January: The Month we Diet our Brains Out

I’m determined to write a blog that doesn’t mention the “D” word that seems to dominate my life. That would be ‘downsizing’ if you’re new here and haven’t been following my saga of months and months of downsizing posts which collectively I've come to think of as my Barfing up my Life Story One Collection at a Time series. Of course, its January so it’s safe to assume some people thought the “D” word I’m talking about is ‘dieting’ and I’ve got plenty of past January blogs to prove that would have been an excellent guess. And since I brought it up, January 1^st I did start my annual pilgrimage toward healthier eating and trying to lose the weight I gained between Halloween and New Years Eve.

It’s only ten days into the new year and I’ve already lost my end-of-the-year gain which shocked the heck out of me when I got on the scales this morning. And we’re talking six pounds---no small feat to (gain or) lose that much in such a short time! Praise my Fitbit Tracker, Atkins Dark Chocolate Royale Protein Shakes, dandelion tea and Yakult Probiotics for that. I wish I could keep that going but I know how I am. When February takes over my life I’ll quit letting Fitbit tell me how many calories I can still eat on any given day---that bossy bitch gets too demanding after a while. “No, you can’t have a Drumstick lil’Drum for 110 calories unless you want to go run around a couple of blocks first. Five carrots sticks is all you can have until morning.” She wants too much. Ten minutes to every hour when I’m on the computer she nags me into getting up and walking however many steps I need to take to get 250 steps in before the next hour begins. I hate that when I’m on a writing roll! Anyone with a Fitbit knows, of course, she’s not like Alexa. She doesn’t actually speak the words out loud but like any woman who has her bossy hat on, all you have to do is look at Fitbit’s dashboard and you can read what’s on her mind.

Before the end of February I’ll also quite choking down the disgusting dandelion tea and sometime around Valentine’s Day one of those small, heart shaped boxes of chocolates with a Snoopy on the top will appear in my grocery cart and off I’ll go again, chasing the sugar train like a dog with a huge ego who thinks he can actually over take it. Unfortunately, that sugar train makes a brief stop so I can hop on and I’ll crawl right inside a boxcar full of cane sugar and I'll mainline myself all the way through to the end of they year when the cycle begins again.  

My dad's family used to make tea with actual dandelion roots when he was growing up. Now, I’d be afraid of all the chemicals we have in the ground water and soil to do that. I wonder if it tasted any better than the organic teas available now that are supposedly sourced in European mountain valleys from free-ranch dandelions…or am I getting my organic herbal tea mixed up with chickens that are allowed to roam the ranch? The brand I bought has licorice root, fennel and peppermint in it too but all I can taste is the ‘yuck’ while I dutifully drink it down, all the while wondering why my dad, in his old age, wanted to try making it again. Is loving that tea an acquired taste or was his memory playing tricks on him? He also wanted to brew up a batch of anchovies cracker dip so you know his taste buds had to be warped. I’ve only smelled a batch of that god-awful dip cooking once in my life and that was enough to send my nose down inside a bottle of Downy April Fresh Fabric Softener. 

I don’t smoke. Never did. I don’t drink except for two or three times a year when I’ll have a hard cider or glass of wine with dinner. But somehow society seems to be more forgiving/accepting of people who over indulge in those habits where the fat girls are thought to be less ‘valuable’ in the grand scheme of things because our lack of will power goes directly to our hips. Heck, at one time smokers and drinkers were celebrated. You were thought to be cool if you could blow smoke rings like James Dean or drink a martini with your pinky finger pointed out like a vintage movie star wearing a silly hat with a veil that brushed her high cheek bones. Watch a couple of Mad Man episodes and you’ll see how much smoking and drinking played a part in my early, work years life…not me personally but all around me people had their acceptable vices. A fist full of cake was not one of them. 

I’ve got to quit writing about food before I talk myself into catching an early train to Chocolate Town. I need a shower; it’s grocery shopping day and I plan to buy myself some meat. Good. Red. Meat. Meat that I can grill to medium rare because Dr. Atkins and I are in full agreement that it’s an acceptable alternative to buying ½ gallon of Traverse City Cherry Fudge Ice Cream. ©

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