Starve/Gobble/Starve

That is the sound of Erika's Thanksgiving. Such is the pleasure of a food-based holiday bookended by misery.

FIRST: I have a lot to be thankful for. I can walk, swim, and run or jump if I need to, despite my injury. My heath is good despite my hypochondria. I have a loving in-law family in two states who more than adequately replace my Kmart-special natural family. Another thing I can be thankful about is the majority of my fucked up family are dead and off the radar. I have a loving husband who puts up with my shit - and yes, boys and girls, there is a LOT of it. I have a well-paying, stable job at a place that lets me be me and a boss who appreciates me and leaves me the fuck alone. The added bonus is I really like what I do; coordinating software testing suits my anal, linear, rigid mind to a T. I am surrounded by people in my life who know me and enjoy me even when I'm at my weirdest. I have great bandmates who never fail to make me laugh. And, finally, I also am thankful that I have the self awareness to notice and appreciate the things for which I should be thankful; my cup is half full, never half empty, and that the sunrise still holds wonder for me even when my night was horrible.

Ok now that I got that out of my system:

I do not know how anorexics do it. How do they starve? How do they manage to think and go to school/work and avoid food and still function? Their will, however pathological and obsessive, is absolutely tremendous. Imagine if that focus could be channeled into something more productive than killing themselves slowly... well, that's another blog.

I'm officially still over my weight limit, despite three Starve Days before Thanksgiving. By Wednesday afternoon, I was fucking pathetic, I'll tell you. I was desperate for a hot meal. Ensures and salads and Ovaltine just were not doing it. All I could think about was how anxious I was to get that warm, yummy Schlotzsky's sandwich at the airport at 8am on Thursday. The food thinking was obsessive. I also noticed that as my available glycogen dropped, forming new memories or concentrating was extraordinarily difficult. My brain felt like cheesecloth - everything inserted into it just dribbled out. Another fun effect was the emotional instability - easily irritated or depressed. Body saying, "Hey asshole, what are you doing to me? Fucking EAT already, would you?"

The good thing was that by Thursday morning I was only 1.4 lbs over my standard weight, as opposed to the staggering 6.4 lbs that slapped me in the face on Sunday night. So off we went to Pennsylvania and the eating began. Thanksgiving dinner at Jeff's dad's was yummy stuffing, brussel sprouts, asparagus, mashed potatoes, turkey, gravy and cranberries and pears. I had 1.5 plates worth of the above. Pumpkin pie finished the deal.

Next morning, we had the best breakfast food ever made: Swedish oatmeal pancakes. If you have never had a Swedish oatmeal pancake, you need to remedy that right now. They are nutty and filling and totally the best. I could fill a bathtub with them and eat my way from one end to the other. Oh so savory. You want a pancake that embodies the term umami? Go get a Swedish oatmeal one.

Friday night we had Thanksgiving leftovers. Yummy yum yum all over again.

Saturday, we ate lunch at a little cafe, where I ate a chicken caesar salad in preparation for the blow out I knew was coming. For dinner, we went to this amazing French restaurant in the middle of nowhere. I mean in the middle of NO-where - down this long, pitch dark windy country road across a one lane bridge to a town made of 4 buildings. I split a foie gras appetizer with Jeff who shared his garlic bisque in return. Never did I think garlic bisque could be so good, but it proves the rule that you add cream to anything and it becomes instantly awesome. Dinner was Chilean sea bass with a big seared scallop in a Thai curry emulsion, which was so mild I forgot it was even a curry. Rich buttery mashed potatoes accompanied it. Jeff had rare venison medallions over a nice risotto. For dessert, we both had this ultramoist upside down chocolate cake that was puddingy and chocolatey and really rich. I did not have a bad reaction to the caffeine in the chocolate, so I was very pleased. Then we went back home and had birthday cake, as it was Jeff's step-mom's birthday! Pigs, we were.

Sunday was a bit of a blow out. Jeff and I were heading to Easton, PA to see our artist friend, Joseph A. Smith, so we stopped at Wendy's to grab burgers and fries. Burgers = good. Dirty and shitty and tasty. Fries = HORRIBLE. I think they used corn oil, as the fries had a European flavor to them, which I found disgusting. There's a lot of German folk in that area of PA, so I'm thinking the corn oil was a regional thing. It needs to stay regional, as that was awful! Fry desires were not quenched. At Joe's house, we had a nice vegetarian meal of garlicky hummus, cherry tomatoes, two kinds of goat cheese, pimento, olives, onion relish with little baguettes. It was light and healthy and we dirty pigs ended up going to McDonalds on the way back to scratch the french fry itch. Of course, we ended up getting burgers again, since they were so cheap. McDonalds is evil. Filth! But tasty filth!

Then it was Monday with healthy sandwiches from Panera Bread and a final dinner at Niki's Pizza at the Dobie Mall back in Austin. Stepping on the scale at home, I was not as horrified as I could have been, but it still wasn't good. So now I starve again and exercise to the point of screaming bordeom.

As of this writing, I'm only 0.8 lbs over my standard weight. By Monday, I should be almost back to baseline and can resume normal consumption.

And yes, I'm a little obsessed with my weight. It's about the control, baby! When you grow up in chaos, this is how you turn out.

But... it could be a lot worse. And who knows, maybe it will get worse, and you'll all get to vicariously participate in it, via this blog!

Have a good weekend, all!

Question for All of You

Does anyone know what happened to Michael Saint, the master leatherworker who ran St. Michael's Emporium in NYC in the 90s? I've been trying to find him on the 'Net for years - it's like he went into the witness protection program or something.

Leave a comment if you have any idea!

Starve Day

Sometimes I get tired of my genetics thinking it's 10,000 years ago.

I could be really fat if I wanted. I love eating. I don't drink alcohol, I don't smoke, I don't do any drugs. People are honestly baffled as to how I have fun. Well, I play in a metal band and I eat. Oh god, how I love to eat. I love taste and texture and feeling full. I love cheese, I love meat, I love heavy sauces, I love experiencing exotic food. Indian, Chinese, Southeast Asian, Japanese, Swedish, French, German, Tex-Mex, Italian, American - bring it on. I'll eat from one end of the table to the other and STILL have room for a piece of pie.

I can eat myself into abject pain and still longingly gaze at the red velvet cake even though one more bite will explode my guts like Mr Kreosote in The Meaning of Life.

All this comes from growing up poor and not having enough to eat. I have some really fucked up food responses. My family was very poor. It was feast at the 1st of the month when food stamps came, and famine at the end. Not like starving famine, but "Seeing the back of the cupboard"-type famine. "PB&J"-type famine. My dad would always cook up roasts and steak dinners at the beginning of the month. Thirty days later, the only steaks being had were Steak-Ums. I grew to really anticipate those good meals. Dad would make a huge deal of it, getting the pan all ready, scraping and heating and driving my mother batshit. My hunger would be so great I'd be nauseous. He'd fuck with that pan until 9:30pm - I'd be DYING. When that meal hit the table, it was vacuum-time, because (s)he who ate fastest got the best food. Always a race between me and my dad. It was not fun. It was like putting down two bowls for two underfed food-aggressive dogs and forcing them to eat standing side by side. My dad would actually take food from my plate if it looked nicer than what he had. Needless to say, I am an adult who HATES SHARING FOOD. Do NOT ask to sample my food when eating out - I hate it. I worry about not getting "enough," even if my plate is piled high. It's fucked up.

My dad and his mother also had gourmet palates, and introduced me to wonderful things like Welsh Rarebit, lobster bisque, venison, shark, brie and all sorts of sweets. My mother was the basic palate of the family, and from her I grew to love mac and cheese, TV dinners, frozen pizzas and SPAM. Yes, I said SPAM. SPAM is my dirty secret (well, not-so-secret now that I've blogged it). So, basically, I eat like a goat, i.e., almost anything.

And now, it's Season's Eatings, and I'm in hell.

Did you notice when it starts getting cold, you want to eat more? I really believe our bodies haven't advanced much from where they were at 10,000 years ago. We might have warm houses and fleece pullovers and microwaves but when the days start to shorten and the mercury drops, our bodies go: "Make and store up that fat! The long period of no food is coming!" It's been a little chilly down here in TX as of late and I am on a total food tear: I want to eat everything and anything. Pizza, pasta, tamales, butter, cream, egg nog, bread, cookies, cake - fuck, MAKE IT STOP.

In the last two weeks, I haven't felt 100% well so I haven't been exercising as hard. My life is a fine balance between calories in versus calories burned per week. The balance has slipped and calories in has been vastly surpassing calories burned. Pants are feeling tighter and the bathroom scale ain't lyin': I'm gaining weight.

So, today I have implemented Starve Day.

Somewhere online I read that it's good every once and a while to go a little hungry. Paleolithic man didn't always get enough to eat. He had bumper days and bust days. Since my last two weeks have been nothing but bumper days, it's time for a bust. I'm sick of slapping my belly and yelling "FAT!" to no one in particular.

My goal with Starve Day is to calm my stomach down. The less I put in it, the less it wants, after an initial tantrum that lasts about 3 hours. I also want to spend a day expelling more volume than consuming. I feel out of equilibrium and need to reestablish.

Starve Day does not mean "consume nothing". That's not healthy. Today I will consume healthy liquid calories and some high fiber solids, at about 1/3 my normal consumption. So far, so good. It's 5pm and all I've had today was a 11 oz glass of soy milk with Ovaltine (can't drink it without thinking of Ralphie and Christimas Story - "'Be sure to drink your Ovaltine!' A crummy commercial! Son of a bitch!"), and a very large salad. Dinner will be an Ensure and possibly a whole wheat roll with a little butter on it. And I did work out - 40 laps this morning with a 30 minute walk this evening. Maybe some weights after this post.

All in all, I feel a lot cleaner. Starve Day is working. I'm thinking I'll need tomorrow and Wednesday to be quasi-Starve Days because Thursday is Thanksgiving and I have to make up for last year. Remember? Last year I was on that horrible drug Toprol and could barely eat. I couldn't enjoy all the wonderful tamale stuffing, grilled asparagus, turkey, potatoes and rolls. It sucked. I was so sick. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because of the unbridled, gluttonous consumption. So, come Thursday, watch out - because I will be back off the wagon and eating it ALL!

And... in case you were wondering, I won't be sharing, either.

Have a wonderful Holiday everyone - enjoy whatever you do, and be safe.

The Arrogance of Motherhood

Hang on tight, folks, this is a rant and a half and the ride's gonna be rough. I'm sure some readers will be right pissed by the end.

I have to have another surgery. I'll explain the reason why in another blog, but long and short, I'm going to have an abdominal laparoscopy in a few weeks. Since the doc is going to be in there with all the telescopes and cauterizers and electroscalpels, I figured now would be a great time to have my tubes tied. One stop shopping. Shouldn't complicate my recovery. Get it over with.

The tubal ligation will be a huge relief. I have always viewed pregnancy as a type of terrible disease, of which I was imminently susceptible. Driving home today, I was thinking about why, from even a very early age, did I fear pregnancy so? When I was 12 or 13, I used to daydream about getting PID (pelvic inflammatory disease) so I would become sterile. Other girls daydreamed about the cute boy in math class, and I daydreamed about PID. WTF?

For years, I pondered over a vague and disturbing memory from around age three of being taken one day to a hospital-like environment where I tried to play for what seemed like an eternity in this dimly lit, stark gray room. My mother went into another room where a film was shown. I remember it being very secret and clandestine, and the air was thick with sadness and woe. There was a book on the table in the room with what I deemed were scary drawings of people's insides. I was intensely confused and remember being scared of the drawings and of the man's voice narrating the film. My dad was there too, but I don't really remember what he was doing.

Years later, my mother told me that when I was little, she got pregnant and my dad insisted she get an abortion. I think that memory was of the day she went. It seems to make sense.

I wonder, if on that day, a seed was planted in my three year old brain that has since grown into a redwood of pregnancy fear.

Not that I mind, in particular. I have no mothering instinct. I look at my friends who are great moms and I don't know how they do it. I admire them as I admire astronauts, because I wouldn't want to and couldn't do that either. Myself, I have no desire to add another human being to this overpopulated and stressed planet. I would have had a tubal 10 years ago if my ob-gyn hadn't read me the riot act about making rash decisions. Here's where this turns into a rant. Why can't some women understand that other women DO NOT WANT TO BREED? I've never had a man ask me if I was going to have kids and then talk to me like I was retarded because I said no. But these ladies! Holy smokes. I call it The Arrogance of Motherhood. You go to a baby shower for a friend and everyone asks when you and Bobo are going to start a family. "Me?" I say. "Oh no, never, that's not for me." They'll press on, "Oh come on, you'd make great babies!" Lately, I've started sighing heavily and responding in a sad tone, "Well, I can't - physical problems, you know." Then I shrug. You'd think that would stop them. These moms are undeterred even at that. They will say, "Oh, that's what my friend X said. Lo and behold she's got two months to go before her little surprise is born! Anything can happen!"

Little surprise. A baby is not a little surprise. A little surprise is your boss sends you home early because "you've been working hard." A little surprise is your husband comes home with flowers or something cute because he knew you would like it. A little surprise is what the cat leaves you to step in at 3am on your way to the bathroom. CHILDREN ARE NOT LITTLE SURPRISES.

I feel like screaming at these women, who I know are only trying to share their own blindered mother joy: "You know what? You are WRONG! I do not EVER want kids! I have NEVER wanted kids. When people gave me baby dolls when I was little I cried because I wanted trucks and cars instead. My genetics are so shitty that it would be irresponsible for me to breed! Endometroisis, mitral valve prolapse, family history of mental illness and alcoholism on BOTH SIDES, prone to depression and anxiety, TMJ, early onset bone loss, crooked teeth, lipomas, arthritis... Any kid I have is going to have at least some of the above. What right do I have to make a person who is doomed to at least some health problems? PLUS, I had bad parents! Really BAD parents. ABUSIVE parents. I don't know how to be a good parent. I have the mothering instinct of a shark. I'm anxious, I'm angry, I'm judgmental, I have impossibly high standards and my moral code flies completely in the face of regular society. I believe that 80% of humanity should be wiped out because the gene pool is impossibly polluted by individuals who should have died before breeding age. Voluntary Human Extinction Movement! And if I did get pregnant, I would get an abortion. Immediately. Instantly. Pregnancy is a disease to me. I am not breeding. Are you CONVINCED NOW?"

And I know these women would say, "Oh, come on now, your baby would be fine and you'd figure it out and be a great mom."

Christ.

I think the coup de grace of The Arrogance of Motherhood, the one that has left me open mouthed and silent, is: "Well, if you don't have kids, who's going to take care of you when you get old?"

I'll tell you. A cyanide capsule will. Or a bullet to the head. Or I'll just will myself to die once I realize the sunrise has no further promise for me. I'll figure it out somehow. I will NOT burden another human being with my death. I will not. That is a promise. Children are not to be had just to care for their parents when they are old. My mother thought that. She thought she could neglect me for 34 years and then in her time of need I'd be there, waiting to rescue her and open my life to her. She was wrong. She died and I didn't cry a tear. I don't miss her. I didn't love her! She was a horrible mom! I would hate to be a mother whose children felt about her as I did about both my parents. Who are you? Two people who fucked and made a baby and then did the bare minimum to raise it until it was old enough to raise itself. Fuck you. Unfit. I will not press that issue to see whether or not I would be unfit like them, too. Nothing is worth that risk. I will live my life and die my death and no one will be ruined financially or emotionally by it. That's IT.

Breathe... breathe.

So in a couple weeks I go to get myself fixed and put the discussions about kids to bed forever.

And I'm sure, I'm sure, someone is going to say to me, "Oh well my friend X had her tubes tied and it didn't work and now she's 4 months along."

The Arrogance of Motherhood. That's why there's 7 billion people on this poor planet. We can't stop fucking and we can't imagine life without crapping out kids. I guess that's what a species does... that's why they go on for millions of years and overrun the planet. Me, like T-Rex - I'm doomed to extinction. I kind of like it that way. My shitty DNA dies with me. End game.