 2005

No time for second thoughts

It is beyond stereotype to consider this town as "body conscious." I guess it's one thing that pleases the locals as we fight on each day - that for every hungry person who's pressing novelty-sized chocolate-filled candy canes to their ample bosom at Sav-On Drugs, there's another who could just as well be a hooker, or a hooker's friend, or a hooker's roommate, looking through the aisles, confused as hell, not wanting anyone to know. Sorry, honey, we don't sell chicken broth. But it's this ying and yang that keeps things even.

Myself? Well, I had a father who slowly ballooned as time wore on as my motivation. As he finished plate two of Salmon Loaf, I'd be told "You know, I used to be slim like you." And it made no sense, this food logic: eat what's on your plate. Each and every walking log cabin is rip and roar to tell stories of "when I grew up" and how you had 12 war babies around you and there was one spring goose in the middle and if you didn't eat your Farina, by god, some other scamp would. Fine. Posty, you can eat my chicken skin. I don't care. I'm full.

Self-imposed rules do you absolutely no good when you don't live by them. A buddy had to hit that shithole Bob's Big Boy for a slice of their chocolate fudge cake. He made it sound like a big deal, but truth be told, he eats like he's about to get the firing squad in 10 minutes. So there I sit, looking at a greasy menu, knowing I'm not hungry in any way. Well, a scoop of ice cream with hot fudge can't be bad, right? That's not much. And it was, of course. This was a serving size for someone who sweats when they sleep. I didn't even finish it.

Sure enough, round 12:30AM, I take a big dump. Whew, now I feel better. Uh oh...it's warm in here. And then, sure enough, my brain told me those sad, sad words.

"You know, this is coming back."

No. No no no no no. Shit. (Honk) MY LIFE SUCKS I HATE THIS AGHGHGH FUCKING FOOD AHGHGH I'M NEVER EATING AGAIN.

Tiny Dancer was disgusted but not disgusted enough to offer this sage advice. "Why are you honking in the sink?" BECAUSE I HATE PUTTING MY FACE NEAR THE TOILET OH WHY GOD THIS SUCKS.

She's right, of course. One prayer to the American Standard god, and we were through. A good long night's sleep. I wake up, refreshed. Confused. Full of gas and life. Turn on the ball game, and pass the fortune cookies. We're at square zero again.

So, I'm more than happy to pass along the remaining foods to those with a zesty appetite, the remaining garlic bread, pie, potato skin. In LA's quest to be thin, my mind is giving me a deceptive advantage. Just don't ask if I want more.

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