And not the Toadies song unfortunately. I believe I can trace this backslide to one particular establishment: Panda Express. I discovered Panda Express by accident when I turned into the wrong drive thru. Someone pulled in behind me, and the rest is history. They aren't even that good. I always get the same thing, and it's so sub-par it's ridiculous, but I can't stop eating it! That is until yesterday when I realized that the Orange Chicken Bowl has over 900 calories in it. ZOINKS, SCOOB! Granted, I've never managed to polish off the whole thing, but yikes!
They have a kids option that is much more in line with what a normal adult meal should have caloriewise, so I guess I shall be ordering that the next time I get a craving.
I would love to be able to just go off the fast food altogether. Seems like it should be easy. But there's that whole timing issue again, and I am a disaster at time management.
Anyway, it's a rainy day in the big D and I have logged a mini workout yesterday and a cardio session with my Yoga Booty Ballet DVD this morning. That said, I forsee some Special K in my future and a shower before the power goes out again.
Stay dry, kids!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
I'm a Lefty on the Pole!
It's my first attempt at a Vlog. I know you'll excuse any missteps...because you're awesome like that.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Bass-Ackwards Much??
I just returned home from the grocery store. Not Walmart. Not some designer grocery mart. Just your plain old Tom Thumb. I made sure that I picked items that were seemingly healthier for me. Lots of whole grains, lots of reduced or no fats, lots of fruits and veggies. And just as I suspected, my grocery bill more than doubled.
What is it with this country? It costs a fortune to eat nutritiously. I remember watching a documentary on how the food processing companies in this country are basically Big Brother from 1984. What stuck with me most was an interview with this woman who told the camera that she could take her money she'd budgeted for food to the grocery store and buy good, wholesome food for herself only, or she could take that same budget to McDonald's and feed her family for a week.
That horrifies me! Because it's true.
A friend of mine recently came back from Quebec (Eh, I know. What's that aboot?) And he said that it is the other way around up there. Junk food costs a fortune, and fruits and veggies are dirt cheap. A package of M&M's and a 6-pack of Coke are going to run you between $10-15. Or you can get a salad, some fruit and cheese, and still have change rattling in your pocket. Granted they have to import our junk food, which accounts for some of the price hike, but I'm also willing to concede that Canada has more concern for their people and the diet of the everyday man than our country does.
I'm super excited and proud of myself for making what I think (because seriously, let's be honest I'm that consumer that doesn't know jack) are better choices for myself. But I'll have a better hold on the counter next time, if you know what I mean.
What is it with this country? It costs a fortune to eat nutritiously. I remember watching a documentary on how the food processing companies in this country are basically Big Brother from 1984. What stuck with me most was an interview with this woman who told the camera that she could take her money she'd budgeted for food to the grocery store and buy good, wholesome food for herself only, or she could take that same budget to McDonald's and feed her family for a week.
That horrifies me! Because it's true.
A friend of mine recently came back from Quebec (Eh, I know. What's that aboot?) And he said that it is the other way around up there. Junk food costs a fortune, and fruits and veggies are dirt cheap. A package of M&M's and a 6-pack of Coke are going to run you between $10-15. Or you can get a salad, some fruit and cheese, and still have change rattling in your pocket. Granted they have to import our junk food, which accounts for some of the price hike, but I'm also willing to concede that Canada has more concern for their people and the diet of the everyday man than our country does.
I'm super excited and proud of myself for making what I think (because seriously, let's be honest I'm that consumer that doesn't know jack) are better choices for myself. But I'll have a better hold on the counter next time, if you know what I mean.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Two Left Feet and They're On Backwards
Yesterday I had my first Zumba class. I had heard all sorts of great things about this dance aerobic class, and have wanted to try it out for a while now. Well, I suddenly find myself self-employed with some time on my hands. I promptly ran out of excuses for why there were dishes in my sink and why I wasn't hitting up the gym. The dishes are still in my sink because I'd rather do cardio than dishes.
And the strangest thing happened...I loved it! Several people I know are of the opinion that if you're going to work out it has to be hard and boring and suck. I have never ascribed to this theory, and despite the fact that I'm a white girl to the bone, I love to dance. I miss going out to the O.P. on Friday nights and dancing until the D.J. or the stupid girls with their giant purses on the dance floor pissed me off. It was great cardio. Especially because in El Paso they'd mix in some salsa and reggaeton. So this was like heaven! Well minus my gay husband doing the shopping cart, and lemme tell ya that boy knows how to push a fake basket in a club.
But it was so much fun. I'm sore all over. Even my elbows hurt...!? I went back for another class today. I think I may be hooked. I was very sad when the instructor told me that I should only do three classes a week. I mean it's only Tuesday, well Wednesday by the time I get this posted.
Either way, I found a class that appeals to me and am super excited to keep with it. Aaaaand while we're on good notes, I've lost an inch off my waist. No significant change anywhere else, but my waist is now 31 1/2". Sa-weet!
And the strangest thing happened...I loved it! Several people I know are of the opinion that if you're going to work out it has to be hard and boring and suck. I have never ascribed to this theory, and despite the fact that I'm a white girl to the bone, I love to dance. I miss going out to the O.P. on Friday nights and dancing until the D.J. or the stupid girls with their giant purses on the dance floor pissed me off. It was great cardio. Especially because in El Paso they'd mix in some salsa and reggaeton. So this was like heaven! Well minus my gay husband doing the shopping cart, and lemme tell ya that boy knows how to push a fake basket in a club.
But it was so much fun. I'm sore all over. Even my elbows hurt...!? I went back for another class today. I think I may be hooked. I was very sad when the instructor told me that I should only do three classes a week. I mean it's only Tuesday, well Wednesday by the time I get this posted.
Either way, I found a class that appeals to me and am super excited to keep with it. Aaaaand while we're on good notes, I've lost an inch off my waist. No significant change anywhere else, but my waist is now 31 1/2". Sa-weet!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Ripples in the Pond...
And no, that's not a euphemism for what happens to the cellulite on my thighs as I walk. I'm talking about how one change can branch out to affect one's entire being.
Something that seemed huge, but in hindsight shouldn't have been as important as I let it be, has been removed from my life. In this particular case it was a member of the male species. Ladies, we beat it into our heads when we're single, but somehow forget it when we manage to snag the attention of a pretty boy in the hopes of keeping his attention. Our self-worth should not be tied to someone else's opinions. Especially if they are ridiculous. Especially when you finally confront them over the fact that they don't want anything to do with you because you're not a size four blonde, the only thing they can say in response to the confrontation is, "Blonde has nothing to do with it."
Let me back up a little here. I lived in El Paso for three years. I enjoyed three years of amazing self-esteem because the boys down there liked their girls a little thicker. I loved my curves. I loved the attention they got on the dance floor and even walking down the hall at school. And I let all of that go by the wayside in one bathroom conversation in a piano bar.
Suddenly I felt like crap because there are two numbers on my jeans size. I suddenly felt compelled to get rid of what was considered unsightly. Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I crumbled and limped off like a kicked puppy to do this shallow boy's bidding...I was pissed. Royally. I formulated plots to get even, I even contemplated buying him a Barbie doll with all sorts of tacky things like "Self-Esteem Sold Separately" and "Comes With Daddy Issues and Eating Disorder" written on the box. One thing I wasn't going to do was let his piss poor opinion of my appearance affect my self-perception.
But that's exactly what I did.
Well, after four margaritas a couple of weeks ago I had the conversation with him that I should have had six months ago. And after I cried my eyes out and swam a couple of laps in the self-pity pool, something amazing happened. Almost overnight all my body image issues disappeared. I like my curves again. I still want them slimmed down a bit, but there's no rush. Whereas before I was frustrated by a lack of progress, I'm much more inclined lately to accept the small victories. I see the six pounds I lost when I stopped drinking sodas as a pretty good step. I see actively wanting water and good food as points on the scoreboard. I feel better about myself, even though nothing has really changed.
And now, truly, anything I do is for me.
Something that seemed huge, but in hindsight shouldn't have been as important as I let it be, has been removed from my life. In this particular case it was a member of the male species. Ladies, we beat it into our heads when we're single, but somehow forget it when we manage to snag the attention of a pretty boy in the hopes of keeping his attention. Our self-worth should not be tied to someone else's opinions. Especially if they are ridiculous. Especially when you finally confront them over the fact that they don't want anything to do with you because you're not a size four blonde, the only thing they can say in response to the confrontation is, "Blonde has nothing to do with it."
Let me back up a little here. I lived in El Paso for three years. I enjoyed three years of amazing self-esteem because the boys down there liked their girls a little thicker. I loved my curves. I loved the attention they got on the dance floor and even walking down the hall at school. And I let all of that go by the wayside in one bathroom conversation in a piano bar.
Suddenly I felt like crap because there are two numbers on my jeans size. I suddenly felt compelled to get rid of what was considered unsightly. Now don't get me wrong, it wasn't like I crumbled and limped off like a kicked puppy to do this shallow boy's bidding...I was pissed. Royally. I formulated plots to get even, I even contemplated buying him a Barbie doll with all sorts of tacky things like "Self-Esteem Sold Separately" and "Comes With Daddy Issues and Eating Disorder" written on the box. One thing I wasn't going to do was let his piss poor opinion of my appearance affect my self-perception.
But that's exactly what I did.
Well, after four margaritas a couple of weeks ago I had the conversation with him that I should have had six months ago. And after I cried my eyes out and swam a couple of laps in the self-pity pool, something amazing happened. Almost overnight all my body image issues disappeared. I like my curves again. I still want them slimmed down a bit, but there's no rush. Whereas before I was frustrated by a lack of progress, I'm much more inclined lately to accept the small victories. I see the six pounds I lost when I stopped drinking sodas as a pretty good step. I see actively wanting water and good food as points on the scoreboard. I feel better about myself, even though nothing has really changed.
And now, truly, anything I do is for me.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Baby Steps
Baby steps to the car. Baby steps to the grocery store. Baby steps past the cheddar cheese.
My wonderful and talented sister-in-law decided she was tired of me eating junk food and writing about it. Her actual text went a little something like "For the love of God don't let me read the words "fast food" on that blog next week!" And invited me along for a grocery shopping adventure.
Now, like I told her, it was not a matter of mmm, I can't wait to scarf me down some grease and potatoes. I would seriously be looking at the menu and be thinking "Bleh. Really? Is there any way I can order half a hamburger, hold the heart attack?" I really do prefer good food. I actually get a craving for veggies.
My schedule, however, is more conducive to chicken strips and tater tots. My day is literally jam packed. When I get home, all I want to do is crash.
However, I've been pretty good this week about actually hauling my butt out of bed early and making breakfast...that is when a blackout doesn't take out my damn alarm clock. I've been making lunch for the next day at 11:00 at night because it's the ONLY available time.
But I gotta say, it's working. I haven't looked at the numbers, but I certainly feel better about myself. Part of that could be that I found my self-respect again on a whole different playing field. (It wasn't in the pocket of an old pair of pants like I previously thought. It was at the bottom of my fourth margarita!) But that's another story.
There is a table of danger at work. On this table are all sorts of candies and carbs practically taunting me all day long. (Seriously, the designer came in, saw the junk food, had a conniption fit wherein he prayed to the god of the cabbage patch, and promptly had his assistant go out for a veggie tray.) But I've been choosing the healthier options. I actually walked into the break room with the intention of grabbing a Diet Coke and went, "Ooooo bottled water! I'd rather have that!"
I call that a break through.
My wonderful and talented sister-in-law decided she was tired of me eating junk food and writing about it. Her actual text went a little something like "For the love of God don't let me read the words "fast food" on that blog next week!" And invited me along for a grocery shopping adventure.
Now, like I told her, it was not a matter of mmm, I can't wait to scarf me down some grease and potatoes. I would seriously be looking at the menu and be thinking "Bleh. Really? Is there any way I can order half a hamburger, hold the heart attack?" I really do prefer good food. I actually get a craving for veggies.
My schedule, however, is more conducive to chicken strips and tater tots. My day is literally jam packed. When I get home, all I want to do is crash.
However, I've been pretty good this week about actually hauling my butt out of bed early and making breakfast...that is when a blackout doesn't take out my damn alarm clock. I've been making lunch for the next day at 11:00 at night because it's the ONLY available time.
But I gotta say, it's working. I haven't looked at the numbers, but I certainly feel better about myself. Part of that could be that I found my self-respect again on a whole different playing field. (It wasn't in the pocket of an old pair of pants like I previously thought. It was at the bottom of my fourth margarita!) But that's another story.
There is a table of danger at work. On this table are all sorts of candies and carbs practically taunting me all day long. (Seriously, the designer came in, saw the junk food, had a conniption fit wherein he prayed to the god of the cabbage patch, and promptly had his assistant go out for a veggie tray.) But I've been choosing the healthier options. I actually walked into the break room with the intention of grabbing a Diet Coke and went, "Ooooo bottled water! I'd rather have that!"
I call that a break through.
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