Liveblogging my destruction

This is a total Narrator/ Tyler Durden showdown in my head right now.

Source: theantiroom.com

I have been feeling horrible lately, so I am severely restricting what I eat. I counted, and just realized all I have had today is tea, two gluten-free chicken tenders, and some terrible rice noodles.

I. Am. So. Hungry.

Meanwhile, my body is primal-scream yelling "MEAT!", and the angel on my shoulder is trying to temper its bloodlust: "Well, you have a can of lentil soup in the pantry...maybe that would...kind of...be like... oh, whatever, eat a fucking burger."

So that's where I am right now. And, right now, odds are 60/40 on the burger.

I know! Could it possibly get any more exciting? Stay tuned.
_________

OK, I had a burger. And five tiny beignets. I HAVE NO SHAME.

I went to this tiny bistro down the street, and had rousing conversations with all of the staff, and I danced outta there with burger-shaped hearts and stars over my head.

Kale just doesn't treat me this good.

You cocky bastard.

Social Climbing for the Literally Hungry

Y'all.

In my long* and dedicated** road to health, I have an embarrassing admission. I've been here. Twice.

Source: Ecochick.com

It may as well be called "Organic Bitch!" or something equally Kardashian. Not because bitches shop there--because women shop there on whom the marketing tactic "...just put the word 'bitch' in it, slut-ho!" totally works.

When I go in, and I'm not Caitlin the scrappy ex-Anthro major. I'm Stefffanie, and I pay someone wax my fingers, and I spend unprintable amounts of money on liquid kale. (Just bein' a bitch, y'all! Being downright cunty!)

More than anything, I hate that the tall, thin, and rich have cornered the market on health food. It makes my social-justice heart hurt. Plus, in the moment, it makes me feel like a troll.

But, at least in New York, if you want to eat pickily, you align with the Alphas. Because if you want to specify "no soy, gluten, or dairy, please," that makes you demanding. And if you're demanding and female, there's a word for you.

I guess I'm resigned to it. Though the minute I giggle at a Hedge Fund Manager's unfunny joke is the minute you should shoot to kill. 

*One day and a half
**which is being generous

Eating Actual Food: Take Fifteen

As of roughly 1pm today, I'm back on the "eating better" wagon. (I'm writing it publicly so it might become true.) Girl cannot live on Swedish Fish alone.

Plus, if I can get off all my toxic meds, maybe I'll only get "cancer of the torso" instead of "cancer of the everything." A girl can dream!

Plus, the more kale I eat, the more I weaken Terrence's life force. It's true.

If you believe in fairies, clap your hands! (It distracts Terrence from his Xbox.)

Really, I think we can agree this is a win-win-win situation.

So far, "3/4 of a day" down! Only "a lifetime" to go.

.....

Ugh, fuck. Where's a "depression cake" when you need it.

Identifying with Your Captor: Stockholm Syndrome and You

Dudes, this week I have felt wretched. Which means that I've been at the mercy of some intense, pathological sugar cravings.

A craving will descend, and I will go glassy eyed. I'll be spotted by security cameras in the candy aisle at a CVS, then will wake up three hours later in South Jersey with my bra in my back pocket and a passport belonging to someone named Mychylle. And where did all this blood come from? Oh my god, there's so much blood.

Have you ever had Mike and Ikes? They're terrible!

Source: reason.com

Like poison frogs in the rainforest, these bright colors send the signal, "Eat me, and I will fuck your shit up." But, when sick, my stupid bird-brain wants nothing but Amazonian frogs. I ate an entire package of these things at work yesterday, pausing between bites to go, "Ugh, these are awful."

Come on, Bird Brain, you and "intestines" need to have a talk. Whose team are you on?

On the plus side, I've got a pretty good working knowledge of New Jersey Transit these days.

Fare Thee Well, McNuggets. We Hardly Knew Thee.

About a year ago, I was seeing an acupuncturist. He kept giving me vague dietary advice, then got frustrated when I utterly and completely failed to follow it.

"You have to eat anyway!" I remember him sighing. "Why not make better choices?"

I wiped the buttercream off my face and gaped at him. Where do you even start?

What "making better choices" actually means is "change everything you know." It means "don't drink with your friends," "get to bed by 10 so you can wake up to cook before work," "politely decline pizza when you're out at 2am (oops to that 10pm bedtime.)" It also means "make food an issue."

Anyone with a specialized diet knows this: you can't hide food. It's very public and very intimate all at once, and it becomes a topic of conversation whether or not you want it to.

• If you say you're a Vegan, people nod indulgently but think, "No, I don't want to give $10 to Greenpeace." 

• If you're gluten-free, people wonder what you have and silently hope they don't get it. 

• If you decline enough drinks, your date might ask you if you're a recovering alcoholic. (No, I'm not, but I wasn't going to make out with you anyway, no matter how drunk you got me. Michael.) 

So what do you do when you don't want food to be an issue? When you just want to hang with the normalos? When you want to buy a bunch of Sour Patch Kids and shove them at your face with wild-eyed abandon?