Tag Archives: cravings

She Withdrawls A Little….

16 Mar


It’s like a social warzone out there today. 

…After going back and forth with cloudy/sunny days across two weeks, it decided to rain today, and apparently piss everyone off in the meantime.

I’m not in a great mood either, but that’s beside the point.

Mine is based purely on being mid-day-seven without sugar, salt, fried food and liquor.  I feel this is a LEGITIMATE excuse to be cantankerous…definitely more than just “it’s raining.” Especially in this state.

…Everywhere I’ve gone today, people have been dicks.  Cutting you off in traffic…not once, but four or five times.  Kids throwing fits at the pet store and screaming at the top of their lungs while you’re stuck in a line that stretches past the adopted pets and amphibians all the way to the freaking bird food section, as the parents continue to ignore it completely like they’re deaf. A lady who wants to debate every single charge amount on her receipt at Bed, Bath & Beyond…they didn’t have any purses I wanted even a little bit at Marshalls or Ross…and then the topper: waiting in TWO Starbucks lines, with cutters.

…I fucking hate cutters. It just outrages me!

…I hate it even MORE when they are standing between me and the LAST CRUTCH ON EARTH allowed to me: a cup of black coffee.

The first time, the drive thru line was coming from so many directions, I let it slide and moved onto the next drive thru, further down the freeway…but by the SECOND time, I was ready to jump out of my car, rip open their door, and shove a bottle of Beta water conditioner up where the sun don’t shine.  Fucking Audi assholes and their goddamn cookie Frappuccinos!

…Now FINALLY I am home. Where I apparently should have just stayed to begin with.

I knew the pjs were using an old seduction line, but what works, works…and I should have just listened to the damn know-it-alls, and not even gone out today.

…Instead, I’m ticked off, with a half a thing of coffee left (as the Barista didn’t put the lid on right, yeah…you can guess how that turned out)…and now I’m off to make something green, that I don’t wanna eat, but don’t have a choice about, as it is all that exists in my house now, which is not yogurt…!!

…And “fruit on the bottom” can just kiss my ass!

(Rips shirt with giant coffee stain off, throws it on the floor, slams a chug of what’s left in the cup, and marches to the kitchen, indignantly.)

FUCKING DIETS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


D & D Diets

12 Mar


You know…there should really be a bonus program for when you are dieting. 

…I mean, if you have the luxury of personal trainers and hermitting away from all your temptations, bully for you!  But for those of us who live in the real world, I think there should be some kind of alternate weight loss bonus for every time your face is slammed up against the window full of your choicest weaknesses and you still manage to resist.

…Things like the fact that today is only the third of my self-imposed detox, and in the last 48 hours I’ve turned away three boxes of donuts, a pizza, ham and cheese croissants, several Lattes, and free booze.  I have lost two pounds.  I feel my suffering is worth more than that, due to the circumstances of having to live and coexist with the goods across many hours while people have conversations with me, mid-consuming them.

Diets should be like a game of Dungeon and Dragons. I mean, it’s a bitch of a quest against all odds with shit coming at you from all directions. So why the hell not?

…And in keeping with this theme, we should all get character bonuses and special weight-loss powers to go with it.

For instance, as a Boozing Blubber, I should get an automatic +3 for acknowledgment and effort against any oncoming temptation monster. +1 if whatever I am turning away is offered free of charge, and +10 for stamina if I have to look or smell said temptation over an extended amount of time and still manage to resist it.

…I should come with a resilience weapon that defies mean people who wave their tacos in my face, and does a +20 damage of automatic weight transfer from me to them, and a special covert bonus with a chance to roll to run away and hide in my office with the door closed for an entire turn, when the pizza delivery guy arrives.

…As for alcohol…that might require additional powers from the DM, bequeathed in pity and/or support given the specific circumstances of the monster in play. If at home alone…even if watching a show wherein drinking figures heavily…the Boozing Blubber comes with +5 defiance. But if you take her and put her in a pub over friend-meets and it’s their turn to buy, there should be an added +2 for now being the designated driver, AND a one-time-per-day bonus of “ferret away”…which means you accumulate whatever drinks were offered and are able to use them later, after the Diet Campaign has been completed.

…Which means that by today, I’d already be less like 85 pounds, with two free drinks coming my way…which is more weight than I need to lose, and gives me an excuse to call and meet up with more friends…while killing the Diet Monster, and completing my campaign in full!

If diets were like THIS it would balance out the fucking playing field. It’s only fair. You should at LEAST get the courtesy of success equal to the chances of a roll of some dice.

…Which just proves that if theatrically inclined nerds ruled the world, instead of Science and Politics…water would turn to Mountain Dew, Cheetos would be a major food staple, showers would be optional, and everything would be fucking great!

(Well, two outta three ain’t bad.)



27 Mar


Am fooding badly tonight.

…Post-rehearsal starvation is unbelievable.  Our Miep was eating a beautiful Qdoba burrito, Peter was tossing back brownies…I sat while running lines, crocheting like a fucking maniac just to try keeping myself as side-tracked as possible.  During break, I drank more tea, went pee, and started right back up where I had left off. 

…Rehearsal is turning into the mega-challenge of fooding, possibly of all time.

Mr. Krahler is a frequent customer of the Southern Fried Chicken place next door.  The Franks come straight from work, so are always unveiling new tupperware full of this’s and that’s…Mr. Director is a fan of sushi, someone keeps bringing in community muffins and breads, leaving them on the concessions counter, free for the taking. They have bins of chocolates, and redvines. Miep bought the brownies. Mr. Frank takes hot cocoa ‘tween breaks…and I sit there…with my fucking tumbler of plain Lipton’s bag tea, hating my life more, with each new smell, and food offer.


…I passed no less than 8 fast food light signs on the freeway on the way home tonight.  Each one, a seperate stab in an already salted wound.  Right now, I want grease and sauced meats and salt so bad, I can almost taste the smell of it, left over from that damn burrito.  I want chocolate-dipped pastry and pie crusts baked with five pounds of butter.  And pickles.  And some peppered salami, with Tillamook sharp on a club cracker.  I want the WORLD of every craving that has prob’ly ever been invented…and ten or twelve others besides,

…It’s actually, gnawing at me.  Like a conscience-driven hunger.

…Compounded (no doubt) with double intensity as my hormones shift into PMS overdrive, so ramped…I feel like I could easily put my fist through a brick wall to get at a cream puff on the other side. 

…And I don’t even LIKE cream puffs in real life! 

It is only “desire.”


It is horrible.

…And the only way around it…

…Is to go to bed.


…And pull up something from Netflix onto my computer…

…Something TOTALLY distracting, and nothing AT ALL about “food” in any way.

…Like a National Geographic on Mummies or some shit.

…So that AT SOME POINT, I will mercilessly just fall asleep.

And forget I even have a stomach.

…Or human feelings.

…And taste buds.


Ohhhh I WANT!!!


I cocking HATE you: BMI chart. 

I really, really hate you.

For reals.


The Salt-Misery

14 Feb


So I’m being forced to lose weight now, cuz what works for a frumpy school teacher in 1939, doesn’t work three years later as a starving Jewish woman in hiding.

…I started Monday, and am down 4 lbs. Helped greatly (no doubt) by an entire day of being sick. 

Am not following any regime, or counting calories, or starving myself, though. That’s for later.  Just now, I’m in the “cutting out shit that makes sense to cut out” phase. This includes snack foods and dessert menus.  And (starting last Tuesday) alcohol.  And nothing after 7pm.  Except one day a week, where I getta go hog wild on whatever the hell I want.

…Because I’m not a machine, you guys.

I already hate it.

Last night at about 10:30 I wanted salt so bad, I was almost willing to work out or something, just to lick my own sweaty arm.  It was awful.  And then I was all pretending my millionth cup of hot tea was actually hot cocoa.  (Which doesn’t work, just so you know.) And fighting my tummy telling me it was time for my other-other meal of the day…(which is still less than the average “three per day”…only the late night habit of it has totally ruined my constitution and body shape.)

…And then I got up this morning and had the usual breakfast of coffee…only my gut was so empty from the total lack of middle-of-the-night meal, that it still hasn’t stopped growling at me.

Even through all the paperworking and junk.

…And now WHS Pimp is off to get some greasy goodness, which he offered to share, only I can’t, so told him: if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll not bring it anywhere within 50 feet of me.  Or talk about it afterwards.  But maybe let me smell his breath when he’s done eating.

I’m not usually one to force my eating habits on others, or their consequences…but right now, I’m very fragile. 

It’s only day four. 

Day four through the end of show at closing…which is ironically the day before my Birthday.  OVER TWO MONTHS AWAY.



How will I ever make it?!  How will I manage to stick to something like that?  Oh sure, some people do it every day, and always have, and have healthy everythings because of it, and la-de-dah.  But I’m a FOODIE, you all.  I have far too much respect for my tastebuds to limit or neglect them!  Why should they have to suffer?!  What have they ever done to me but support me in every way possible (except during the occasional cold?)

…But I have to. 

I HAVE to. 

Because it’s what’s needed. 

…Which, by the way, is this TOTALLY different thing from say a “Hollywood Actor” undertaking to dump a shit-ton of weight. 

First of all, they have endless fundage to afford all those granola-world wholesome foods that taste of cardboard and dirt…and someone to buy them…and someone to cook them, and someone to feed them, and someone to train them, and someone to watch them like a fucking hawk.  And that whole time? That is their “job.”  Just that: To lose weight.  The rest of us have to manage on real-world schedules, during real-world jobs, without so much as a Butler around.

Don’t you feel sorry for us?!

I do!

Alllll the poor slobs that feel it necessary to take it on the chin and pull up their too-big, big-girl panties, and undertake something all alone like this!

…And also: I want some potato chips.

Fuck you, salt-misery!


Rogue Cracker

15 Jan


I am speaking about a Ritz on two books in my bedroom, which has nothing at all to do with race relations, so just chill out.

…Periods make me do weird things. 

I blame the hormones. 

…And also, the badly timed cramps. 

Inevitably, they have me up anywhere from 3 to 5 a.m. trolling the cupboards for easy nibbles so I can take pills for the pain, then roll around the mattress with a heating pad, trying to gain some kind of relief.  Put that together with chocolate and salt cravings and it explains why once a month, my house looks like the Easter Bunny hid a bunch of shit all over the place and bolted.  I have chocolate Digestives in the living room.  The kitchen is sporting scones. The bar has some kinda nuts (“various.”) And my bedroom has a single Ritz cracker…resting between Elizabeth Gaskell’s “North and South,” and “Sylvia’s Lovers”…which is directly next to the Jane Austen twins of “Persuasion” and ”P & P.”

…I just thought you should know.

…There isn’t room on my bedside table for it (apparently) as that is where the giant tub of Pamprin, and fuzzy water lives (together with an antique framed pic of Gram, a writing book void of all script, my alarm clock, an antique Tiffany lamp with duel pull chains, and a bud vase…with no bud in it.) 

…Also in the general region, just to the side, a stack of books (in case I get brain starved in the night?), on a small shelf…including those I am borrowing at the time and have yet to get around to ever reading.  Some I’ve started, and just never finished.  All: I have sworn to “hurry up and read” at some point in the not-so-distant past.

…Really, all I have to do is look at the stack of them and I get overwhelmed.

Here is the list:

A Kate Hepburn Bio (On loan from L.M.)
“The Mists of Avalon” (1/3rd in, by demand of Marty)
“The World of Downton Abbey” (Last BD gift from JM. It was delightful, you should pick one up)
“Complete Novels of the Bronte Sisters” (Christmas 2011, from Ma, mostly as a joke, it weighs in at roughly 11 tons)
Ken Follet’s “Fall of Giants” (1/4th in, and can’t remember a damn thing…but the last one I read was courtesty MK and I liked it)
“The Collected Stories of Noel Coward” (Delicious.  Both times.)
“Allen Ginsberg Selected Poems, 1947 -1995” (Good lord, do I still have that book?? I need to get it back to S!)
“Beat Collection” (Ditto)
“The Moonstone,” by Wilkie Collins (I actually can’t remember if I finally read it or just watched the movie, which was why I wanted to read it)
“Three,” the Lillian Hellman triplet autobios (they’ve recently come much in handy again 😉 )
“Salt Dancer” by Ursula Hegi, (Another MK read, daddy- issue novella…liked it)
“Oscar Wilde and the Game Called Murder” (Gyles Brandreth does a brilliant mash-up of Holmes and Wilde solving cases to grinning delight)
“The Irish R.M.” (Because I miss it sometimes)
Ken Follet’s “The Key to Rebecca” (Any time you wanna build on Du Maurier…be my guest)
“Charlotte Gray” (Espionage and WWII?  Why yes, and thank you)
“Lady Almina and the Real Downton Abbey” (Cuz I’m not obsessed or anything)
“The Fry Chronicles,” by Stephen Fry (Which should come with a Thesaurus and serviceable Oxford dictionary, though delightfully fun to read out loud and giggle at)

…And that, my friends, is only the one at the head of my bed.  I still have clumps all about the room separately.  Cuz I’m an addict.

…With a very obvious eclectic taste.

…Which further explains the craving for strawberry ice cream, Tillamook cheddar, and salamie I’m having right now.

But, instead of ALL of that, I’m gonna go catch up with “Downton” episode 2, at last…and see what Edith is up to.


A Letter To Mrs. Johnson

26 Aug


Mrs Johnson:

What kind of person says they’re gonna show up three days ago and then doesn’t until today, banging on the door at 5 A.M.?  I do have a “life” you know, and just hanging around for whenever is “convenient” for you isn’t in the job description that they handed me in that class they gave us in the fourth grade. You know, the one where all the boys went into Mr. T’s room and all the girls got sorted into Mrs. L’s?  Here is what they did tell us:

* She will come every month, 28 days from her last visit.
* She will be a messy, uncomfortable, opinionated and often grumpy house guest.
* At time she’ll be downright unreasonable and emotional.
* Here’s all the stuff you need to have around when she visits.

…It took three years before you decided to show up at all.  Then one summer, right as I was changing into my swimming suit, BAM! there you were!  Instantly!  Like a very sick and twisted kind of Genie.

“What the eff?!” I thought.  “Oh God, I’m dieing!!!”

…This was only a momentary panic. A totally natural reaction for a hypercondriac who was also sure she had “caught” appendicitis from that one girl in school last year, might get accidental explosive bowel syndrome because people never wash their hands after pooping, choke to death at any moment while eating alone, or get gangrene from a paper cut.  I was so used to launching into immediate worst-case-scenario panic at moments like this, that I had (only for a second…or twelve) totally forgotten that little discussion from all those years ago. (Because dog and and kid years equal roughly the same until you turn 18… so that was like 21 years ago, in me-time.)

…But then I remembered.

…And I called my aunt in (at whose house I was, at the time.)  And was like, “Um. So.  Don’t tell anyone…but I’m either dieing of Cancer or I just started my period.” 

And she hugged me. 

For a second I kinda started to panic, like this was the beginning of “goodbye” or something…but then she gave me this odd smile-look when she was done, and started ruffling through the bathroom drawers to “hook me up” with some stuff…like my own personal period Pimp.

…What I didn’t know at the time was that the hug I thought was of pity at first, and then turned into some sorta mini-tribal moment of succession to womanhood…was actually just a hug of pity after all.  Cuz she knew what was ahead of me at the time, and I didn’t. 

It wasn’t so much the, “Oh!  You have achieved womanhood now, and your body has just this instant transitioned into a crazy self sustainable life force garden, where people can be made and grown and harvested, and the entire human race is now an intrinsic part of who you are and the magical capabilities you hold, with an awesome responsibility of our future, just south of your belly button.” 

…Later, I realized it was more like, “Oh, you poor little sunofabitch.  God I’m glad you at least made it to 13 before it happened to you.  With the women in your bloodline, this shit is just going to get unbearable…heaving up meals, rolled up in the fetal position for hours at a time, yelling at the burnt dinner, bursting into tears for no reason whatsoever.  And those’ll be the good months.  I better get you some drugs, pronto.”

She was at a vantage point, like a great Seer on a mountaintop, looking down at me in that little beginning valley being like, “Whelp.  Start trekin’ kid.  I wish I could tell you that once you climbed this hill you’d be done, but there’s like forty years more of ’em ahead.”

I am now on my nineteenth anniversary of that date, after climbing more fucking mountains than the Hobbits, each one a little more steeper than the last.  And I’m still less than halfway through.

…If only they put me in Mr. T’s room that one day, none of this shit wouldn’t have happened!  But it did

And I’m here now.

…So that is the little scenario story of “me,” Mrs. Johnson.  That is how I came into this gig…plopped into this valley with a tiny pack of supplies and told to “walk up.” Every month.  For maybe the rest of my life.  Because at the rate I’m going, surely I’ll bleed to death or my tubes will explode before I ever reach the end of this journey into Menopause.  Which I’m told is this whole hell of a lot of fun too, by the way.

…What I’m saying is: We came to an agreement nearly two decades ago, that like it or not, you will materialize like a fucked up kind of Mary Poppins just floating in on the wind every month.  I will put you up.  I will go along with all the daily demands and requirements that having you around insists upon (and they are never rad things like jumping into paintings or dancing on roof tops…more like puking into trash cans, drinking Pepto like a thing of orange juice, and popping more pills than an acid junky.) And at the end, you promise to eventually leave me the fuck alone, and go bother someone else.  What we DIDN’T agree on was you acting like some teenage floozy just popping up at random hours around dawn, three days late or more, greeting me with a solid punch to the ovaries when I open the door, and taking over my entire day when I had other things I had planned to do.

Mrs. Johnson: You are an asshole.  Just so we get that straight.

…And would it have killed you to stop somewhere and bring a thing of chocolate on the way?  I mean: really.


%d bloggers like this: