Thoughts tangentially related to Realistic Goal #1:
I ate only one piece of fudge yesterday. I think. I’m pretty sure. It may have been two, but no more than that. In any case, it was a number that I can count on one hand, which is an improvement over the last two weeks. My willpower is a real Nurse Ratched, let me tell you.
Anyway, I was listening to Dennis Prager this morning, and he was talking about losing weight and cutting calories, blah blah, and he said that a small piece of cake is just as satisfying as a large piece of cake, and since we eat sweets for the satisfaction and not for the…whatever we eat real food for…I forget…then you may as well have the small portion of sweets instead of the large and be just as satisfied. I have to tell you, Dennis Prager often has non-political insights on life that are provocative but true. This one I do not buy. A small piece of cake does not satisfy me as much as a large piece of cake. If I eat a small piece of cake, what I’m thinking afterward is, “I want another piece of cake.” I do not one cookie. One cookie does not satisfy me. I want several cookies. One piece of fudge does not satisfy me. If I’m trying to eat only one piece of fudge, I will probably just work harder to forget the experience of eating the second one. That’s how my brain and taste buds work.
I should point out that there is this caveat: the cake/cookie/fudge has to taste good in order to leave me unsatisfied with just one small piece. If I have just one small piece of mediocre cake/cookie/fudge, I do not want more. However, I am not actually satisfied, either. I think, “I wish I could un-eat that and eat something else. Preferably lots of it.” This may be a symptom of a psychological problem, but I’m just telling you how it is. I am not satisfied with just a small piece of anything that tastes good. I suppose there is one exception. I can chew a piece of gum about fifteen times and feel satisfied. Aside from that, though, I like to participate in a food until my stomach finally puts its foot down and I hate myself. Then, I am satisfied. But not before that.
Now, do I habitually eat to the point of nausea and self-loathing? Of course not. Well, maybe that wasn’t an “of course not” moment, given what I just confessed to you in the preceding paragraphs. Maybe it was more of an “I assure you, no” moment. Well, I assure you, no, I do not habitually eat to the point of nausea and self-loathing. What I’m telling you is that I frequently eat more of something than I ought to, and probably even more frequently go unsatisfied. That’s what I’m telling you. What I’m telling you is that Dennis Prager is wrong about cake. That’s all.
Tangentially-related aside: Speaking of radio personalities and food, I think I’ve blogged before about my weakness for John Tesh’s “Intelligence for Your Life” program. I don’t know what it is. It’s not like I listen to it habitually. I hardly ever listen to it, but when it’s on, I find it irresistible. Maybe it’s his soothing, familiar voice. Maybe it’s all those random facts in fun-sized packages that are candy for my brain–I can’t have just one! But anyway, I was in the car the other day, listening to the radio, and there’s John Tesh talking about how when you get the munchies during the day, it’s very tempting to go to the vending machine at work and buy something to satisfy said munchies but that something is usually not very healthy. (He said it better; he’s a professional, I’m not.) Anyway, that’s why he’s developed Intelligence For Your Life snack bars–healthy but convenient food to satisfy those mid-day cravings. It’s intelligence for your stomach! (He didn’t really say that; it just came to me.)
Princess Zurg was in the car with me at the time, and she couldn’t understand what I was cracking up about. It was very difficult to explain how John Tesh-as-snack-food-entrepeneur was so amusing to me, but do you understand, gentle readers? Anyway, end tangentially-related aside.
And now for something that is only tangentially-related if you’re inside my brain and have a front-row seat to the synapses firing. I was reading Go Fug Yourself the other day and I found this picture of Rhianna (I think) wearing a blazer with nothing under it but some glittery pasties, and I thought…wow. That is something. I mean, on the one hand, really, it’s nothing. I mean, famous people wear crazy crap all the time. Lady Gaga wore a meat dress or something a while back. I wasn’t really paying attention, but I remember thinking it was a step forward for her, as most of the pictures I see of her, she’s not wearing any pants. Lots of famous ladies out there walking around without pants. In the middle of winter. There’s something going on there, gentle readers, and I’m not just talking about wanting attention. There are lots of ways to get attention, even while wearing pants. It can be done. No, when I look at these young ladies in their pasties and g-strings, I’m not thinking, “Wow, what magnificent sluts you all are,” or “Some people will do anything for attention.” I’m thinking, “There goes someone who is really insecure about her sexuality.”
Now, obviously, they have some form of security–it takes a certain amount of confidence to go around pantsless or topless (especially in the winter, and pretending like you’re not even cold), but it also takes a certain amount of neurosis, because seriously, what are you trying to prove? I can’t even begin to comprehend that level of insecurity, and I’ve always fancied myself the Queen of All Things Insecure. I guess on the one hand means that I know insecurity when I see it, but on the other, maybe I’m not fit to wear the crown after all because…seriously, no pants? That’s hardcore.
These are extreme examples, of course. Do you remember when I went to my high school reunion and I was talking about all the decolletage in the room? At the time I thought, “I guess if it weren’t for these religiously-informed restrictions on how much skin I can show, this would be the stage of life where I told the world, ‘Hey, look at how great my boobs look after all these years.'” Well, there’s the religiously-informed restrictions, and then there’s the matter of Gertrude Stein and there not being a lot of there there. But I realize now that despite those two facts, this is nevertheless the stage of life where I tend to wear more form-fitting garments and tell the world, ‘Hey, isn’t it amazing what they’re doing with bras these days?'” So, you know, it’s not pantslessness, but maybe it’s a variation on the same theme.
Well, whatever. I reserve my right to look down on people who don’t wear pants in public. It makes me feel better about myself.
Gentle readers, I am being summoned for a quick round of playtime with the pre-schooler before lunch, so I must bid you adieu.