She's Come Undone

I've been a bad, bad girl.

And I'm totally paying for it.

I have not really tracked anything since the beginning of June. I tracked RELIGIOUSLY for almost two entire years, never missing a day, and I lost 97 pounds that way.

Now, in the span of around two months, I've undone the entire last year of effort. I gained slowly at first, still making good choices but taking a 'break' from tracking. Then I drank a lot two weeks in a row and still lost, so I decided that maybe drinking wasn't really so bad...so I drank some more...which led to lots of late-night nachos and ice cream...and lots of greasy morning hangover food...and now I'm back up to 226 pounds.

226 doesn't sound that bad to me, actually, under normal circumstances. It's the weight I stayed for most of high school, and I was really proud to get back to 226 after college. Now, though, after being down to 205 and SO CLOSE to hitting 200 pounds for the first time ever...it feels really shitty.

I've really let myself down.

But it's not just my health that I'm destroying right now. I broke up with my girlfriend of almost 9 years, I started dating one of my employees, I then proceeded to sleep with one of my best guy friends and two other coworkers, plus an amputee, and now I'm going on my second OK Cupid date tonight...and I'm sitting here eating chips and guacamole instead of the 94% fat free popcorn I was supposed to have, because my 'boyfriend' (the employee, who I think may be under the impression that we're dating exclusively...since he just dumped the TWO other girls he was seeing...) wanted to walk downtown to get Mexican. What a terrible idea. Terrible ideas all around.

Now my girlfriend (exgirlfriend I guess) wants me to decide if it's over for good or not. I have to move out if we're not getting back together, but she's really trying to make things work. But my employee/boyfriend is also pressuring me to be exclusive, which means I'll have to move out on my own since he lives with his kid and (oh god) wife (they're separated...have been for a long time).

I have no chemistry with my (ex)girlfriend, but our lives are amazing and perfect and supportive and incredible in every way. I have MAD chemistry with my employee/boyfriend but he is ACTUALLY insane and violent and scary and life would be terrible...sexy but terrible...

So I'm going out on these OK Cupid dates, trying to see if there's someone out there I can have chemistry AND compatibility with.

And in the meantime, I'm stress eating like a fucking idiot, I'm binge drinking, and I'm totally and completely neglecting my house, my finances, my family, my work...

You know, if someone came to me with these issues, I would tell them: "Whoa, bitch! Sounds like you need to be alone for awhile. Work on yourself first, then you can think about dating."

But since it's me...well, I'm going full throttle and just hoping I can get my weight back down and find what I'm looking for.

We'll see.

Lost USPS Package: A Study In Impotent Rage

I am so mad.

Madder than mad.

I'm awash with anger. I'm seething with every fiber of my being. I'm so mad, I feel it in my toenails. I can barely breathe. I feel it in my hair follicles. Everything keeps turning red and I'm blind with the fury. My hands are shaking. I want to cry. I want to breathe fire. I want to turn myself around and around and become a rage tornado and tear through town. I want to hurl stones. I'm the kind of mad that turns your stomach and makes you weak, the kind where your ears ring and your mouth tastes like pennies. I'm trying to calm down but the whole world is red right now. I'm so furious I'm dizzy and hot and tingly. I can't concentrate. I can't speak. I am nothing but fire and fury. I'm getting heartburn. My head is pounding. My pulse is racing. Everything is blurry. I can't get a hold of myself.

The story is dumb and familiar to anyone who has dealt with lost postal packages. To make a long story short ("Too late!" Wow, two Clue references in one post!), the post office has my shit and I'm not getting it back.

**If you're interested in the full version: the post office was supposed to deliver two packages on Friday. One required a signature and the other didn't. They left two notices, one for each package, that I could sign and request redelivery. I checked the online tracking, though, and saw that one of the packages was marked as "Delivered" at 2:30pm and the other was marked as "Delivery Attempted." I called the post office and he said that both packages were right there--he walked to the shelf and looked at them to confirm. He didn't know why the carrier marked it as delivered, and he had no idea why the package that didn't require a signature wasn't delivered, but he said to sign the forms and the packages would be delivered on Saturday. I signed both 3849 forms, wrote to leave the packages on the porch, and put the forms in the mailbox with the flag up. On Saturday, I came home to find NO packages AND NO forms. The carrier took both 3849 forms AND failed to leave my packages. So I called the post office again and tried to explain what happened to help locate my package. Tara, who answered, cut me off and said, "Well, it was marked as delivered. SORRY. You can call back Monday." Listen, I worked in call centers for years and I know enough to be nice on the phone. I know the people on the other end are trying to help but are limited in what they can do. THIS BITCH Tara just did not give a FLYING FUCK. Like, not a SINGLE fuck was given. Why do people like this even have jobs? I tried to be polite and ask if there was anyone else I could talk to and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she could just look at the shelf to see if my package was there, as it had been the day before, and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she had an employee number so I could call her manager on Monday and bitch said NOPE. So I went off. I told her that her stupid ass is the reason the USPS is failing. She hung up on me, naturally. So I called back. She let it ring for a few minutes, then picked it up and pushed a button for a few minutes (the same trick I used to use when mean people were calling in to me). I knew she could hear me so I went off on a tirade that would make a sailor blush. She hung up. I called again and shouted at her while she pushed buttons. And again. And again. I don't think I'll be able to use the terms "flaming cunt rag" or "ignorant fucking twat" for a long time without thinking of Tara.**

But of course calling them didn't DO anything. Except maybe get me on Tara's personal "lets fuck up her mail" list. That's the problem with getting mad at the post office: you can't do SHIT about it. I can just be mad. Like, that's literally all I can do. I can seethe, and I can file a report for list mail (which I did, but the complaint didn't go through because the package was marked as Delivered, even though the manager confirmed Friday night that it was sitting right there in front of him...jesus). I can only be mad. So I AM being mad. Really mad. I am nothing but skin and hair and impotent rage. I don't want it to ruin my night or my weekend, but what else can I DO? I can't fight back, I can't threaten them (you know, federal laws and all). I can't march down there and snatch my shit off the shelf myself. I can only seethe.

I know lost packages are a SUPER INCREDIBLY MINOR thing to get all worked up about. It's not even the packages I'm so fucking pissed off about--I'm more pissed off at being so helpless. I'm completely at the mercy of this fucking idiot Tara who clearly doesn't give a shit about anything, and my mail carrier, who is obviously a fucking moron. I'm just so, so mad that there's nothing I can do about any of it. I hate being this mad, and I really hate not being able to soothe myself.

Before Weight Watchers, I would deal with this situation in one of two ways: I would either gorge myself on food, or get blind fucking drunk. Both of those things would set me back on my Points now, though, and it's just not worth it. I'm not going to let this one shitty fucking thing set me back a week or two or three at weigh-in. I won't.

So how's a girl supposed to deal?

I went so long, like so many fat girls, eating my feelings. If something made me sad, or mad, or stressed, or even happy, I would eat. If I had a bad day, I'd go get a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. If I was celebrating a promotion or a birthday, I'd go to a fondue restaurant and eat for four hours. If I was pissed off at someone, I'd go eat a Snickers bar and wash it down with some chocolate milk.

And when I didn't fill myself with food, I filled myself with alcohol. Vodka, rum, Mad Dog, it didn't matter. I have been open about my problems with alcohol. After my heart surgeries and now Weight Watchers, alcohol just isn't a very big part of my life. I can count on two hands the number of times I got really drunk in 2013, and even then I was counting my drinks so I could record the Points afterward.

So no food, no alcohol...I already took my prescribed Xanax and it didn't help. How do normal people cope?

It feels very strange to, at the age of 31, just now begin finding suitable coping mechanisms to deal with unpleasant situations. The escapism of my youth isn't cutting it. The college years coping was even worse--I can't very well go blow a few lines of coke now, or take some mushrooms and wander through the woods, or eat peyote and spend a few hours walking a labyrinth. I mean, I guess I could, but I should probably find some methods that don't involve illegal drugs. Besides, did I mention that I'm 31? If I went to hit up some of the bridge kids for ketamine or ecstasy now, they'd probably think I was a narc instead of just some loser looking to score drugs because she had a bad day.

I can't just start chugging Smirnoff or Boone's Farm--do you know how many Points are in a bottle of Hot Damn?! I can't start a Power Hour and get wasted...not if I plan to eat anything this week.

So I tried yoga. I started my Pilates dvd. I'm breathing deeply, drinking herbal stress-relieving tea, listening to The Dark Side Of The Moon on vinyl, smoking a joint (hey, I can't give up EVERYTHING, people, DON'T JUDGE ME!), thinking of things to be grateful for, hoping the rage subsides.

And really, really, really fucking hoping that my packages get here some day.

If they don't, I don't know what I'll do. Probably combust. I'll just be gone in a flash of light and smoke. My head will explode and my faulty heart will collapse on itself.

Xanax isn't helping. Pilates isn't helping. Chamomile and lavender isn't helping.

Seriously, please tell me: how do I cope without food or alcohol? How do normal people deal with shit? I have no fucking clue right now. It's not in my nature to just bend over and take it up the ass. If I want to continue getting my mail, though, I better get used to it.

Fuck Christmas, And Fuck Duck Dynasty

On Weight Watchers, you're allowed 49 weekly Points to use at your discretion so you can supplement your daily Points allowance. This week, I not only blew through those 49 Points before the week was half over--I also went over those Points by 84 Points.

EIGHTY FOUR POINTS.

84.

Fuck.

I get 33 Points per day. (33x7)+49+84= 364. So I've had 364 Points this week.

That's the same as 91 Cadbury Cream Eggs. Or 5.7 gallons of marinara sauce. Or over 7 and a half pounds of grated cheddar.

Gross.

I blame Christmas. I mean, okay, I truthfully blame myself and my weakness and my emotional overeating and my utter lack of willpower. But I do blame Christmas too. Why does it have to be so delicious? Why does everything have to look so tempting and be so easy to grab? And why do I have to put up with my family, mostly my father, while still struggling to push aside all of the hurt feelings and shitty self esteem they left me with after high school?

This Duck Dynasty business has left me feeling really sad because my dad, who claims to love me and who seems to also really love my girlfriend of eight years, is so vigorously opposed to A&E firing the dude. I've written here and there about what a dick my dad is, so my dad supporting a bigot and failing to consider my feelings is definitely not shocking. But it is sad. It hurts when I see friends on Facebook posting pictures rallying against A&E's awesome decision to fire Phil, and it hurts even more to hear my dad saying shit like, "This is great because the pendulum will start to swing the other way now. The right people are going to start taking back the country, and Obama will go back to the ghetto where he belongs." My dad's total ignorance of government and morality aside, it just feels so wrong to have a father essentially telling his daughter, "Hey, I'm so glad that we're going to continue to deny you equal rights, and hopefully we'll be able to take away your rights completely! Oh yeah, and you're definitely going to hell! Sorry-not-sorry!"

My dad isn't even religious. I've read more of the bible than him. He went to Catholic school so he pretty much just hates God now, and he's never ever expressed any concern about my soul. So why does he care if my girlfriend and I get married? Seriously, my parents like her more than they like me. Why would he want us kept apart? And why does he care so much if some semi-scripted 'reality' tv star lost his job after making totally asinine and cruel and ignorant and intolerant statements to fucking GQ? Really? Why?

 

But talking to him is pointless. I can't even begin the debate because as soon as he starts in, I already feel defeated and close to tears. I start thinking about how many times I thought about killing myself. How many times I came close. He doesn't know about any of it. I think about how truly surprised I was to find I had made it out of high school without slitting my wrists. I think about sitting in my bathroom with the cold blade of my favorite scissors pressed against my vein, debating with myself if my parents would be more disappointed in me for being a lesbian or for committing suicide. I think about the fear and shame I felt before I came out, and the fear I still feel sometimes just holding my girlfriend's hand in the 'wrong' environments. I think about the confusion I felt when I first realized that I liked girls and the terror I felt knowing it was 'wrong' to feel that way.

I think about these things and I can't have a rational conversation with him because it's not rational at all. People are making remarks, right or wrong, that are making young people want to kill themselves rather than live in a world that hates them. Why is that okay? Why wouldn't any rational person want to stop those words from being broadcast to young people who are still trying to understand their sexuality?

So on top of the normal stressful family Christmas, I also got to shield myself all day from Duck Dynasty conversations. Instead, I steered myself to the dessert table to ate until all I could think about was how full my stomach was. I tracked everything I ate, but I didn't even try to moderate myself. I was in a FUCKITALL mood and just didn't care. Now, of course, I'm still stressed and I'm feeling even more anxious about having Christmas dinner tomorrow with my dad and my great uncle who is even more of a bigot than my dad. But on top of all that, I'm also just sick with regret at how much I ate, and disappointment in myself.

Still, even though I want to say Fuck Christmas, I don't really mean it. I love Christmas, I love my dad (way deep down where it's hard to see sometimes), and I'm proud of myself for how far I've come. As long as I get over this pity party and make it through the next 24 hours, I can regroup, lose the Christmas fat, and put all of this behind me.

Up & Down Like A Yoyo

I've been really frustrated with my weight for the past few weeks. No, I've been really frustrated with myself.

Ever since my birthday a little over a month ago, my weight has been fluctuating up and down like crazy. Sure, there are other factors at play: I drank a lot because it was my birthday, I was horribly constipated for the first time ever and though I was going to die, I pretty much stopped drinking water, I had my anniversary dinner and ate until I thought I was going to pass out, I tried to be a good boss by bringing sugar-laced green vodka and Puckers mixed with Sprite and served in sugar-encrusted shot glasses for St. Patrick's Day, I entered a Peep diorama contest (and won! yay!) which also meant the demise and consumption of untold number of Peeps, my girlfriend has been stocking up on Cadbury Creme Eggs like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter and won't tell me "no" when I ask for one...etc etc etc. So, yeah, I guess there may be some factors going on this month. BUT I still stuck to the Plan...

So why, on last Wednesday's weigh in, did I gain 1.4 pounds? I'm back up to 250.2 pounds, for a total loss of 53.8 from my 304 starting weight. Not bad, but not exactly on track. If I were losing 2 pounds per week, 10 pounds per month, I'd be down 75 pounds right now. I'm not even close! Gaining weight last week really pissed me off.

I told myself, "Well, that's okay, I ate a lot at my anniversary dinner and I haven't been drinking water and blah blah blah" but THEN I looked at my Weight Watchers weight tracker and grasped something that had escaped me in the past few weeks of bouncing back and forth over the 250 pound mark. I realize that in the one month since my birthday, I have GAINED a pound.

That doesn't sound terrible, given the list of excuses above. But I stayed on Plan! I recorded every bite! I counted the Points and carefully measured and weighed every thing I put in my mouth! So how could I have gained?

Something my mom said the other week stuck with me. She was talking about how my grandmother was meeting with a doctor about bariatric surgery, and my mom was depressed because no doctor would consider her for the same surgery given her medical history. I started talking about Weight Watchers and my mom said she would never be able to stick to it because she'd cheat. If she wanted to eat something, she'd pretend like she forgot to write it down, or something similar.

That's when I started to think that maybe I'm doing the same thing. Even though I stay within my Points for the week, I have definitely gone back through and lowered Points on other days when I am running out of Points. Like, if I want a Cadbury Creme Egg, I'll go to yesterday's tracker and say "well, I tore the crust off of that bread so it was really more like 3/4 slice, and part of the ranch dressing dripped onto my plate so that's closer to 1 1/2 tablespoons..." So I cheat. I really tried not to, and I told myself I wasn't, but I cheat. Just like I cheat at Monopoly without intending to.

Once I admitted I was doing it, I tried to be more honest about my measurements. I think that's the TRUE reason I've been having trouble losing this month. I need to stop cheating the system, and be honest with myself. I mean...I'm only cheating myself, and that's no fun. Especially when I'm not even winning.

Water, Water, Everywhere

I think I'm dehydrating.

And I'm blaming Netflix.

It's no secret that I'm a big fan of documentaries, and when I watch particularly convincing ones, I sometimes get wrapped up and try to incorporate that I learn into my daily life. Like, I still haven't bought any eggs at all since we watched Vegucated. I'm okay with that.

A few weeks ago, we watched the documentary Tapped and since then, my girlfriend has refused to buy bottled water. We have a water dispenser thing on the fridge, but the filter is dirty and hasn't been replaced since we moved in four years ago (we can't figure out where the filter is and we have no idea how to change it) so the water tastes terrible. So we can't use the fridge water. We also have a really nice reverse osmosis system that came with the house...but my dad broke it two years ago when he was trying to install a garbage disposal and we haven't fixed it. So we can't use that.

I really miss bottled water. But my girlfriend is trying to make a stand, and I don't want to stand in her way.

As a compromise, she bought one of those filter things for the kitchen sink so we can have purified water. I hate warm or room temperature water, though, and the aforementioned fridge filter issues mean our ice cubes taste gross too. So we've been filling pitchers of water and putting them in the fridge to chill. The problem is that I think the water absorbs all of the smells of the fridge and then it tastes weird. It's not like we have anything gross in there. It's just that all the broccoli and cauliflower and berries and spinach and stuff is always in there with the water, and I think it makes the water icky.

I've tried keeping the water in other bottles so no funky smells get in, but then I feel like it just traps other air in there and it, like, brews and stuff...or something. I don't know. I'm probably just imagining things, but I can't help it. I'm super picky about water. Like, I love Ice Mountain. I will drink it anywhere, any time. But I despise Dasani. Totally hate it. I would rather drink from a public drinking fountain than drink Dasani. So since there's no acceptable water in the house and my girlfriend doesn't want me to have bottled water, I've just been drinking Diet Dr. Pepper like crazy. It's making me feel sticky and queasy but I'm so thirsty and...ugh.

Since I have a weird Splenda sensitivity and I don't have enough Points to drink juice or even some nice green beer for St. Patrick's Day, I'm chugging aspartame like nobody's business.

I'm afraid I'm going to wake up tomorrow with a giant tumor from all of the aspartame. Or at least a third arm or something. But will the aspartame seriously make a difference? I wish I could get a straight answer online...damn you, Wikipedia, you've let me down!

I'm not meeting my daily Weight Watchers goals because I'm not drinking water, and I may or may not be killing myself with Diet Dr. Pepper.

What a life.

To Vegan Or Not To Vegan

I've been struggling with a bit of a moral dilemma for a few days, I'm not really not sure what to do.

Bear with me as I try to sort myself out.

I've been a vegetarian for more than a decade now. I gave it up for New Year's one year, so I started January 1, 2003. Never once have I looked back. Sure, I get cravings every now and then for certain things, like popcorn shrimp or bacon (BACON!!!!!!). But I'm usually able to talk myself down from those cravings by either grossing myself out (shrimp=fish=nastyfishysmells, etc) or making a vegetarian alternative (my version of tofu bacon=amazingly delicious!).

One thing I haven't been able to live without is cheese. I LOVE cheese. I've already waxed poetic about my love affair with cheese (and the complete meltdown--shame on my pun--I had when I tried eating fat free cheese for a week.

I was actually a vegan for the first three months after I stopped eating meat, but I survived mostly on beer and sunflower seeds. Not exactly sustainable. I caved, devoured some nachos, and I've been chowing down on cheese ever since then.

It took longer to work milk and eggs back into my diet, and I still wouldn't reach for a glass of milk or a plate of scrambled eggs if there was something more delicious in front of me, but I definitely haven't held back from the milk and eggs. They're on our grocery list every week. I don't think twice before whipping up a quiche, fried egg sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, egg salad, etc. I'm the designated deviled egg maker for both my family and my girlfriend's family, so it's not uncommon for us to get three 18-packs of eggs around Easter and Thanksgiving.

My mornings aren't complete without some light yogurt, too. And I have Smart Ones ice cream pretty much every night. Whipped cream is one of my favorite desserts. I can rarely pass up FroYo in any form.

Which brings me to my struggle: I feel REALLY bad about still eating eggs and dairy. I ignored it for a long time (like, 9 years long...) but then I made the awful mistake of watching Vegucated on Netflix.

Oh. My. God.

I am no stranger to PETA, and I've seen some of the most disturbing animal videos out there. But in Vegucated, when they show the baby chicks being ground up alive...I cant. I mean, I seriously can't. I can't even go there.

So I did the best thing I could--I started researching. I already have a weekly food delivery service, and they offer dairy and eggs that are organic, free range, local, etc. Everything I thought I wanted...until my research commenced. I contacted the dairy farms and the egg producers available through the service, and asked what I thought were pretty simple questions. I mean, these aren't factory farms. I know what goes on there, and I want no part of it. I was trying to talk to the "good guys," relatively speaking.

I asked the dairy farms:

1) I realize this is a dairy farm--what happens to the male calves after they're born, and how long are calves allowed to stay with their mothers after birth?

2) You say the cows are not fed antibiotics. What happens to them when they have an infection?

3) When a cow is eventually unable to produce milk, what happens to her?

The first farm responded:

1) Some of our male calves stay on the farm, to be used as breeding stock, and the rest are sold to other farms, for breeding or meat production. We have relationships with a number of farmers whom we work closely with to pass our calves on to, so we trust that they will be well-cared for.

2) If one of our animals gets an infection, we use natural supplement injections, like Vitamin C, echinacea, and garlic, or external salves to treat the infection. Typically this intervention is sufficient. In the rare case that a cow would need more medical help, we do use antibiotics, but then we sell the cow to another non-organic farm.

3) When our cows stop producing milk we typically use them for the 100% grassfed beef that we sell in our store and cook with in our restaurant.

So that didn't bother me too badly. I understood that this was supplier of meat and dairy, so I expected that they killed some of the cows. No shocker there.

The second farm responded:

1) The calves stay with their mother for about a week after they're born. Male calves are sent to auction.

2) The cows are not routinely given antibiotics, however, if they have an infection they are given antibiotics so that they can get well. Because their milk isn't included with the rest of the milk, they are removed from the milking herd, and milked separately until the infection clears up and the required withdrawal period has passed. The cow is then returned to be milked with the rest of the herd.

3) When a cow has reached an age when their milk production is finished, they go to auction.

Oooookay, well, I don't like the thought of the cows going to auction because I know where they end up. I know how traumatic it is for them to be shoved into a truck (I am definitely one of those people who cries on the highway every time I pass a livestock carrier) and then turned over to some butchers for a devastating death. But...it's a little easier to imagine them going off to a nice little auction, with an old timey caller and some little 4-H kids clutching their money and placing their bids. A total fantasy, I know, but it just seems like having the cow sent off to a euphemistic "auction," I would be oh-so-slightly less directly responsible for the cows dying every time I buy a bottle of milk.

The last dairy was actually a co-op--they responded:

Because organic farmers don’t use certain “tools” like antibiotics to treat illness or artificial growth hormones to increase milk production, animal comfort is the key to their success. Organic farmers must prevent illness and stress on their cows by providing for their nutritional, physical and even emotional well-being. On an organic farm, successfully meeting cows’ needs can mean the difference
between making a living and going out of business.

Cows must have access to the outdoors, sunlight, fresh air, and pasture to graze on fresh grasses. The amount of time depends on the time of year, the weather, the feeding program of the individual farmer and the regional location of the farm. Confinement operations are prohibited in the cooperative. Cows must have clean, dry bedding and cannot be forced to live on concrete. Living quarters must allow enough space for the cow to get up, lie down, groom and interact with other cows, and inhumane practices such as tail docking are not allowed.

Thanks also for your question about what happens to male calves when they are born. In general, dairy farmers would rather have a heifer calf than a bull calf so that they can grow their herd.

Farmers either raise the males as steers for the organic meat market or sell them to other organic farmers that specialize in beef. Like organic milk, organically raised beef also receives a higher price. And, of course, as long as people buy veal, some bull calves will be sent to veal operations. However, we want you to be assured that male calves from the farms in the co-op do not end up in confinement veal operations. There are specific animal care requirements within organic standards that prevent farmers from raising calves in confinement conditions, and because organically-raised calves are more valuable it would not make financial sense to sell a bull calf to a conventional veal operation.

OH HELL NO! They did not just try to justify veal to me! No. No way. Not interested in anything coming from them--the thought of veal makes my stomach churn. Ugh. Too bad, because the beginning of the email was going so well...happy cows, sunshine and emotional well-being...they just totally lost me with the veal.

So the first two dairy options aren't ideal, but they sound a lot better than the last farm. I was hoping to have more luck with the egg farm. I researched their website and then asked:

1) You mention that the hens "arrive" at the farm. From where do your hens originate, and how are they transported?

2) I realize this is also a meat farm, so the female chicks are likely raised for meat. But what happens to the male chicks?
3) You say the hens are not fed antibiotics. What happens to the hens when they have an infection?

Their response:

Thanks for getting in touch. We appreciate your interest in learning more about your food source.

1) Usually the laying hens arrive to us as day old chicks from a hatchery. They are transported through the USPS.

2) The baby chicks come pre-sexed so we receive 95+ percent females. We keep the few males we receive as roosters for the flock. The said truth is that chickens are bred by hatcheries to either be efficient layers or efficient meat birds then the opposite sex is simply disposed of. The only solution is to breed for dual purpose chicken breeds so that females can be used for eggs and males for meat. However, this equates for less efficient production and will mean much higher production cost for both eggs and meat. Unless consumers are willing to pay $6 to $7 per dozen for eggs and $10-$12 per pound of chicken then I cannot raise and sell a dual purpose breed. Would you be willing to pay this much for your eggs and chicken?

3) Chickens with sickness or infection generally is not a problem because of how we raise them. We simply never administer a drug or antibiotic to them.

I gave you an honest answer to your 2nd question. I'd love to get your thoughts as this is a conundrum in our modern food and agriculture system that both consumers and farmers simply want to avoid discussing.

OH JESUS WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?! The day old chicks are SHIPPED IN THE MAIL?!?!?! And the "opposite sex" chicks are "SIMPLY DISPOSED OF"?!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!?!?!?!?!?!? (This is another instance where the use of an interrobang would be immensely helpful.)

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. I can never eat eggs again. Of course, I happened to read this email on my phone while I was getting ready to go into work, so I ended up walking into the office a sobbing, mascara-streaked mess.

DISPOSED OF?!?!

I was so totally sickened.

Listen, I know not everyone is a sappy animal lover. I know for some people, ignorance truly is bliss and they honestly don't want to think about where their meat comes from. But I thought I was doing a GOOD thing by not eating meat! I thought that a decade of vegetarianism was wracking me up good karma points, and I thought that having eggs for breakfast instead of sausage was actually saving animals' lives. I had NO IDEA that my eggs were killing other baby chicks. I thought that, since the eggs were unfertilized and since hens lay eggs all the time anyway, it was like...well...like sperm or something. No harm, no foul. Nothing sacrificed.

I had no clue that every male chick was DISPOSED OF. I feel deceived. I know it's my own fault--I didn't ask the right questions before. The answers were right there, I just needed to ask and I didn't. I lived in quiet stupid complacency and, because of me, little fluffy baby chicks were being ground up like they were nothing at all.

Once I stopped crying long enough to see my screen, I was finally able to answer the question posed in the egg farmer's email. I wrote:

 

Thank you so much for your honest and informative reply. To answer your question, yes, I would be willing to pay $7 (or more) for a dozen eggs if I knew there were no ethical concerns with the eggs or the chicks--but I certainly realize I'm not the average consumer. I've been a vegetarian for more than a decade, and I've been struggling to continue to justify my egg and dairy consumption. The reason I reached out to you and several other farms was because I was hoping to find a local supplier that would allow me to continue eating eggs without sacrificing my passion for the ethical treatment of animals. Unfortunately, I don't think this is possible--eggs are an industry, industries exist to earn money, and, as you said, having dual purpose breeds just doesn't earn enough money.

I would love to have the option of purchasing completely ethical eggs, regardless of the cost. I would be happy to pay $1 to $2 per individual egg just to have a quiche once a week. Again, I realize I'm not the average consumer. I think you'd be surprised to find how many others share my values, however, and I hope that you will take this into consideration.

Thanks again for your honest answers. Farms like yours are a far cry from industrial farms, and I do applaud your efforts. If you have any other thoughts or questions for me, I'd love to hear them.

I haven't heard back.

 

I did find someone just a few streets over who raises chickens in her backyard and sells their eggs. She feeds them organic feed and table scraps, treats them like pets, and doesn't kill any baby chicks. Once I can stomach eggs again, I'll probably go over and pick some up.

 

But my dilemma is this: is it really worth it? Is it really worth the pain I'm causing, just to chow down on eggs and cheese and FroYo? I've really tried to be kind to animals and live my life ethically, so it only makes sense to give up animal products altogether--however, I think giving up cheese is just going to drive me to other unhealthy foods to fill the void. I seriously love cheese. And the three months I was vegan were horrible for me. I have to force myself to eat vegetables, so I basically always hated everything I ate. I don't want to turn to that awful vegan cheese or processed soy hotdogs. I want to continue to have my yogurt and Smart Ones and whipped cream and the occasional egg salad sandwich, but I don't want to cause animals to suffer because of it.

 

I just don't know what to do.

 

I've managed to lose over 50 pounds on Weight Watchers now, and the only week I considered giving up was the one week I was on the Simply Filling plan--that's because I ate only fat free cheese, and it was fucking disgusting. I don't want to give up cheddar. I don't want to cause suffering, but I also don't want to suffer myself. I don't want to sabotage my weight loss efforts by forcing myself into an overly restrictive vegan diet, but I can't crack an egg right now without seeing those little chicks being ground up alive.

 

So what the fuck do I do?

PSA: Kroger's Great Value Tortilla Thins Full of Delicious Lies

I feel the need to make a Public Service Announcement: the Kroger Great Value/Private Selection Tortilla Thins Tortilla Chip nutritional information is grossly incorrect.

The nutritional label states that a serving size is 1 ounce, or 22 chips. I have weighed out 1 ounce from three separate bags now, and it's only 9 or 10 chips.

BOO!

22 chips is more like 2 ounces. That's more than double the Points, calories, fat, carbs, etc. ARGH!

I kept buying the Thins because I could have SO MANY with each meal--seriously, some brands have, like, a serving size of 7 chips. We have gotten bag after bag of the Tortilla Thins because there is a HUGE difference between having 7 chips and having 22 chips. 7 chips with salsa is a light snack; 22 chips with salsa is a meal. 7 chips with melted cheese is a side item; 22 chips with melted cheese is a dinner platter.

I'm so disappointed with Kroger. I tried to call and email them about it, but they just brushed me off saying they'd look into it. This was a few weeks ago, and the bags haven't changed. They don't seem to get it. I mean, 9 chips versus 22 chips is a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE. I was calculating the wrong Points for months. But aside from my own petty complaints, this could have serious health repercussions for people.

A diabetic closely monitoring carbohydrates knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 18g and 36g of carbs.

A heart patient monitoring sodium knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 75mg and 150mg of sodium.

And anyone monitoring fat or calories knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 140 calories/7g of fat and 280 calories/14g of fat.

And anyone one Weight Watchers knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 4 Points and 8 Points.

This is really dangerous misinformation.

And I'd venture to call this false advertising as well. I was purchasing a product specifically because of the information presented on the label, and it was incorrect. I like the Tortilla Thins because they're good, but I BUY them because I thought I could have 22 per serving for 4 Points. LIES.

Anyway, I've been thinking of this every time I see the chips, so I wanted to share. I'm now really careful to weigh out my food instead of going by the product label, but it would be nice to live in a world where you could actually trust the packaging.

Naughty Kroger!

Daddy

I can blame my weight on a lot of things. I know most of the fault is my own. No one held a gun to my head and made me gorge myself on cheese and chocolate for 30 years.

Still, like a lot of heavy people, I believe that a great deal of my weight issues have been tied to my parents. Between the bad genes, setting bad examples, rewarding us with food, forcing me to clear my plate but rarely making me eat vegetables...it's no wonder I was chubby by the time I was in kindergarten. 

My mom is the one who cooked dinner every night loaded with carbs and butter. She's the one who gave us Poptarts for breakfast and Lunchables, Capri Suns, fruit snacks, Cheetos, and Little Debbies in our lunches. She's the one who is overweight and who everyone says I look just like. She's the one who eats stacks of chocolate chip cookies for breakfast every single morning (not kidding) and then wonders why she can't control her diabetes.

But my dad is responsible for more emotional baggage than my mother could ever dream of inflicting.

I called this blog "My Weird Luck" for a number of reasons. I do have weird luck--not necessarily bad all the time, just strange. My life has taken many unexpected turns over the years. I've come through raging fires where I should have burned in my bed, and heart issues that no one expected me to survive. I've lost those closest to me in tragic and mysterious ways. I've been faced with bizarre obstacles and managed to get through one way or another. I would attribute much of it to weird luck. Maybe the stars were aligned strangely the day I was born.

But mostly, the name of this blog is an homage to Sylvia Plath, one of many poets whom I adore and admire. The line comes from her well-known poem, Daddy.

(Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.) That poem sums up a lot of my feelings for my father. He's in my life and still with my mother, but sometimes (okay, most of the time) I think we'd be better off without him. I KNOW my mom would be. 

I think he does love me. I just think his cruelty far outweighs his capacity to love.

Take this as an example: My parents have been married for 31 years. One of my earlier memories is of my dad telling me (around 5 years old) and my sister (2 or 3 years old) that my mother was like a vacuum cleaner because she would eat anything in the house. What kind of man makes comments like that to his children about their mother? That's when I started to learn how highly my father prized physical beauty and despised weakness. Fat, to him, is one of the most disgusting forms of weakness. To elaborate on the scene I just mentioned: this was when my mother was around 26 years old and weighed maybe 140 pounds. He constantly commented on her weight, and she was a third of the size she is now. Now, he doesn't even touch her. He won't divorce her, but chooses instead to keep her with him under his constant judgement. He doesn't even bother to hide his disgust of her.

When my parents were dating, my dad apparently used to sing Meatloaf's "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" to my mother. He told her every day that it was how he felt. "I want you, I need you, but there ain't no way I'm ever going to love you." I cry every time I hear that song on the radio, because it makes me think about just how shitty it would be to live with that kind of emotional abuse for 31 years. My poor mom. No wonder she loves chocolate so much.

My dad's judgement definitely doesn't end at my mom.

When I was younger, he was more direct in his scorn and derision. He would comment on my weight, on the food I was eating, on how I was dressed. He was cruel. He was violent. He scared the shit out of me. But mostly, he was just kind of a dick. Of course, I never stopped starving for his attention and approval, and I foolishly thought that if I tried hard enough, he'd eventually magically become a good guy. That obviously never happened. Like, true story: when I was 10 or so I was looking for a Father's Day present. He's a terrible person to shop for because he just buys himself anything he sees that he wants (and he still makes my mom beg for enough money to fill up the car with gas, or to pay for her doctor's bills--as sick as she is, he limits how many doctors she's allowed to see and he cancels appointments if they're going to be expensive). Anyway, I couldn't find anything for him so I bought him a t-shirt for Father's Day that said "World's Greatest Dad." I really though that I couldn't go wrong with a gift like that. HA! Not only did he make a point to tell me that it was a dumb present, but he actually returned it and used the money to buy himself a big can of cashews. Not even joking. Ugh, that's a bad memory. So his cruel comments don't stop at my mom, and they don't stop at even my weight. He can make me feel like shit about pretty much anything in the world.

Now that I've learned to assert myself, he makes more passive aggressive remarks about strangers. "Look at that fat pig over there!" or "God, I can't believe that woman is going to eat that whole meal--I'm getting sick just looking at her!" (Oh, yeah, he's fucking racist too. That's a lovely combination, right?) I've stopped even trying to keep my mouth shut--when he's being nasty and rude, I tell him so. But that doesn't stop him, and it never will.

As disgusting as his thoughts and actions are, it's his attitude about weight that's had the most impact on me personally. Everything else I can deal with in my own way--I'm proud to support equal rights for everyone, I loved how depressed he got when Obama won TWICE (!!!!), and I crushed him by pursuing a Women's Studies degree. I've marched on Washington, I came out as a lesbian at age 18, and I never back down now when he tries to pick a fight about anything.

Except my weight. Partially because I know he's right--I am a fat failure--and partially because it's embarrassing to have anyone call me out about it. At least everyone else is polite enough to quietly ignore my skyrocketing weight. But not him.

My dad has always faced his own struggles with weight. When he was in high school, he was fat. According to him, though, he basically 'willed' all the weight off. Determination, willpower, and a jump rope--he claims that's all you need to drop 100 pounds. Well, maybe for him.

When he was older, maybe in his 30s, he started gaining weight again. He had bushy facial hair and looked like a mountain man. Our neighbor called him "Big Daddy" because he looked like a large reproduction of her own dad.

Then, he got self conscious and started working out again, cut back his portions, and lost weight. Now he wears an XL shirt where before he was pushing XXXL--and he loves to remind everyone about it any chance he gets. He never misses an opportunity to talk about how little he eats, how much energy he has, how long his bike rides are.

That just pisses me off. I don't want to hear about how awesome he is or how I just need to have the determination to lose weight. I fucking hate self-righteous people, and even more so when they're such dicks about everything else.

My dad, though, really knows how to jab the knife in.

Listen, this is a person I would hate if I met him on the street. He's obsessed with Nazi propaganda, he's an unabashed racist, he's heartless and cold and cruel. But he's still my dad, and in the way that all little fat girls do, I still seek his approval more than I seek anything else in my life. It's shameful to me how proud I am when he recognizes me when I get promoted at work, and when he brags about my professional accomplishments. I feel incredible guilt every time I smile at his compliments.

He knows how much his approval means, and he knows how much he hurts me. I think in his sick way he thinks he's helping...but he's not. Not at all.

Um, Did I Swallow a Bowling Ball?

I HAVE GAINED 10 POUNDS IN ONE. FUCKING. WEEK.

TEN POUNDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's, like, a whole turkey. That's a cat. That's bigger than a baby.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUU...

Okay, I know it's because I just started my period. But seriously...there's not 10 fucking pounds of menses in my uterus right now. At least I fucking hope not. GROSS. And my ankles aren't swollen (I've taken water pills since my open heart surgery, and I can always tell when they're not working because it feels like I'm wearing water wings on my ankles).

So HOW did I gain TEN POUNDS?!?!

(Sidenote--did you know that there's actually a punctuation mark called an 'interrobang' that represents a combined exclamation point and question mark? It's true. And awesome. Too bad my keyboard doesn't come with an interrobang because I would use it all the fucking time.)

Seriously, though, I can't believe I gained so much weight. I'm back solidly into the 260s again. I did not want to be back here.

The last time I gained this much weight at once, I quit Weight Watchers and didn't return for three years. In that time, I gained back everything I had lost, plus another 25 pounds. It was awful. I don't want to go back there, but I can't help but get discouraged when I gain TEN. FUCKING. POUNDS.

I think I'm going to skip my weigh-in tomorrow. It's my last weigh-in before Cancun, and I don't want to go on vacation with such a bad weigh-in hanging over my head. I want to enjoy myself (within reason) and I won't be able to if there's a formal record somewhere of how hard I failed this week.

And okay, if I am being honest, it's not just my period. I was pretty bad. I was doing okay until Saturday, when I went to a Boy Scout soapbox derby for my nephew. They had all kinds of cookies and brownies and everything for sale, 50 cents each. It was like a fundraiser, right? It would have been wrong not to buy something...right?

I ate a good, healthy, filling meal before I went and I brought a whole purse full of oranges, water, apples, pears (which do NOT hold up well in a purse, I soon found out). But when I saw the monster cookies...man, I couldn't help myself. Oatmeal and peanut butter chips and M&Ms all in one delicious cookie? How could I resist?

But I've been good about letting myself eat something delicious in a reasonable quantity, as long as I'm careful about tracking it. So I thought one cookie wouldn't hurt.

Well, then my dad showed up. This man has done more to influence my weight than probably any other single person on the planet, excluding myself. He immediately started talking about how I looked good but I probably shouldn't be eating cookies...how he lost weight with sheer willpower alone and it takes resolve if you want to keep your weight down...how my sister looked so great and was getting skinnier and skinnier and she wasn't eating any cookies, was she?

Fuck him.

I bought another 50 cent bag and ate every crumb. Then I took half of my girlfriend's chocolate chip cookie. And then, fuck it, there was part of a cookie pie left and I ate that too.

Le sigh.

So I can't really blame my period. It was all me. I'm embarrassed about how much I ate, but even more embarrassed about how I let my emotions overtake me. One moment of weakness has virtually erased all of the progress I've made this past month. I let myself down.

Maybe I should weigh in tomorrow. Own up to it and learn from my mistakes. Either way, I need to be careful around my dad and food. Another week like this one and I'm afraid I'll give up...and at this point, I can't afford to do that. My body can't take it.

Ugly Green Monster

I think I mentioned earlier that I am not very tech-savvy. I’m not hip to all the new-fangled social media these youngsters are using. I’m really pretty curmudgeonly for being only 30 years old. One of the few things I do use is Facebook. I use it in a more voyeuristic way—I very rarely post anything. I tend to just creep around, liking statuses, and peeking into everyone’s lives through their Facebook posts.

Since the New Year, though, I’ve avoided Facebook like the plague. Why? Because I can’t fucking stand watching all of these idiots posting “I lost 6 pounds this week!” and “My New Years Resolution is paying off! Dropped a size already!”. And of course these jerks all get, like, 80 “Likes” and supportive comments. I just hate the fact that these people have only been eating healthy for two weeks and they already lost more than I did in my first full month on Weight Watchers. I’m jealous, okay? I’m totally jealous. I can’t help it.

 

What’s worse, though, is that one of my friends (okay, really one of my sister’s friends from high school who was always really nice to me so I accepted her friend request) just had bariatric surgery in December. She’s talked about it for months but I didn’t think she’d actually do it. In the first month, she lost 40 fucking pounds. FORTY POUNDS! That’s the exact amount I’ve struggled to shed since August. I’ve worked hard, watched (and tracked) every fucking thing that passed my lips, cut back on drinking, cut back on CHEESE (oh the horror!) and I lost in five months what she lost in one. 

 

As Sarah would say in The Labyrinth: IT’S NOT FAIR. 

 

No, it’s no fair. But I obviously don’t want to put my body through unnecessary surgery. And I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, without surgery or pills or crazy cleanses. But still…damn. 

 

Honestly, it feels like she’s cheating. It feels like she’s cheating and barreling toward some invisible finish line, and I’m slowly trudging along at a fraction of her pace because I’m playing by the rules (whatever “the rules” are). 

 

It’s totally wrong of me to feel that way. A doctor would not have cleared her for surgery if she didn’t need it. Her insurance or parents wouldn’t have paid for it if she didn’t need it. And I don’t know her life. It’s not my place to judge these people. 

 

But where’s my magic button? 

 

Her first week after the surgery, she had lost 12 pounds. Do you know how long it took me to lose 12 pounds? And she had to do NOTHING except let a doctor cut into her and magically make her skinnier. All of the Facebook comments are like "Way to go! Keep up the good work!" and "We're so proud of you!" Seriously? Proud that she had surgery? Keep up the good work...like doing nothing? Nothing at all? Just eating and magically losing weight? That just seems shitty to me. Again, it's not my place to judge AT ALL...but I can't help it. I'm also really jealous that she's full all the time...I would give anything to feel full all the time. I love feeling full. Now, I feel half starved all the time. Not actually hungry, but not stuffed either. I would love to eat a crouton and feel like I ate a loaf of bread. But I'm doing it the hard way instead.

 

The grimmest thought is that my journey is only going to get harder the further I go. Each pound I lose, I know I’m getting closer to a dreaded plateau, or closer to that invisible line where losing weight takes much, much more effort. That’s a scary thought. Especially when I’m watching all of these other people dropping weight so effortlessly. 

 

It just…it just sucks. 

 

Anyway, I finally brought myself to take some actual measurements in hopes that I’ll see some progress even when the scale gives me bad news. And I'm staying away from Facebook for as long as I can, because that shit can get some serious jealousy stirred up inside of me. I can't imagine going through high school with something like Facebook...I don't know how girls today do it. I want to blow my brains out after reading a few hours' worth of posts, and I'm freakin' 30 with a good job and a great girlfriend. High-school-me probably would have slit her wrists if faced with obnoxious, bragging posts day in and day out. Blah. 

 

Rant over.

 

Now here are my terrifying measurements:

 

Neck: 15"

Bust: 49.5"

Chest: 44"

Waist: 43"

Hips: 52"

Thighs: right 29.5", left 29"

Calves: right 20", left 21"

Ankles: right 11", left 11"

Upper arms: right 15", left 15"

Forearms: right 10.5", left 11"

Wrists: right 7", left 7"

 

There. My soul is totally bared. You know I'm enormous, and that I'm also a Mean Girl. I'm trying to change both, I swear.

 

Hangry

I'm rounding out my Simply Filling week with negative eight Points...actually not as bad as I'd feared. I was okay until this evening--I made pineapple upside down cake for a work pitch-in and convinced myself that I had to sample it. The mini muffin versions were only one Point each but, um, I had four of them. That blew me over my 49 Points for the week. Once I crossed that line, it didn't seem so bad to have a cup of the cold, frothy grape juice in the fridge. Turns out that a cup is four freakin Points. Oh well! It was kind of worth it.

Especially after a week of such deprivation. I don't think I've thought this much about food since, like, the State Fair. Mmm, I love the State Fair. I basically just take a shuttle around and eat for eight hours straight. Not this year, though--it was my first month on Weight Watchers, so watch my weight I did. (I acknowledge that was a terrible pun.) This year, I broke it into two days, ate a filling and healthy supper before going, and tasted (but didn't finish) each dish I couldn't live without. I stayed within my Points for the week and still lost weight at the next weigh in. Score!

That's what I hate about the Simply Filling version of Weight Watchers. If I had been on Simply Filling during the State Fair, I would have blown my Points in one day and then stuck to Power Foods exclusively for the rest of the week. That's just not sustainable for my life. Maybe it's easier for carnivores, since there are plenty of meaty options that count as Power Foods. I get, what? Tofu, beans, and vegetarian patties. I can't stand vegetarian patties. I LOVE black bean burgers, but they're three Points. Seriously! I understand them being three Points on the regular Weight Watchers plan, but I 100% think they should count as a Power Food. If I could have eaten black bean burgers for zero Points this week, I probably could have lived through it without quite so much bitching. Some bitching, yes. But less. And I wish I could have eaten low fat cheese instead of fat free. And wheat bread instead of reduced-calorie bread. Sorry, done complaining again. It's just been SUCH A LONG WEEK. With SO MUCH HUNGER. And anger. And hanger. I hate being hangry. I'm miserable to be around, I'm snappy and grumpy, and I want to smack myself. I'm pretty surprised I didn't get smacked by anyone this week.

We'll see if it was all worth the effort tomorrow when I weigh in. The pitch-in at work is a brunch so it's right before we weigh in--poor planning on my part. Whoops! But  seriously, if I gained this week, I'm going to lock myself in the bathroom and cry. So few Points, so much effort! I can't wait to get back on the Weight Watchers I know and love, and put this Simply Filling shit behind me.

Oh, and I'll be off the steroids in just a few days also. And my, er, womanly cycle. So I'll hopefully be back to my normal (albeit hungry) self again shortly. More awesome, less hangry.

Fingers crossed for tomorrow!