I’m thankful for…

This time of year we all give thanks

For blessings small and big,

I’m thankful for my family,

Good food and my work  gig.

But things don’t always get the love,

I feel that they deserved,

Those things that keep me happy

On those days I come unnerved.

So, instead of taking out my angst

By working out too much,

I’m once again presenting you

With rhyming crap and such.

Because…

I’m thankful for dark chocolate

Especially Organic,

(I just pretend it’s good for me

To offset sugar panic.)

I’m thankful plain Greek yogurt has

a presence in my fridge,

 As even if it costs too much,

Abstaining’s sacrilege.

I’m thankful for the job I have,

Although these days it sucks,

Writing this and fixing that

For other lazy…people.

I’m thankful that the Iron Chef

Just crowned is named Jose,

 As the little guy just creeped me out

And was no Bobby Flay.

But really, who is?

I’m thankful for those people

That move to the side if slow,

Not those lazy slackers

That just amble to and fro.

If I’m walking fast it means I need

To get there in a hurry,

 (Or more likely I’ve had too much tea

And piddling is a worry.)

I’m thankful that somebody told

the dumbass at the gym,

That doing squats in unitards,

Was not the look for him.

I’m also thankful that someone

Told “cell phone guy” the same,

As running on a treadmill yelling

“She wants me, dude!” is lame.

I guess I’m thankful that there is

No Whole Foods in my town,

As rest assured the balance in my

Savings would go down.

Sigh…

I’m thankful that I’d rather walk,

Then always take my car.

And instead of drinking at one,

I would rather eat a bar.

I’m thankful grocery clerks nearby,

All know me by my face.

(As apparently I stop there

More than any other place.)

I’m thankful that I took the night

To try and be amusing.

Instead of fighting mental wars,

I usually end up losing.

But I’m also thankful there are days

When honesty means more.

And I can face the struggles that

I normally ignore.

(Today is clearly not that day

But felt like posting anyway.)

I’m thankful someone thought to make

A veggie burger right,

 Along with pumpkin mixed in oats,

(I could eat this every night.)

And might have. Don’t judge.

Anyway…

I’m thankful that I have the chance

To blog here any day.

And even if I’m full of shit,

You read it anyway.

YOUR TURN

Yes, this was lame, but I felt I had to post something and didn’t feel like deep thinking. So, show me up and brilliantly finish the sentence below:

“I’m really hoping someone brings ________to Thanksgiving this year.”

OR

“I’m really hoping no one brings _________to Thanksgiving this year.”

I Will Survive

“It took all the strength I had
not to fall apart
kept trying hard to mend
the pieces of my broken heart
and I spent oh so many nights
just feeling sorry for myself
I used to cry
Now I hold my head up high
and you see me
somebody new
I’m not that chained up little person
still in love with you
and so you felt like dropping in
and just expect me to be free
now I’m saving all my loving
for someone who’s loving me…”

Now that this Gloria Gaynor song is stuck in your head—and you feel a sense of empowerment usually reserved for groups of heartbroken women or singing at the top of you lungs while driving alone—you’re probably wondering what the heck this has to do with me.

Or you, for that matter.

But in part from your support on my last post, I’m writing right now instead of manically working out tonight as a way to cope with a totally stressful day on all fronts. Instead of working out, I also flipped through my journals from the hospital (almost four years ago) again.

Wake-up call.

I’ll spare you the usual details about how much I had to eat and the physical effects that followed, as it was a lot and they weren’t pleasant.

I’ll spare you how I thought I would go nuts just sitting and “talking through” things all day, but actually welcomed the break from reality.

I’ll spare you how I spent over $15,000 for two weeks and just this month paid off the last $100.

What I’ll tell you about is one of the art therapy sessions we had, and not the one where I painted a doormat or unsuccessfully learned how cut paper with dull scissors (no sharp objects, remember). 

This one involves a group of  psychiatric patients at different levels of drug-induced stupor—me, a rich but depressed lawyer named Bear who would randomly go on violent rants and an opera singer from New York with suicidal tendencies, just to name a few—and a karaoke machine.

Let the good times roll.

I can’t sing, but when you’re among a group of people that have seen you only at your worst, what have you got to lose?

At first, no one was really into it. But after a few lame attempts from others, Bear grabbed the mike and proceeded to bust out some “Brown Eyed Girl” that got everyone going—clapping, singing, you name it.

Then “I Will Survive” came on and the mike was thrust at me. Obviously having nothing better to do, I gave it a shot.

Actually, you would have thought I was auditioning for American Idol (wearing yoga pants, slippers, a monitor and sporting two-days of unwashed hair—like most contestants in the early rounds.)

I sang that song like my life depended on it,  because maybe at that point, it almost did.

“It took all the strength I had not to fall apart…”

I had been (and am now, I suppose) trying so hard to keep things together, to not show weakness, to ignore what I was really feeling or trying to avoid.

“Kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart…”

There’s a lot behind this one, but the moral of the story is that you can’t change other people. No matter what the relationship, they will hurt you, they will disappoint you, they are flawed. So are you. A broken relationship with anyone or anything is no excuse to break yourself down—physically or mentally.

“I spent oh so many nights just feeling sorry for myself…”

Isn’t that in essence what I do when I run myself ragged, when I restrict the things I need and indulge in those I don’t? As selfless as I am with most things, when I think of all the things I’ve done in the midst of this struggle, they are inherently selfish.  I am blessed with the opportunity to get healthy, and yet I’m still compelled to make decisions that cause me to stumble and others to worry.

Crap.

“I used to cry. Now I hold my head up high – and you see me – somebody new – I’m not that chained up little person still in love with you…”

This is the goal, no? I want to be able to look back and be proud of coming out of this healthy and strong, in body and mind.

I want to be somebody new—to look different and be proud again, to not run mental marathons and instead work out for health —and not be chained to my destructive thoughts and immersed in negative behaviors.

So I guess maybe I sang that song like my life depended on it,  because  at that point, it almost did.

And maybe it does again now.

QUICK REVIEW

I had the chance to try the Pecan Nutridel. You know I’m not big on new things and am very picky, but you know what? Freaking delicious. They were thin, crispy and just slightly sweet (I don’t like sweet, so it was a perfect balance). I would definitely buy these if they were available in my area, but they aren’t. However, you can order from the Web site, and I might do just that in the future…

And I’m still working on my Newman’s challenge, but am waiting until I have a few different things to review at once. Delicious so far!

QUESTION

This song is cheesy, but there are so many songs that bring up so many memories for me. What songs do the same for you? What would be your theme song?

It’s just a phase…

Not the most upbeat post right now, so there’s your disclaimer. In fact, I posted it last night and deleted it 10 minutes later. But,  someone read my rant in those few minutes and told me that was ridiculous (Damn. She’s fast.) Anyway, moving on…

This is a phase.

I go through phases, although at some point I have to question whether it’s a phase or just the way I am.

This is a phase!

This is one of those times when I don’t want to blog, don’t want to think, don’t want to do much of anything. This is one of those times when I suppose I’m hoping the punctuation added at the end can somehow offer hope of better things ahead, a new ending of sorts.

This is a phase?

Let’s hope so.

This is a phase where I seem to be numb for no particular reason. I hate to even say it, as I feel ungrateful and selfish, but I feel what I feel. Or I don’t feel what I don’t feel, to be honest. My thoughts are food, sleep, exercise, lather, rinse repeat.

This is a phase where I could write the most beautiful prose, the most meaningful post, and not believe a word I say applies to me at all.

This is a phase where I see myself as someone looking in on life; watching, observing, taking mental notes to be filed away.

I could write a book—self-help for others, fiction for me.

This is a phase where I read other blogs robotically, checking this and catching up on that like there will be test at the end and I have to know everything. Reading about how things could be—exercising, cooking, living—almost becomes a chore, a form of self-defeat.

It’s painful, but it’s just a phase?

This is a phase where I remember the things I want to forget and forget all the things that should matter. As hard as I try, those thoughts won’t escape and the thoughts that I need just elude me.

This is a phase when I wonder how in the hell others do it. How do they balance life, food, exercise, work, family, friends and anything else? It seems I can do one, but not the other. I have to have my routine to have my food and exercise, so that maybe, maybe, I can deal with my job, or family or life.

One or the other.

This is a phase where I need to start caring, yet find it exhausting to try—to trust, to try, try again and find a reason to care, a reason to trust, a reason to try.

This has to be a phase.

I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m not looking for anything, actually, and I seriously hesitated writing this at all (and there’s a good chance I will delete quite soon.)

So, I figured I could write a happy post you all would read and leave comments on, giving me a small sense of belonging and acceptance that I apparently need on some level. (As much as I hate to admit it, I would give anything to have a blog that I was proud of, that showcased new ideas and my progress as I move towards better things.)

Or, I could write another honest post that might offend you and turn off any readers, seeing as it’s a bit raw and not so cheery (hell, I wouldn’t even want to read it). I could write a post that somehow still veils the fact that I’m so lost in so many ways, alone on so many levels, unhappy at work, exhausted from thinking, spinning my wheels.

I chose the latter, because it’s just a phase.?!

Let’s hope so.

Fear Factor…and an actual recipe

It’s Friday the 13 th, for whatever that means, so I thought I would talk about…fear foods.

It’s no secret that certain foods may be considered “fear foods” for certain people —foods that may trigger a fear of gaining weight, a fear of binging, etc.— and society certainly doesn’t help with that at all. Foods deemed “bad” and “good” are all over the place —TV, magazines, books — sugar is bad, so fruit is bad; a grapefruit diet worked for her, so it must be good for you, etc.

You get the point.

Leslie cited a great example from the most recent episode of “The Biggest Loser,” where the merits of a simple banana were apparently debated and deemed a “weight-gaining” food, no doubt leading those already on the brink of disordered thinking over the edge.

Lovely.

However, according to this story, a 22-year-old female student from Portsmouth claims she is unable to keep to a healthy diet because she is frightened of vegetables. It’s not that she has disordered thoughts about eating them, but that she has a real fear of the stuff.

I’ll summarize:

She suffers from a fear known as lachanophobia, which leaves her sweating and stricken with panic attacks at the merest sight of a sprout or a pea. She survives on a diet of meat, potatoes, cereals and an occasional apple but refuses even a single slice of carrot on her dinner plate.

“I have always had an irrational fear of vegetables even as a child I used to properly freak out if some carrots or a few peas were on my plate,” she said. “People might think it is a bit of a laughable affliction but I have a genuine fear of greens it’s not just that I dislike the taste of sprouts or broccoli, but the actual sight of them fills me with dread and I could never touch them.”

The unusual fear affects just a few thousand people in Britain and treatments for the condition include "psychological re-programming" to control the anxious response to seeing vegetables.

"It is a bit of an ordeal to go to the supermarket because the veg is usually right by the door," she said. "I am learning to control my fear but it isn’t easy it is a hard thing to have to bring up when I meet new people…But I’m confident that I will eventually overcome the phobia. I’d love to be able to sit down to a slap-up Sunday roast with a pile of greens and I’m sure one day that will happen."

Not sure where to go with that, but I guess we all have our phobias and fears. My only question is, what about tomatoes and avocados? Are those considered fruit and therefore OK or are they considered a vegetable and anxiety-provoking?

Sorry…had to get that in.

At any rate, regardless of whether we see a tater as a threat to our physical, emotional or psychological safety, one thing’s the same — we’re giving food a power it doesn’t deserve to have.

Much like numbers, deeming certain foods as “fear foods” gives control to something that we actually have complete control over, even if it doesn’t always feel that way.

For me, it’s kind of a confusing issue (shocker, eh?)

It’s not that I “fear” any food or put it on my “do not buy” list, but rather that I am never quite sure if it’s something I really want or something I think I should have (the good). If it’s something I really don’t like, or something I don’t think I should like (the bad). If it’s something I know I really like, but also something I know isn’t “healthy” but eat too much of it anyway and then feel guilty (the ugly).

Follow that? I didn’t.

Anyway, the anxiety comes more from the change in routine, as I feel such a (false) sense of security with eating the same things over and over, as boring as they may seem to be.

As I’ve shared, I like knowing the exact amounts, knowing how my body will (usually) react to them, and most importantly—knowing how my mind will (usually) react to them.

But if you recall, sometimes even an apple can throw me off my rocker. The safe become the scary, and then things tend to snowball.

How ridiculous does that sound when you really think about it? Letting a food make me feel guilty? Letting a food affect my mood and dictate my actions? Letting a food hold that power over me, be it an apple or an apple pie?

It almost sounds as ridiculous as being scared of vegetables.

Huh…(fear) food for thought.

But speaking of food, I did partake in pumpkin oats for the first time and am convinced that I need them on a daily basis (even though they were cold overnight oats eaten at work at 7am). I had never added pumpkin—something different—but I had some leftover from a baking experiment and thought I would live on the edge.

Worth the risk. Seasonally delicious. Big props to the pumpkin.

What was the baking experiment, you ask?

Caramel Pumpkin Oatmeal Bars

The Detroit News supplied me with this seasonal recipe and the picture above of what a GOOD photograph looks like, as opposed to the one below that I took while dishing them onto travel plates.

This is why I don’t take pictures.

Anyway, their version is slightly more appealing, but from the reviews I got at work, the bars tasted much better than they photographed. My mom thought they were a bit too rich, but my coworkers are addicted to sugar—and anything free—so just take that into account.

 

2 cups flour

2 cups rolled oats

1 1/2 cups firmly packed light brown sugar

1 tablespoon McCormick Pumpkin Pie Spice

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup (2 sticks) butter, melted

1 cup canned pumpkin

7 ounces (half of a 14-ounce package) caramels, unwrapped

2 tablespoons milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix flour, oats, sugar, pumpkin pie spice, baking soda and salt in large bowl. Add butter; stir until mixture is well blended and forms coarse crumbs. Reserve half (about 2 1/4 cups) for the topping. Add pumpkin to remaining mixture in bowl; stir until well blended. Press evenly into greased, foil-lined, 13-by-9-inch baking pan. Set aside.

Microwave caramels and milk in medium microwavable bowl on High 2 to 3 minutes or until caramels are completely melted, stirring after every minute. Let stand 1 minute. Pour over pumpkin mixture in pan, spreading to within 1/2 -inch of edges. Sprinkle with reserved crumb mixture.

Bake 30 to 35 minutes or until light golden brown. Cool in pan on wire rack. Lift from pan; remove foil. Cut into bars.

Proceed to take bad pictures of them to post on your blog, simply to prove once again why you’re not a food blogger. 

YES, I’M ALMOST DONE…

So after all that, what are your thoughts on “fear” foods and just the general power and influence many of us place on the things we eat (or don’t eat)?

What is the one thing you always, always feel safe with—your top “comfort” food, so to speak (strictly from a taste perspective, of course)?

And if all else fails, do you have any really weird fears?

I fear I will never win a giveaway, but Leslie is giving me another chance to snag some Oikos. Check it out!

Safety In Numbers

So I was sitting at my desk at work today, debating whether I would go for a nice relaxed walk later after supper (the weather is unseasonably nice) or whether I would go to the gym and hop on a bike for a measurable amount of time.

Who are we kidding? There was no debate, really.

Too bad I went for a small walk at lunch, yet couldn’t wait to get to the gym tonight and pedal away my frustrations with work, with family, with life. Every second of every day I have to work at silencing that internal debate, and sometimes I feel either way I lose.

But I needed that reassurance of something concrete, of something showing me that for 40 minutes I pedaled a bike and literally got nowhere (except halfway through the new Every Day with Rachael Ray.) In fact, it probably sent me backwards.

But it gets tricky when numbers are involved, doesn’t it?

Even if I don’t place a lot of concrete value on those numbers—it can be weight or calories, money or time—they can all be measured, they can all be compared and they can all be manipulated to mean whatever you want them to mean.

By keeping score, I know if I didn’t exercise as much today as yesterday, if I ate more today than I planned, if I spent too much time on the blogs.  I have been pushing myself, challenging numbers, but in all the wrong ways. It’s like I’m addicted to self-defeat.

On one hand, I know exactly what I need to do to change things, yet I don’t  push myself in that direction of healthy discomfort.

On the other hand, I  know exactly the minimum number of calories or minutes of exercise I need to stay exactly where I am—teetering on the rope of almost-trying and comfortable discomfort.

I am not a stupid woman, so why would I think that eating less than that amount or exercising more than I should would be even remotely acceptable?

It’s those damn numbers.

I like to know, even if I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. I can manipulate them to feel proud for all the wrong reasons or use them as a way to stay strong. I can manipulate them to drag myself down or use them to pick myself up.

I use the clock to eat my meals all day, each neatly measured out. I use the time to judge my workouts, each day a minute more. I use my weight to keep me safe from pain, but yet it tears me down.

It’s those damn numbers.

The internal debate rages on, “life” chaotically rages along around me and I find myself turning to food even more—on blogs, on Web sites, on TV—to serve as a distraction. It takes my mind away from something I don’t know how to deal with to something more concrete, something I can see, something I could enjoy if I would only let myself.

If I would only let go of the numbers—time, calories, measurements—all judgments I tend to misuse.

I know this about myself, so day by day, my goal is to try and release the hold that I place on these numbers that really mean nothing at all (does a measured cup of rice really taste different than an unmeasured cup of rice?) By releasing a bit of that hold, I hope to reclaim a bit more of the intuition and strength that I’ve buried.

A gentle walk, a yoga class, an unmeasured amount at a meal—I aim to embrace them as equally worthy of my time and attention, if not more so than the value I place on an arbitrary number.

I wanted to go for a walk.

Chobani Winner

I don’t know how to take a fancy picture of the screenshot from random.org, so you’re just going to have to take my word for it that the randomly generated number was 25, meaning Ms. Maggie (a.k.a. The Salad Girl) was the winner!

If you can e-mail me the address where you want the yogurt sent to you, Maggie, we’ll get that out to you!

 

Pride and Prejudice

I’ll quickly set the scene. Me, in my happy place (grocery store), ready to check out.

So I got in line behind a man with only a few items on the belt—off-brand mini butter cookies, a couple two liters of off-brand pop and two snack-sized bags of chips.

(Now I apologize in advance if this isn’t a politically correct description, but I’m trying to set the scene here.)

He was probably about mid-40s and dressed in dirty jeans, a heavily worn coat thrown on over a couple layers of shirts and work boots.

He kind of gaped his mouth like a fish out of water every few seconds, revealing rows of gums where teeth should be. The way he looked around, squinting and furtive, it appeared his eyes were closed, although his darting glances back and forth would suggest otherwise.

Right or wrong, I assumed he had some “issues” of his own, namely those involving a lack of steady employment, financial security and complete physical and mental acuity.

(Although given the fact that I was in Meijer on a Friday night in yoga pants and a sweatshirt and spent 10 minutes picking out the perfect avocadoes, one could easily draw a similar assumption about my mental acuity.)

At any rate, as I was unloading my cart, the cashier—a guy about my age—rang up our Mr. X. I didn’t hear the total, but I did see him hand over a few crumpled dollar bills and proceed to make up the difference with a pocket full of dirty change. Dimes, nickels, pennies…he kept counting until he felt he had enough.

The woman behind me with her son let out exasperated sighs, apparently in a hurry to get home with her half gallon of chocolate milk, overpriced, over-sugared box of “healthy” Cocoa Puffs and National Enquirer (not that I was judging).

The cashier informed the man that he was still a dollar short, causing him to fumble back into the depths of his pockets in search of his change. Right or wrong, I grabbed a dollar out of my purse and offered it to him under the guise that he should save the change for later, as it always comes in handy.

He looked absolutely confused, not that I blame him, and proceeded to dart his squinted eyes back and forth, doing the gaping mouth thing rapidly now and shifting his weight back and forth.

“What’s that? I don’t want that dollar,” he said as he began rifling through his pockets again.

The cashier was looking at me a bit stunned, looking back at him, back at me, back at him—the man still searching for the necessary change. The cashier took my dollar, and asked the man, “So, do you want me to use this or not?”

Mr. X was upset, saying he didn’t need that dollar, that he had the change he needed somewhere. I felt like an ass. Obviously this man was too proud to accept even a dollar under the guise of it being anything but charity, something I hadn’t taken into consideration—his pride and my prejudice assumption.

Just then Mr. X looked up and said, “Unless it fell out of my pocket…”

The cashier looked at me and nodded when I confirmed this very fact—that the dollar had indeed slipped out of his pocket when he was reaching for his change. I added that it happens to me all the time, watching as the man vigorously nodded his head at the cashier.

He got his receipt, grabbed his bags and headed for the exit.

When I turned back to finish unloading, the woman behind me gave a soft smile and a nod, her impatience momentarily forgotten or ignored. The cashier didn’t say anything, but upon giving me my receipt he added the obligatory, “have a good night.”

I wished him the same, and he said that he already had.

But I was thinking, of course, about my assumptions and my own pride. While I’m pretty sure I was correct about our homeless friend, I still felt like it was a bit pretentious for me to assume he would accept my help—as meager as it was. While he was obviously in need of help, he was too proud to admit it…sound familiar?

There are times when I know things could be different for me, that I could give up all control and admit that things are rough, that I’m slipping or I might just need support.

Yet I still dig through my coins, trying to figure out a way to make it work the way it’s been, refusing to accept the help that’s right in front of me.

Maybe it’s my pride, maybe it’s my preconceived idea of how I think things need to be, or maybe I really do want to be rescued in some sense of the term.

Maybe (just maybe) this blog is me accepting the dollar without feeling the shame? The support and the help without feeling too needy?

Maybe this is being written right now instead of me going to the gym, so it would appear to be a nonsensical rant used to defer anxiety? Maybe, but it is what it is.

And although I’m not a food blogger, it always comes back to food…

So what fun item from the grocery trip/psychological gut-check am I sharing with you today?

I found this line of entrees stuck in by my beloved Amy’s in the freezer section. Given the fact that I’m in the dang store about every day, these were a new addition that piqued my interest. I went out on a limb and decided to give these a try.

Product: Moo Moo’s Poblano Chickpea Patties

Price: $3.89

Description: Chick peas, kettle cooked chili onions, brown rice, roasted poblano and red bell peppers combined into southwest patties served over Moo’s Roasted Corn Salsa. Vegan and Gluten Free.

Taste: The two patties and corn salsa can either be made in the oven or microwave and come in a film-covered tray. Although I prefer the oven, I was impatient and threw them in the microwave, so the patties weren’t as crisp or solid as I assume oven baking would have produced.

It looked nothing like the picture on the box. But with that said, it still tasted delicious. They were a bit mushy (microwave-mushy), but very well spiced with a kick of heat, and the corn was the perfect addition.

Conclusion: While it was the perfect nighttime snack while waiting for Joel, it would probably be a bit small for a meal unless bulked up a bit with more veggies or fruit. However, I liked them a lot and was glad that I ventured out and tried something new.

Although only four different entrees are available at my store, they have a total of six on their Web site, all of which I wouldn’t mind tasting in the future…and that says something, considering how picky I am.

Rock on, Moo Moo, rock on.

Remember that my Chobani giveaway ends Sunday night!

Randamity

After my last downer post, I feel the need to enlighten you with random, useless facts that I’ve come across the past couple of days. Hence, randamity ensues.

So while I make no apologies for that last post, I realized that I wouldn’t even want to read my blog when it takes that tone. Basically, I just have to shut up, grow up and move it on up to the east side—or to a state of better heath, both physical and mental.

And what better way to start than talking about new and innovative fresh products that will be hitting shelves next year?  (That’s right…I have secret connections.) Maybe it’s not that exciting, but I love stuff like this. So, coming soon to a produce section near you:

This spud’s for you…

Not that it’s that hard to make a tater, but Wada Farms is introducing the Microwave in Bag! featuring gold and red potatoes in 1-pound microwavable bags. The spuds are double-washed and steam in the bag in eight minutes.

Fruity Fries

Crunch Pak is introducing the retail version of Burger King’s Apple Fries. The fresh-cut apple slices look like the popular fresh-cut apples at Burger King, and the bag was cleverly designed to look like a FryPod with fries. Sneaky…

The Layered Look

(Not the best picture—sorry) 

Wholly Guacamole—and I love me some avocados—will introduce their Party Time Dip. What is it, you might ask? It’s a 16-ounce tray of layered salsa and guacamole, with the original guac on the bottom and the medium salsa on the top.

That would last me all of 3.4 seconds, so it’s a good thing they also make the 100-calorie packs, eh?

More Potatoes

Maybe I’m naive, but I had no idea people had such problems making potatoes. At any rate, if you do, this new line of products from Green Giant Fresh are ready to eat in four minutes and require no washing, mixing or puncturing, according to the company.  They will be available in Red-Skin/Yellow-Flesh in Four Cheese Sauce or Roasted Garlic butter and Yellow-Skin/Yellow-Flesh with Mesquite Smoked Bacon or Three Chile Sauce.

Salad Shooter

While I prefer making my own Huge Jass salad at home, Ready Pac is expanding it’s already large Bistro Bowl line with two seasonal offerings—Waldorf Salad and Italiano Salad—for those who don’t have time.

If salad ain’t your thang, they’re building on the snacking trend with a Ready Snax line consisting of Hummus and Veggies; Apple, Cheese and Caramel; Apple, PB and Trail Mix; Veggie, Cheese and Pretzel; Veggie, Cheese and Ranch; and Apple, Yogurt and Granola.

Build Me Up, Butternut

Pretty self-explanatory with this one, but Mann Packing will debut its Butternut Squash Cubes in microwavable 12- and 20-ounce bags. Now this I understand, as there are those of us who don’t take the time to truly enjoy squash and the prep process like some people…maybe they’ll come out with Kabocha?

Visit A Museum—if only online

If you’re looking for a fun way to waste time—after reading blogs, of course—check out the Museum of Food Anomalies (MoFA).  All I can say is if it’s wrong to be completely entertained and amused by things like this, then darn it all, I don’t want to be right…

And finally…the Peter Pecker Pepper

Do I really have to say anything for this one?

And that does it for the food portion of the program today.

GET IT OUT (yes, TWSS)

Now onto a different topic, as I wanted to address the comments section of the blog for a minute. I know there are times that you’ll be reading a blog and there are a million questions you might have for someone or something you’re thinking that you would probably never say, as it might not be polite (or maybe that’s just me…)

Well, I don’t do the poo-poo thing in real life and I don’t plan on doing in on my blog (obviously). If there is every anything you want to know about me, anything you want to say—good or bad—to me, or anything you just want to vent about unrelated to me, feel free to do it here.

Some of you have expressed the concern that you can’t really be super honest on your own blogs, as family and friends read religiously. So, if you’ve got something to get off your chest and need a place to do it, then mi casa et su casa (I don’t know Spanish, so substitute “blog” for casa and we’re good to go.)

I’m being sincere when I say that I respect honesty more than just about anything and hope that you are always honest with me—even if you can’t always be honest with yourself—and openly solicit dialogue!

At any rate, after a few fresh veggie products, a pecker pepper and a pep talk, I’m spent…

If you haven’t yet, don’t forget to enter my Chobani giveaway and tell me what recipe you would like to see on their Web site!

Rogaine and Push-up Bras

Yes, beauty is only skin deep, but what happens when you’re not even comfortable in your own skin?

Now, I’m not whiny and one of those people that complains about my life, as trust me, I really have nothing to complain about. I can portray an image, albeit a skinny one, of someone in control of her life for the most part.

So maybe it was just a perfect storm of little events recently, but if given the option, I would rather be anyone else than me lately. No, I don’t think I’m fat. No, I don’t think I’m unintelligent. No, I don’t think I’m a witch.

The problem is, I just don’t want to think.

I don’t want to think about the fact that I have one “real” bra (as in, not a sports bra) that kind of fits without driving me nuts—not that I have to wear it, anyway. Picture putting a pathetic imitation of intimate apparel on a 2-x-4 and you might just catch my drift.

I don’t want to think about the fact that I am no longer just shedding, but that I must seriously face the fact that I have severely thinning hair and a receding hairline at age 28. The past couple years I have gone from having my hair be my “go-to, feel-good” area to a source of embarrassment and shame—always pulled back, limp and lifeless.

I don’t want to think about the fact that every once in a while I will involuntarily catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, and the first thing that strikes me is how alien and strangely remote it appears. It’s not that it seems completely unfamiliar, but it’s more like the unpleasant sensation of recognizing an acquaintance I never really liked.

I don’t want to think about the fact that food rules my life and I’m blogging about that again; the fact that the only thing I often look forward to is eating variations of the same things days after day, while simultaneously planning the next meal instead of enjoying the one that I have.

(Amy’s Mac ‘n Cheese pimped out with my veggies)

I don’t want to think about the fact that I ignore the yellow caution lights my body has been flashing, making excuses all the while and pushing those who try and help away.

I don’t want to think about how I want to look and feel like a woman, not a shell of what I used to or could maybe be again. I want to be curvy, muscular, strong like I was. I want to have hips, the ass and the chest I used to proudly call my own. I want to have hair that won’t stay on my pillow and feminine features that aren’t jutting, sharp and extreme.

I don’t want to think about how I am completely undressable. Nothing fits, nothing looks right, so I default to yoga pants and sweatshirts (when I can, of course). This means I rarely go out, as the yoga pants/sweatshirts look has yet to make it big in social circles.

I don’t want to think about how I used to have fun, used to have friends and used to have passion—and I mean real passion. Not the obsessive, compulsive/impulsive thoughts that float through my head every day, planning every minute, every workout, every meal. I want “healthy” passion to plan moderate workouts, creative outlets and varied, nourishing meals.

I don’t want to think about how I will be regarded after posting this, as it’s not that upbeat, it’s not food-oriented and it’s not inspirational. In fact, I don’t want to think about the fact that I will feel like a total ass and should have kept this to myself instead of venting it out in the open.

I don’t want to think about the fact that I’m not even comfortable in my own skin, with my own thoughts. Because while I grasp for that control in any way I can—food, exercise, isolation—it strangles me at the same time and I don’t recognize what I’ve become. (Or worse, I see it and don’t care.)

However…

Most of the things we don’t want to look at in ourselves are the very things we need to look at in order to know ourselves better and to become more fully who we are.

Right now, I am pushing myself in all the wrong ways. I push my body to do things that it shouldn’t have to do. And even without the proper care, the damn thing continues to function, even if only in survival mode.

When I’m lacking in one internal area, another picks up the slack and keeps me going. But I think it’s tired. I think it’s sending me signs that even though it’s giving all it has, that it’s on my side of this  thing, it can’t hold up it’s end of the bargain forever.

The hair, the clothes, the curves—those are all external, and I really am not concerned with looks. However, they are also external signs of internal struggle, and that, my friends, I suppose I need to be concerned with.

So, I’m not sure where I’m going with this and I don’t really want to think about it, but I need to step it up. Even if I’m not comfortable with where I am right now, I need to make myself uncomfortable and challenge my routine way of doing things.

Because while I can accept myself for what I am, this isn’t what I want to be, if that makes sense—probably not, but I’m rambling.

At any rate, I know I will regret posting this (and probably lose more hair from the stress…kidding), but I had to get it out there.

That whole, “use the blog for accountability” thing…

Anyway, if you actually read all this crap, make sure you check out my Chobani yogurt giveaway and get yourself in the running for some free bacteria!

P.S. Next post will be lighter, I promise, and will include something other than recycled food pictures and incoherent introspection.

Get Some Culture-Giveaway

To some people, food is just something to keep them from being hungry. They eat whatever is easiest, whatever is closest and whatever is cheapest.

While I don’t understand this ambivalence, I also respect that many people don’t understand why I love food, why I spend more money on groceries than entertainment and why I will drive to several different stores to get exactly what I want.

I am thrifty and sacrifice certain things to maintain this lifestyle, as I would much rather have produce than pumps. And as evidenced by the great community of food bloggers, I am not alone in my appreciation of where my food comes from and how it is made.

It’s almost like there is a separate culture of consumers that not only want good, natural things for themselves, but also want to know that these good, natural things are produced with more than profits in mind.

And the cool thing is, so many of the companies that produce these very products do just that—placing the value on protection and people more than profits, all while producing quality foods.

It’s been said before, but the work that people like Newman’s Own Organics do through their position is pretty incredible (and no, no one is paying me to say that.)

Yes, I’m rambling, but I just think it’s so important that in this day of consumerism, recession and convenience, we take the time to appreciate those companies that hold strong to their beliefs and values.

So today I will focus on yogurt, as it’s one of those things I will not compromise on. Because while it’s great to be organic or created sustainably, it still has to taste good.

OIKOS

Oikos/Stonyfield Farm does both, as it’s organic and the company invests a large amount of time, energy and money back into the community.

From the Web site: “Through Stonyfield Farm’s Profits for the Planet program, Oikos gives 10% of its profits to efforts that protect and restore the environment. Our donation recipients are educational and non-profit organizations with innovative environmental and organic programs that produce measurable results.”

Product: Oikos plain 0%

Cost: $1.89 regularly (but Kristin from Stonyfield was nice enough to send me a few coupons, so for a week, it has been one expense I don’t have to spare!)

Taste: It’s very creamy, a bit sweet and rather thin—often liquid is pooled at the top—so if someone is new to Greek yogurt, it would be a good product to help ease the transition. While I enjoy this brand very much, I find it’s better suited used as a salad dressing (especially mixed with salsa) or in a big yogurt mess, as opposed to a stand-alone.

Conclusion: They need to come out with a 2% version, like, two months ago. I think it would be delightful.

CHOBANI

Chobani does so much good, that it’s ridiculous. When you visit the Web site, a tab invites you to read about their Spread the Good Program that details more than a dozen charities the company is involved with. Not only that, but it also includes a search tool to find opportunities at local organizations, making it easy to get involved and “spread the good,” so to speak.

While I would like to talk about everything they do, I’m long-winded enough as it is, so just go check it out.

At any rate, for some reason, plain Chobani is not carried anywhere around my area except in a big 32-ounce container. Seeing as I had never tried this brand before, I was hesitant to shell out the dough for something I wasn’t sure I would like.

However, Shari at Chobani was kind enough to send me four (4) single servings of the 0% flavor to sample (as you may or may not know, I do not enjoy flavored yogurt and stick to plain.) Anyway…

Product: Chobani 0% plain

Cost: $1.29 regularly (at least for the flavored carried in my area)

Taste: I found it to be very similar to the consistency and taste of the Oikos, although it was a bit thicker, less sweet and more “Greek,” if that makes sense. It can very easily be used in a yogurt mess or as a stand-alone (I like dipping veggies and fruit in it, too.)

Conclusion: If it was available in my area (boo, hiss) I would most likely purchase this over the Oikos, based on taste and the fact it’s a bit cheaper. I would really like to try the 2%, as once again, I think it would be delightful.

FAGE

While FAGE (pronounced “fa-yeh”) doesn’t list any corporate charitable efforts on their Web site, they’re are my favorite, so they’re added in the taste test.

However, they do add this: “We conduct our business operations in harmony with the local environment, and take care to have the least possible impact on the wider environment. In using energy, we look for forms that minimize pollution. In dispensing waste, we set internal goals that are far more stringent than the permissible limits. We collect all secondary paper packaging and wooden pallets for recycling. And recognizing that water is a natural resource, we strive to save water throughout all of our facilities.”

Good enough for me.

Product: FAGE 0% plain

Cost: $1.79

Taste: Like I mentioned above, I would have to rate FAGE at the top of my list. It’s what I think of when I hear “Greek” yogurt, as it is ridiculously thick—even the 0%. It’s a bit more tangy than sweet, which I prefer, and even the fat free tastes like a thick, rich treat.

Conclusion: Still my favorite, and the bonus is that the 2% is available in my area and is both a bit thicker and creamier than it’s fat free counterpart. It doesn’t seem like it would make a difference, but that little bit of added fat to the mix adds in a lot of consistency and texture (think skim milk vs. 2%).

See why I don’t do reviews? They take me forever to get to the point.

But to be honest, you can’t go wrong with Greek yogurt, as most of you know—especially if it’s free, which is where the giveaway comes in here.

And just because I don’t like flavored yogurt and stick to the plain varieties doesn’t mean that you have to! Shari from Chobani was generous enough to offer a lucky reader of my little piece of the blogosphere a case of blueberry, strawberry and peach Chobani yogurt.

Chobani is/has:
· All natural. No preservatives. No artificial flavors.
· No synthetic growth hormones: No rBST-treated milk.
· Includes 5 live & active cultures, including 3 probiotics.
· Made with real fruit.
· Twice the protein of regular yogurts.
· A good source of bone-building calcium.
· Gluten-Free and Kosher-Certified.
· Safe for people with corn, nut and soy allergies.

So, you know the drill, by now!

If you are a U.S. resident, you have (3) three opportunities to enter before the Nov. 8 deadline, when good ol’ random.org will choose a winner.

1.) Go to the Chobani site, check it out and leave me a comment here on either what recipe you would like to add to their recipe section (A yogurt mess? A baked good?) or what charity they support that you are most affiliated with.

2.) Add me to your blog roll and leave a comment letting me know.

3.) Link this giveaway to one of your posts, leaving me a comment letting me know.

Like I said, all three yogurts are most excellent, as I wouldn’t consume anything that I considered “less than,” much less recommend it to a friend. So with that said, good luck!

Until next time…