Category: funny

butt paper, the saga (g2)

With the hoarding and noise, I’m even hearing people here in the states trying to track down toilet paper to send to friends and family in Italy, Spain and those hit the hardest and on lockdown or quarantine.

Out of curiosity, I searched on Amazon to see what was available. At that very moment, the only toilet paper in stock, was this one and one other style of the same theme.

https://www.amazon.com/Gags-Donald-Paper-Funny-President-Sheetl-Funniest-Political/dp/B01ATUZ1TA/ref=sr_1_2?dchild=1&keywords=dump+trump+toilet+paper&qid=1584849274&sr=8-2

I checked again the next day and obviously Amazon is doings its best to get stuff back in stock. There was more in stock, though some is gouging either in price or shipping charges… but the trump butt paper was cheaper than the new options… and yet, its not selling like the others… Do people feel like his campaign will benefit by purchasing it? Do they feel idiocy is contagious? Do they just not want that face near any holes on their person, even the stinkiest?

the little ones talk sex (g2)

Inevitably in my family if we get together long enough, the dick jokes and dirty innuendo come out. We have a small subgroup among in my family who will declare loudly that everything we say is awful and we should be ashamed, but secretly they are right with us and we usually take a jab they might need to get some.

I don’t know if they feel some parental obligation to fight it, or if they just want brownie points to keep them out of hell.

It was no different with my little cousins. I’m not sure if its due to the fact I recognize them as no longer the darling cherubs of their childhood, but young adults on the adventure of life or not, but I’ve never felt the need to scold them for anything they wanted to say, except perhaps the sibling hate speech to one another. I’d love to carve that out like cancer. They’ve never held back either.

As the evening progressed I kind of wish we’d migrated to someplace involving couches and coffee and/or wine so the chatter didn’t have to ever end. The topic of sex and relationships of course came up. The little sister firmly declared she didn’t care for sex and would rather not do “that” for the most part.

My quick reply was of course that she must be doing it wrong, which seemed to be our eldest aunt’s problem as well.

I might be biased…

No, no… I’m not. Little sister is fucking gorgeous and has suitors from both sides of the fence that would be more than happy to lick the bottom of her boots if she asked them. She has no clue the vast power she possesses. In this, she is much like her half-sister. The difference being is her half-sister does understand her power and has used it quite a lot in her life, often to disaster, and only toning it down in recent years.

Don’t get me wrong, the older sister is beautiful, tall and graceful. But there is just this something some people possess that seems to render those around them completely subjugated. Helen of Troy would have HAD to be one of these people. I have about three cousins (suspect four, but that one keeps it firmly under control so I cannot verify), all female, who have this ability as well.

The older sister seems to be exploring her oats these days. I see a ton of myself in her while she spoke of some of her relationships and alluded to conquests. She wants so much to open her heart to something real, and from the sound of it, to one in particular, but she is equally fearful of being rejected so she keeps this wall up. It bites you in the ass when you cannot be vulnerable, you just come off as ice cold because people eventually get tired of trying to get over that wall.

I had to smile because some of the things were almost verbatim to things I’d declared at the same age, so utterly convinced I’d had this relationship shit all figured out.

I hadn’t a clue.

By the time I could even think of how to respond, it was time to pack it in and leave.

If anything I wish I could tell her that you cannot make your heart tough enough to withstand the hurt of having it broken if you don’t expose it to the possibility of having it loved thoroughly first.

Building walls, only turns what’s inside to mush… useless and unspent. Exposure is what makes it more malleable, adaptable, bendable… not breakable.

You never really regret trying. You regret when you don’t.

the dad who never was…for her (g2)

One day after New Year’s, one of my little cousins contacted me out of the blue and asked what we were doing. I say “little,” but she’s in her twenties and quite tall. Her ADHD sister is just into drinking age and as their mom says, “works a million jobs.”

I also say “little” since most of my first cousins are around my age, middle age… the sag-starting era when then there’s almost nothing left that’s perky or buoyant and its all downhill from here. These were the last of the first cousins and they are closer in age to our children than to us.

I babysat the older one when I was still a teenager during the summer while their mom ran around and did her high profile corporate thing. Their dad is the one who is my blood relation and I probably would have traded him for their mom in a second if that were possible. He died a few years after my mom did.

He was a phenomenal cook and really a genius. We have a lot of high IQ’s (his was in the mid-160’s) in our genetic line, but the ability to apply this to something substantial or fulfilling seems to elude most of us. I include myself in that. He especially was mostly a financial drifter. Before he met their mom, I don’t remember him ever having a consistent address, job or phone number.

I do remember the “work camp” gran took us to every Saturday afternoon for a few months to bring him a picnic basket and have lunch with him. He wore a jumpsuit like everyone else, their “uniform,” but wasn’t allowed to leave the premises. I might have been about ten at the time but I do remember the razor-wire fence. I asked a lot of questions and didn’t get a lot of answers. It was the most permanent address I’d ever known him to have and I’m not sure when it finally dawned on me, years later, it was a prison.

He also lacked a lot of impulse control. He was never motivated by greed so much as curiosity. The type who would break into a school and steal shit, just to see if they could, or steal a car and go on a joy ride only to get bored and move on to something else, never remembering where he left it behind. He had a lot of run-ins with the law in his youth, and it ended up haunting him into adulthood.

His eldest kid, half-sister to the two little ones, is three months younger than I am and looks more like my mother than I ever have (I unfortunately got the Grand genes).

Her young mom was about seventeen when she was born, did the best she could, but smoking pot and teaching your kid how as a bonding experience isn’t exactly what I’d call an ideal environment for a child. Combine that with the impulse control of your father, and it was a recipe for disaster.

It’s weird, but I always felt like if I’d not been around, she might have had a better chance because maybe Grand could have taken her in instead. But then, I’m not exactly sure my childhood was better, so much as just different. I was raised by a crazy person, her mom was young and broke. It’s kind of a toss up. Personally, I would have given anything to have had my mom instead. So maybe I have this all wrong.

Her dad, my uncle, wasn’t much a part of the picture. Even when his eldest would come to visit, she stayed with gran and me. She might have lunch or dinner with him once or twice, or have an afternoon, maybe once overnight, but for the most part, he was a ghost.

When my cousin, who I will dub Knievel, was around, I knew we were both going to get in a lot of trouble. I just hoped to the keep out of the law side of trouble, though we brushed against that one too.

For some reason, I could never deny her wishes, I remember arguing logic with her many times, but I also remembering doing whatever it was I didn’t want to do anyway. I have never been prone to any kind of peer pressure, in school or otherwise, but my cousin could make me cave like a souffle during a stampede.

I smoked pot the first time at fourteen from the pressure of said cousin. I remember how terrifying some of the shit we pulled was and sometimes, the rush of it. I could never, ever be like that my entire life, I would have caused myself a heart attack before college, but it broke my safety shell in a ton of other more beneficial ways in my interactions with other people.

Maybe her and her dad were seeking the high of it. Maybe life is just too dull and muffled for some and they don’t know a better way to seek out any kind of sensation. I can’t imagine feeling like life on its own just wasn’t enough or I just wasn’t able to make contact with it as everyone else seemed to. She grew out of it eventually, well mostly, but not before paying a price that will stay with her forever.

I hate to put it this way as well, but she was a terrific liar. She could talk herself out of a speeding ticket in no time, and probably convince them to give her a siren led escort to her destination. She could wile her way into any place with a simple hair toss and a few words. She is the kind of person who could spin and weave a tale that would put you in the midst of an epic adventure. If she was the one recanting the Lord of the Rings, she’d make you believe it all happened in downtown New York ten years prior. Or yesterday.

To this day, I tell her she should write, and keep writing. She laughs, perhaps from lack of self-confidence or she really just finds the idea amusing, but I cannot imagine not being one of her biggest fans if she’d just try.

Her dad… Her dad met what would become the mom of my little cousins and became the dad Knievel always wanted, deserved and never, ever had. He was doting, carted them around, was proud and attending, showed up, bucked up, and grew the fuck up…but by then his eldest was long grown up. He wasn’t picture perfect, but he was a lot more than he had ever been before.

Ever have times when you feel guilty for something that has nothing to do with you?

I felt guilty for being his blood family.

I felt guilty for being born.

I felt guilty even though I had a mom just like him. Absent.

I felt guilty because she didn’t have what she should have had from either of her parents.

My aunt was the exact opposite of what fairy tales lead you to believe. She wanted her new stepdaughter around, often. She tried her best to glue back all the broken bits of what gran had destroyed. If there was a center of gravity by which my familial remnants orbited, my aunt would have been it.

I watched as Knievel tried so hard to both rail against this new element, and simultaneously try to embrace it. She was getting real face time with her dad for the first time in her life, but only by the influence of someone that wasn’t her. My aunt was just impossible to hate, my cousin was truly loved and for the first time in her life, spoiled by her. This didn’t change when my little cousins came along, perhaps the demands for her presence were even more. It’s got to be a turmoil of mixed emotions. That feeling of being an outsider, of feeling like you’re intruding, even if you’re being emphatically welcomed.

You weren’t wanted by the ones you wanted before, why is it different now? Why wasn’t she enough to at least be around some?

Now that he has passed, my aunt has still not changed, still tries so hard to stay connected to her stepdaughter, sometimes she’s successful, sometimes not.

I wonder how much things might have been different had my uncle said he was sorry about anything, even once.

i’m completely normal, stfu… i have proof (g2)

So with all the goings on, I did have my last bit of blood work to find out how my bizarre dieting and other bullshit had played out. I still don’t know on the weight front, they did mention I dropped quite a bit, but I can feel it coming back right now as my stress has increased and I’m desperately trying to get that under control.

I know for a vast majority you probably don’t give a shit, but I did want to at least round out my constant ranting about diet, weight and diabetes with this update at least.

This time last year, I’d been on diabetes meds for just a couple months and my A1C was 8.5 in December 2015. Normal is 6.7 and below.

This last checkup in December of this past year, I was sent my results, with which they sent the ones prior to that because confusing the shit out of me is apparently how they get their rocks off, but once I got the charts figured out, my A1C was….

*drumroll*

6.4

I’m fucking normal.

No seriously, I’ll scan you a copy, there is finally something with my name on it that says I’m fucking normal.

So yeah, was terrified they might take me off the medication just because of the results, but they called in a renewal instead. So for now, just focusing on the stress, and not stabbing a bitch, and working on the next thing, moving without pain. Woot!

i don’t want to go in the cart…(g2)

I believe in an earlier post I described  socializing with the Yankee, and getting to know the Hippy. the Hippy and I especially have been bonding a great deal. Hippy was rather distracted and irritable during our stellar Excel class, more so than the exemplary education we were receiving could be causing, so we teased her quite a bit about the possibility of her being pregnant, no less due to the extremely picky and insatiable appetite she had going on the entire day. Hippy even mentioned at one point she’d name it after me with a “McDickface” in there somewhere if that happened to be the case.

Hippy lives with her boyfriend of a couple years. I met him, we bonded in the younger brother from another mother kind of way. He was a great guy and I liked him a lot, saw a lot of myself in him and by extension, I saw a lot of immaturity as well. He’s gruff, brusque, tough fronted, but when Hippy turns her head, his expression changes to something very tender. She has often started using me as her boyfriend interpreter.

They’ve known one another since high school, when he was dating a friend of hers. Of course, he tries very hard to minimize the importance of that relationship whenever it comes up with the Hippy, but she knows better and doesn’t let it bug her as it once did. the friend cheated, time went on, and now the friend gets to watch their facebook posts as their life together progresses. Things turn out odd in life.

Spawn’s other parent was an attendee at my wedding. Life has a twisted sense of humor.

So Hippy is pregnant.

They’re not married, had no current plans on even discussing it any time soon as they’ve had a pretty shaky but stabilizing beginning and have now been suddenly thrown into parenthood.

This is pretty much how Spawn came to pass, only when their presence was discovered, I was long over the relationship and had tossed the other contributor out.

I, of course, was a model of decorum when she gave us the news and almost fell on the floor from laughing. I also demanded she agree to keep the name she’d threatened to bless it with in my honor.

kicking diabetes ass: week…. huh, google says I finished 8 weeks 2 days ago (g2)

So apparently, my 8 weeks is up.

My diet buddy immediately wanted to schedule a celebratory outing at our favorite burger joint. I think diet buddy is trying to make this translate into places of temptation. I’ve already been doing this, but apparently they feared trying it. I wanted to ease back into the real world without going nuts in it.

Personally, I would have preferred a giant boat of fucking sashimi. I haven’t had sushi at all in this time and I miss it. Sashimi is a perfectly acceptable alternative. Sure a flash fried roll of some sort would be awesome, but I’m not there yet.

I mentioned that my eight weeks ended to Spawn when I got home and they just said “huh, well kind of too late to change now after all this effort.”

What a great answer.

I do plan on hitting a wing and ale place at some point, I don’t like potatoes but I like raw fries (floppy, thank you, with loads of malt vinegar) – don’t ask, and although I inhale my food when I eat, I’m eating less overall.

In all, it wasn’t as stellar as I thought it was going to be. There was no nipple scars from chest tape going across the finish line, no cheering, no passing out in the pavement and thanking everything to have to made it. I think my main thought was “huh, that got here faster than I thought it would.”

I’m still not where I want to be weight-wise, of course, this was a tiny amount of time. Yes, my pants are looser, my shirts fit better, the water weight in my legs is finally starting to fuck off and is mostly gone, I’m sleeping better, I’m moving better and with less (not none yet) pain. But I’ve a 6 year jagged track to reverse and I intend to do that in a lot less time.

So although yes, I won’t adamantly abstain from everything now, but this is where the cycling has to begin, My body freaks out when I don’t go by a routine. I was off to a good start because I was doing extreme things it couldn’t predict and plan for. I will have use that information in order to make sure my body stays in a constant state of WTF?! until I’m back to a state I want to be in: High one day, extreme low the next 3, week of normal, two weeks of low cal/carb, etc.

It’s all ok…. because I still have cheese ;p

so then schnookums got back in town (g2)

Schnookums got back in town from their dad’s. Apparently, only for the weekend though and then its off to grandma’s. I used to feel bad that Spawn didn’t have all this extended family to visit and become close to, but then I hear of shit like this and realize I’m glad I don’t have to share because fuck that noise. Had one or both of Spawn’s grandmothers been alive, I would probably barely see the child.

Once again, mom and her brood of three flew in, chatted for a little while and deposited Schnookums into our care. I asked up front if it was ok if they ran a few errands with us. I was told that was fine, but to please limit them to only one soft drink as they felt the caffeine might worsen the seizures. I was conned into two the last time, so when we both looked over at Schnookums they just silently nodded in agreement like a villain who got off scot free.

It started off as a silent breakfast, apparently the hyper-interactive side had not been able to present itself in Schnookums for a while, so they were adjusting to be around us again. My mind and ears started wandering over to the geritol table beside us where they were discussing some trip with a friend by the name of Richard apparently.

Then I leaned over to Spawn where Schnookums could hear and whispered, “they’re talking about Dick.”

Both kids erupt into snorts.

Then we all kind of tuned into the geritol squad where they went on about having several good pictures of “Dick” and how they had copies made of those and passed them around.

Needless to say, we were in tears for a good twenty minutes or so.

Schnookums:”This is the best breakfast ever.”

And the floodgates of chatter opened once more.

Spawn and I played rock, paper, scissors to see if we would be going to the music store (I had needs) or the art store first (Spawn has been commissioned to paint a picture for a co-worker with a new house). I won and Schnookums got a lesson in local music stores and how awesome they could be. They picked a couple of cd’s themselves even, one of which was My Chemical Romance. I’m not a fan, mostly because I’ve only heard blurbs of a couple songs and it really didn’t pique my interest too much, but when Schnookums found it and got excited, I leaned over to see what it was and said “you know the lead singer writes comics, right?”

Schnookums:”Whoa, no way! Really?”

Schnookums and Spawn are currently writing a comic. In fact, Spawn is currently storyboarding Schnookums’ story. So this was like finding out your idol is your idol twice-over.

We went all over the store, Spawn almost physically dragging me out when they saw the stack of cd’s I’d accumulated. It has been too long since I’ve been and I have time to make up for. I even placed an order for items they didn’t have, something I tend to do more than I like to admit. Schnookums was having a great time, and I told them they need to show their mom this place when they got a chance.

I decided on a classic as the first song when we got in the car, a truly enriching cd to play. One both educational as well as entertaining, one that epitomized the youth of my era.

The first track? Smack My Bitch Up by the Prodigy, of course.

(BTW, probably NSFW, I’ve not seen the video, so be warned)

 

The art store always sucks me into an infinite vortex of possibilities. Schnookums asked if they could run to the bathroom. I gave a vague direction of where they were usually located and they were off. Spawn went to scout out canvases. I wandered a little, but found the two checking canvases in the back of the store. I asked Schnookums if they found the bathroom, only to be told they didn’t need to go anymore. I’m worried that a backed up bladder is going to somehow bring on a seizure or something only to be told:

Schnookums:”Actually, I just wanted to look around.”

me:”Why didn’t you just say so?”

Schnookums:”oh…ok!”

Apparently, this is how Schnookums gets away from mom and brood when they want some solo time.

Schnookums found out quick that in our dynamic, I’m the one who usually wanders off to who knows where, at one point Spawn demanding that I stay nearby.

me:”But I found furry skull pillows! I need these!”

Spawn:”No you don’t!”

me:”Then you can pay for your own crap.”

Spawn:”I would but I forgot my wallet”

me:”ugh!”

I was told to turn the Prodigy cd down on the way home and the kids once again played video games when we arrived. Schnookums created a character that was based loosely on our fatass cat named Munchkinsquishytush or similar. They ran it around at first and asked other players “tell me I’m cute.”

Before we were due to meet Schnookums, I had already tried to install a few games on my computer, ones they could play together, mostly online. Of course as soon as I went to run them, most wanted to do a five hour update or some bullshit, so that idea was blown out of the water before it had a chance. Those two never minded though.

Oh yeah, my belated birthday gift to myself was a gaming computer. It’s red and glows. Spawn is jealous. They can suck it.

Somewhere during their reverie, the heat and over exertion of the puny a/c’s in our shitty little house kept tripping the breaker. I don’t know what fucking electrical idiot decided to put over half the house on one circuit, but if I ever meet him, I’ll rip his dick off and make him eat it.

I’m only a little angry, I promise.

So of course, our computers are on that circuit, which means we can’t even get more than one AC to run and stay running, as soon as we flipped the 2nd, the breaker trips again… and again… and again. It’s a very muggy 102 outside at the time. We’re hating life.

Spawn and I did a little testing and find out there are about two or three outlets NOT on the one damn circuit but nowhere near our desk. So, another trip out to Lowe’s where I grossly overestimate the length needed and get the 100 yd one, “just in case.” But, it solved our problem and kept us cool and going.

While we were out, I asked if they were hungry (it’s been hours since breakfast by this time) to which I got a resounding “yes!”. Again, I introduce Schnookums to yet another local favorite, a burger joint that looks like a warehouse from the outside and only has one small sign in the back parking lot, behind a tree. You find it by word of mouth only.

And for the folks who have been following my diet quest, yes this was a high calorie day for me. The next was protein shakes and a bag of salad mix to even it out. By high, meaning I had a bacon spinach omelet and a piece of rye for breakfast, a cheese burger with no bread, with a side salad for dinner. No shakes, unsweetened tea and water. I was kind of pained from the amount actually, but so good.

Schnookums opted for a ghost chili burger. They lived to regret it. They ended up having to eat their burger with a knife and fork like i was doing once we scraped as much as the cheese off as we could.

I was glad this time Spawn was a bit past the brooding silent observation they had the first time I met Schnookums. I wasn’t sure if it was irritation we were getting along or just that initial hesitation that Spawn can get when a new element is in their territory. Spawn adores their BFF a lot for example, but only likes to be around them in limited doses. I can tell when they have had enough of even me as they will don earphones and find a corner to have quiet time.

Schnookums asked me to tell them when we got sick of them, but I never responded. They melded into our world pretty well so I really didn’t have my usual amount of exhausted overstimulation either. Maybe I’m getting a thick skin to it. Like last time, it was their mom who finally decided they were coming to get them.

Schnookums has a chromebook that has been inoperable for a while, so I had a rescue thumbdrive ready this time. I also put a bug in mom’s ear that a gaming machine could be had for less than a laptop from the right spot. Then showed them the right spot. Apparently, mom was just as aggravated with the uncle who didn’t follow through as much as Schnookums was. Schnookums was promised usage of the laptop mom didn’t use, and Schnookums and Spawn arranged to try to play together later.

kicking diabetes ass: week 7 ish?…ok, so low carb pizza totally kicked ass (g2)

Spawn and I have been craving pizza like mad. Pizza in and of itself and the toppings I like on them, NONE of them are bad. It’s that mutha effin’ crust that kicks a diabetic’s ass.

I found one recipe on dietdoctor.com for a pizza with a crust made from cheese and egg.

….

This doesn’t even remotely sound appetizing to me so I held off and kept searching.

Then I found this one:

leftovers

The Older Brother’s Oldest Son’s Faux Carb Pizza

I’d never heard of the Fathead movie. I did watch the movie Supersize Me that it was made to openly mock though. Of course, what I got from the latter was:

  • McDonald’s had unhealthy food (no shit, sherlock)
  • His girlfriend is all about vegan
  • Diet can make a huge impact

I completely agree with the first and last and don’t give a shit about the middle one. It got a lot of backlash because he didn’t post a log of what he ate, didn’t use some scientific method, was full a shit on the whole panic part where his doc and gf begged him to stop… hell, I don’t know. I got the vibe it was meant to shock and create a frenzy of fear in America’s overall health, but I tend to not really get sucked in easily and I tend to agree that diet makes a huge impact.

I just tend to lean to the side that low carb (what Fathead trumpets) is the better impact, for me. If gluten-free, vegan is your jam, then that makes an impact for you. Johns Hopkins and their high fat diet that treats epilepsy… awesome. Anytime someone takes a leap to change what they already consume to treat the bad things they feel, I tend to think that is a smart move even if its not completely successful. But there is never one answer to everything or everyone.

All I knew is my ass wanted pizza. So we made this and topped it with bacon, chicken sausage, portabello, and although I wanted to put spinach on it, we didn’t have any.

I had to use a little more almond flour than listed to get a doughy enough feel to start spreading it. Spreading also ended up being more of an oiled hand quickly patting it into a pizza like shape as I didn’t have the paper. I didn’t have to poke any more holes in it after 8 minutes and I wasn’t able to hold it to eat it. I will probably play with another egg and a bit more flour or more cheese. I dusted it with sea salt and garlic, fresh oregano, basil and Spawn tossed some rosemary on it for fun.

It fucking rawked, taste-wise. Even with a fork, it felt, smelled and soothed our soul like pizza.

so the excel class blew, and apparently so does the teach (g2)

So… me, the Yankee, the Hippy and one of our other employees went to an “advanced” class on Windows Excel. I say “advanced” since I’m not sure if they just have to mention the buzzwords of “pivot table” or “vlookup” to qualify, but that was about the quality of this course. Our suspicion of exactly how bad it was going to be started when we got a good look of the picture of our instructor.

I’m not sure why this is a thing, but they are now doing courses where the instructor is remote and you have to listen to them over a conference speaker. They can see everything you do on your screen and you spend a majority of your time on mute and only interrupt with questions. Call me old fashioned, but this doesn’t appeal to me at all.

Don’t get me wrong, I see the utilitarian aspects of it. I just think it blows.

Considering the instructor’s photo looked like it was pulled right from her Tinder profile, duckface and all, she looked like she blew too.

And swallowed. A lot. And cheaply.

We spent at least another half hour trying to find a linkedin profile for her, which we found, and it too looked like yet another choice Tinder alternate, except this one was about 50 pounds heavier than the one in our faces currently.

How much lack of self-awareness do you need to think slut photos are “professional?” Why wouldn’t a boss doing their due diligence kind of guide you off a whore-ish cliff in the workplace?

Unfortunately, after the usage of “irregardless” (not a word) and “cumbersun” (cumbersome) and every cliche used backwards, I can only guess from a lack of understanding them, there was no value to be had in the instruction either.

There was not one single question posed to her that she could answer. We stepped through formulas that no person on earth would ever find useful. Most of her knowledge seemed to be based in memorization, in spite of bragging to 30+ years (how old was that fucking picture?) of Excel experience .

Though she wanted to spend a great deal of time on how to make spreadsheets “pretty.” Fuck that noise. If I want to see a pretty spreadsheet, I’ll look here:

tatsuo-horiuchi-1-670x354
“Cherry Blossoms of Historical Castle site” (2006)

 

Tatsuo Horiuchi | the 73-year old Excel spreadsheet artist

They requested we fill out an evaluation for the class when we were done for the day.

Bad move… no, I didn’t hold back. I kind of eviscerated her: her grammar, her Tinder pic, her lack of any real usable instruction or knowledge in the material. However, I did try to finalize it on a positive note and complemented the building, the snacks and the book…

In spite of everything, it was a nice day. The Yankee and I only got in one argument over the fact that Dunkin Donuts sucks epic shit and Krispy Kreme rules. Apparently, Northerners are all about DD for the coffee? …even though the doughnuts blow chodes. I would rather get coffee where the main element – the doughnuts –  are actually good. I don’t usually go to doughnut shops for the coffee, but hey. We finally agreed to disagree on that point.

We tried a new wing and ale place for lunch and I had an epic spinach salad with honey bacon that kicked some ass, so all in all total win of a day. Oh yeah, and it wasn’t at fucking work!

kicking diabetes ass: week… um, 6? … some updates (g2)

ok, I realized I got into stuff that was going on but not a lot about what I ate so I’ll kind of go over that a bit too. I didn’t realize some of you guys were getting anything out of this,  I kind of felt like I was just ranting about the flows and ebbs going on. But COOL, if you get something out of it…. even that a slacker like me can do it, so you CERTAINLY can, that’s awesome.

When we picked blueberries, yes I ate some. At most, a dozen. The crop was a bit tart this year. Usually, I eat so much I poop purple. They are mid-range in the carb friendly scale.

Spawn has been AWESOME about learning low carb, and I’ve even discovered a pizza recipe I plan to try when I can devour half the damn thing. I’ll share it if it ends up worth it (why waste your time otherwise, right?). I think I might be able to convert G-uno to my darkside on this one… seriously, fucking cream cheese in the crust? Oh hellya.

Spawn has usually used meat+veg as their go-to for dinner (though they still hesitate to think of meat as low carb sometimes), only occasionally attempting to assemble a salad with mucho questions and input from my end while they do it. However, they make me small portions and sometimes supplement with another shake if they don’t feel it was enough.

The 4th soiree at the Yankee’s? I ate the hell out of some food, man. This is the same person who digs at me about never eating or never leaving for lunch. I had a small steak, a burger with cheese on it only (no bread, no toppings), 4 whole tortilla chips and a mutha load of watermelon salsa (I’m addicted to new things and this was really new to me AND watermelon was oddly enough on the low carb list of fruits… weird I know), or better known as probably .75 to 1 full cup of salsa. I had some of my own onion dip, but I brought baby carrots (ate 5) and celery (ate half a damn bunch) so I had things to dip with. I did not eat at all before we got there, other than water.

I had one sugar-free daiquiri (and was soundly mocked for drinking a girly-looking pink drink) with about half a cup of muscato added to it. I have no damn clue what the hell was in that last one, I just promised to pay penance for it later. I was so full, I was in pain and this was over 4+ hours. Of course, I ate nothing the rest of the day.

Generally, I stick with crepes when I go for breakfast choices, since they have less egg and they are less filling than most omelets. The exception being Kim and her little cafe. Her omelets are very light and just perfectly filling, with one piece of rye toast. Kim is a very, very health-minded cook, but you’d never know it just from the taste. She scoffs at store bought salad dressings, for example, and makes everything herself. Even the rice she uses is a lower GI, diabetic-friendly kind (no, I haven’t tried it, its still too many carbs).

I have days where I get super hungry, so I eat. I have experimented with old places I like to go and see how I can finagle in a way I can eat it, but for good. My favorite burger joint is more than happy to nix the bread and add a salad. That’s cool. They don’t even drown it in dressing (on the side) since I always leave most of it behind.

I’m mostly surprised how much I am not craving sugar. I used to HAVE TO HAVE chocolate after dinner. It never had to be much, but I had to have it. I suppose the protein shakes abate the sweet cravings since they too are sweet, but its not the same… I’m not missing it. I miss mac and potatoes, but I found that a tiny bite of Spawn’s is enough to give me the mental happy high without the physical repercussions. I’m cool with that too.

The only problem I’m still having issues with is what the hell can I use in my coffee aside from sugar. Splenda has been my go to, but I hate it.

  • honey? kind of misses the point.
  • Stevia? I will punch someone in the throat if I have to taste that shit again.
  • xylitol? isn’t that the shit in gum?

Has anyone found a sugar alternative that actually doesn’t taste like shit and can be enjoyed without gagging in a hot beverage?

I did finally have to confess to work, though I said basically it was a low-carb experiment to bring down my A1C. I did NOT tell anyone I was eating super low calorie as well. Again, didn’t want to hear any shit from the all knowing VP.

My diet buddy is about to break the 200 mark, their main goal. Their sugar has not responded as well as mine has, but they have been kicking ass on putting in more activity in their routine and knocking off the weight.

They got kind of frustrated with me, because their goal was 15% of their body weight.

friend: “What’s your goal?”

me:”to kick diabetes’ ass.”

friend:”by doing what?”

me:”eating low to no carb and low cal for 8 weeks, with a steady but slow increase, then low cal cycling until my A1C gets and stays normal and I feel better.”

friend:”you don’t have a pound goal?”

me:”I don’t want my stomach to touch the steering wheel? I dunno, I haven’t weighed myself since the doc did it.”

friend:”… but what do you want to be able to do after this is moving to a more normal intake?”

me:”keep up with three nutso kids while they go trick ‘or’ treating… this time, on foot.”

friend:”I guess that’s a goal.”

me:”I’ll know I’m back to normal then, or at least getting there.”

friend:…

As I said, I was really super focused on numbers a long time ago when new parenthood created someone in the mirror I didn’t recognize. It is enough to make one  crazy because bodies don’t work by logic. You can’t figure out the calories burned, and math out to .00001% how much you ate in calories a day and have that always create a certain amount of loss. I had a fucking spreadsheet man, I was serious!

Too much paprika may make YOU swell, while everyone else on the damn planet pisses like a racehorse when they eat it. Too much olive oil may give YOU the shits and generally make you feel bad. Everyone is different. Apparently, I’m fine with skim milk or raw milk, but anything in between is not ok. Most other dairy products are fine with me. But as a diabetic, if its low-fat… its high in sugar and I need to stay away from it.

The one thing I wasn’t paying attention to was how I was feeling. Maybe if I had, I might have noticed something was wrong before it become a nightmare of a half dozen years.

i deign to socialize on independance day but be damned if i saw one firework (g2)

One of my rules of thumb: If I’ve refused invites about 7 times in a row, I HAVE to accept the next one. It’s my hermit prevention methodology.  I usually don’t get to 7 unless I’m having a really rough time personally.

So I accepted the invite to the Yankee’s house for the 4th of July. My housewarming gift was a multi-pack of Charmin. Yes, toilet tissue. The amount of time the Yankee spends talking about the inner workings of their digestive system, it was warranted. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who thought so either since they also also received another multi-pack, Poo-pourri, and a stainless steel aerated plunger.

I was in good company.

I brought onion dip, well because I always bring fucking onion dip. It’s never what anyone expects. It’s easy, and BFG told me to when I was once stumped with what to contribute so some gathering that required something aside from a bag of ice or some fucking potato chips. It’s my go-to if I cannot think of anything and/or I don’t want to spend a lot of time. It goes down like:

  • 1 cup mayo
  • 1 cup shredded cheddar, sharper the better
  • 1/4 cup ground/chopped/smashed walnuts OR almonds.
  • 1 red onion, chopped to tiny bits.
  • *stir*
  • *put in container and smear flat*
  • *chill*
  • Now, I usually use the microwave to soften it, but mine likes to go nuclear after 52 seconds of tepid so I’ve had to switch to hot water on the outside of the jar. If you used almonds, take strawberry marmelade and glaze the top of the dip with it, in a thin layer. If you used walnuts, use raspberry marmelade. I use the whole damn jar usually.
  • *chill*

Didn’t know there was going to be gourmet lessons and shit up in this blog, did you?

I use a food processor when I’m not thinking about the cleaning afterword. I’ve also been known to use a bag and a hammer/rolling pin when I do.

It may sound weird, but try it. Two of my cousins, also siblings, who I’ve never been around while they weren’t fighting/screaming/bashing the shit out fo each other, damn near sat on top of one another and silently devoured a container of this shit.

It’s powerful, people.

With that said, I got to see my homeboy, the Yankee’s (we bonded over turkey ice cream cake and dirty jokes) boyfriend. I also got to meet one of the project department newbies, one I’ve been really impressed with as far as their work performance and their significant (we too bonded over lewd topics and dirty innuendo, in fact I seem to have hit idol status for out-lewding him?), a gal from purchasing that I already was friends with came and brought her mom (I wanted to adopt her too), a guy from the design department I once freaked out by sitting next to him at a company-sponsored holiday function and introducing myself (I also wanted to name him Marcus apparently), and their OCD former neighbor who spent a lot of time listening from the sidelines or navigating the wall.

We talked shop, we made cracks about our various diagnoses: which just in that room alone we had a couple of depressions, one bipolar (Yankee’s bf, ironically), OCD (the neighbor has issues with things that close and lock, he doesn’t trust them), our own special version of Turret’s (as I like to call it), etc. The former neighbor was awesome, but very ackward. He wanted to join but didn’t know how while staying on topic, though I give him massive props for his attempts, but man… he had a sharp wit when Yankee’s BF brought it out of him. It was a blast. I cannot ever make anyone understand the vast comfort I get from exploring so many different personalities. Enjoying our differences because we know its welcome and safe is probably one of the best experiences ever.

The Hippy, the epic newcomer to the project department, and I talked extensively of our own dealings with our company. I have to say her insight into the psyche of many of our co-workers was astounding. Yes, the VP really is operating on feelings of insecurity and is desperately seeking validation. Yes, I do think your boss has to be forced to acknowledge their humanity before interacting with them. Yes, I do think that senior head is big bag of narcissistic, immature dicks. I nodded a lot on her insights. We also covered the perceptions they had about my department. Ironically, it all stemmed from the VP and how she treats people.

Although some were a bit on the polite side, the rest of us dove right into the sexual experiences and innuendo, even I disclosed one of my personal best being when my former spouse was not home. I even made an offhand remark at one point that the Hippy looked like she was glowing and did she get some, to which she responded, “why do you think we were late?” When her significant came back in from chatting with Yankee BF, she grew immediately silent and just blushed all over. It was totes adorbs. I couldn’t resist, I teased them a bit. He seemed to have no issue with this topic, but she was shy while he was there.

It was over a hundred degrees outside and Yankee’s bf was hellbent on grilling. We left him to it. At one point even closing the blinds just to escape the heat coming through the windows. I’ve never gone without at least seeing a few fireworks but somehow this year, we missed it altogether. Maybe I’ll make a small bomb and set it off in my yard when the temperature gets below the crack of hell’s ass again.

Spawn was near silent for most of this, and only nibbled. They’d spent the night with their BFF the night before, gone swimming and failed to reapply sunscreen on their pale ass skin in 100 degree weather. So my kid was also barely able to move and suffering a bit from the burn on their top half.

By the way, whoever said vinegar is good thing to put on a sunburn should be punched in the dick. Don’t do it. Greek yogurt, coconut skin oil, olive oil with tea tree in it, aftersun aloe gel with echinacea, lidocaine but only in the spray (touching too much is bad)… all good. Fucking vinegar, bad! If you want someone to have an hour and half of scream/crying, then by all means go with vinegar.

I had originally thought this might be a really awkward outing, and had a deal with Spawn that they were to feign illness at a certain time. Well, it wasn’t feigned with the burn,  but we ended up leaving about two hours or so after our designated time. It was worth it though. Spawn finally piped in their two cents on the way home, they always seem to have a better time than they let on. Those who meet Spawn just think they are the most well-behaved child on the planet. I’m wondering what kind of long con this kid is running to have so many fooled.

Mr. Never I Say Never (G-uno)

There he stood on his tiny chair in the middle of his preschool cafeteria making his royal stance adamantly clear. My eyes surveyed the room. His poor teacher was completely unsure about what to do. The other children were entranced by his command of the room. “The Baby” otherwise know as “The King” was perched on his tiny little chair with his index finger pointing straight up in the air shouting at the top of his little lungs “Never I say, never!”

“The King” is not your average 4 year-old boy. He falls into several categories within the Autistic spectrum. Although his intellect borders on brilliant, his speech is severely delayed. The biggest problem with “The King” is that his mind is bursting with thoughts that his speech simply cannot relay. So he has learned to make his royal commands, and desires intensely clear in other ways. This king will be heard whether he is able to express his wishes with words or not.

He is intensely easy on the eyes. His large beautiful blue eyes draw you in then while you’re completely captivated he throws you a smile that lets you know you are probably going to give him whatever he wants. Adults, and children alike are often drawn into his kingdom with not so much as even a single word. He commands your attention while systematically getting you to relent to his every wish.

On the flip side of his charismatic charms there is a tyrant who loses his shit when his powers of persuasion are not being understood, or worse yet denied. Like all great rulers he knows that when his charms are not doing the trick you have to rule with an iron fist. He has a new teacher who is quite young, and clearly has not had the experience of dealing with a 2 -1/2 foot tall ruler. I have dealt with this mighty king since he was a year old. Over this period of time I’ve been extremely lucky to have found myself very much in “The King’s” favor.

I have the ability to understand him in a way that does not require so much energy output on his part, so he tolerates me much more easily than the rest of his subjects. I don’t deal with him in a verbal way because I know that when he realizes he is not able to converse back in the same way he becomes frustrated. I can see from the look on his face that he feels defeated by his inability to speak. Plus it’s good for him to see that I am as bilingual at getting what I want in the nonverbal sense as he is. He likes this about me. He knows I share the same admiration for him in this way.

However much to “The Kings” dismay I am equally as tenacious about fulfilling my job requirements as his personal assitant. So as he stood perched on his tiny chair I walked over to him, and looked down towards the ground signaling him that it was time to step down. He looks me straight in the eyes to let me know he is not ready to comply. So I look him back in the eye being ever so cautious not to be mesmerized by his charms, and I raise both of my eyebrows while smiling at him.

He is assured by my smile that I am not issuing a command so he climbs down off of the chair, and starts to walk away towards the door. I remain by the chair until he realizes I am not following him towards the door. He looks at me with slight disgust, then I smile again and stare down at the chair that has not been pushed back into the table, and the snack (of apples & raisins) that remained uncleared. He gives me a pronounced hesitation just to make sure I know he is making a choice, not following a command. Then he walks over pushes in his chair, and clears his uneaten snack from the table.

I smile at him again. He looks at me in a way that let’s me know he is only conceding to my wishes only because he wants to, but he knows that I will stand there like an immovable mountain until he relents. Then he looks at me again with his “Happy now look?,” and I beam back at him so he knows that I am. I hand him his royal nap blanket, his box of apple juice, and his bag of pretzels. As we walk down the hallway I look at him with my “What happened in there face?” He smiles at me then in four tiny words says ” I don’t like raisins.” 😉

 

the yankee hates her f*tard boss (g2)

So my co-worker The Yankee invited Spawn and I over for their housewarming/Fourth of July festivities with other friends and co-workers. How this initially abrasive being has managed to win over the good graces of half the building, I will never understand but I have to say I’m kind of grateful for it.

Where I work, there is this US vs. THEM kind of vibe between departments. My department, mostly, has all been here about 4 years or less, with the exception of one self-proclaimed VP who has been here too damn long and should honestly be let go. When you’re biggest task for bragging rights is balancing one of the owner’s checkbook, you need to understand you’re an overpaid personal secretary and fuck off. She however has vast delusions of grandeur and is one of those who constantly plays the martyr, even though she has more fucking vacation time, benefits, pay… than anyone else.

She is also the one who hired the Yankee, gushed about their wonderfulness and absolute genius to an annoying degree (I think I went over this before that this woman thinks I’m a fucking idiot), and I’m guessing was hoping they would form a clique with the other useless, manipulative piece of shit that has everyone snowed. Ah three musketeers.

The Yankee can’t fucking stand her. And its getting worse every day. This amuses me to no end.

Personally, I give it a long try, but if I can’t get along with my direct superior, I’m looking for work elsewhere. That relationship is very important to me. We have to be able to work together. I adore my boss right now, we often see things eye to eye and back one another up. I have been seriously lucky in this department for the last 10+ years, I’m hoping its for making up for some epic shitty ones before.

During the course of the Yankee’s time here, they have managed to befriend and divulge a lot about the dynamics of the other departments. They found out that my department is absolutely hated, that we’re evil, that we’re a bunch of bastards… but this is a theme fostered by old fucktards in other departments that only remember the fucktards my department replaced… with the exception of one old fucktard anyway.

The new people are trying to reconcile what they’re being told with what they’re dealing with and its not matching up at all. My boss always breaks her neck to help anyone, but she’s no doormat. One of my other co-workers has all the aggression of a puppy, then there’s the yankee, me and the fucktard. I’m at most curt, but only because you can’t emotionally interpret shit in a 5 word email. I learned that the hard way decades ago. I’ve made a point of telling any of the ones I’ve met, you don’t have to schedule time with me, just come, nothing I’m doing is more important.

I always wondered why when some of the ones in our project department needed to ask me questions, they always maneuvered like they were navigating broken glass. I got along with quite a few, but the older ones I always felt needed a heavy dose of humbling and an attitude adjustment before they ran off the really good new people they didn’t bother to train.

The design team had nothing to do with us at all, I’ve only dealt with one guy in there and he’s kind of a slackass shit disturber who’s been here a long time. See a theme? Because of the Yankee, I’m slowly getting more interaction with these mythical beings that share common space with me that think I work in a lair rather than an office.

With all of this new information, and other departments who have an “in” via the Yankee… I’m kind of interested to see how the Fourth is going to play out when I’m in a situation where I’m not glued to a computer and can actually interact.

damned if i didn’t get to meet schnookums (g2)

I got up on Saturday, like I do, and when I was finally too hungry to deal with it, sat on Spawn on they finally agreed to get the hell out of bed. I find out Spawn has decided to invite Schnookums to breakfast.

They have been going strong since February, truly a record even among adults really. I had also still yet to meet them. I was honestly surprised when Spawn told me Schnookums was coming.

me:”Aw shit, does this mean I have to put on a clean shirt without holes?”

Spawn:”um, yes?”

me:”FUCK…”

Spawn:”stop cussing…”

Spawn then informs that they think their mom might be just dropping off Schnookums, possibly with their two younger siblings.

me: “You mean a woman I’ve never met is entrusting me with not one but possibly three of her children? Do you not understand there are people who KNOW me that would never do that?!”

Spawn:”…”

Apparently, Spawn had misinterpreted things, but I was indeed being entrusted with one of her kids. Mom and her brood of three flew in, we shook hands, chitchatted a bit and she flew back out leaving Schnookums behind.

Schnookums was a quiet little soul with an adorable face, very intelligent looking glasses (much like my own, ahem) and probably more wisdom on some things than a person their age should have to be, and insanely gullible in others. I could see the shyness, but it was more based in a fear of saying something that might get a weird response than an actual fear of interaction. In fact, Schnookums seemed very eager to interact. After about half an hour, I’m wondering what the hell Spawn was talking about when I was told this person took a month to work up the courage to share a table with them at lunch.

Schnookums told me about having had a few seizures in the past couple years, but they thought it might be from lack of sleep, so they had a strict bedtime.

They told me about all the places they are getting bounced around to this summer, dad and stepmom soon, then back home for a bit, then to grandma’s. They told me how their stepmom was really strict. I asked them why they thought that was, and they said “because she hates me.”

I asked if they realized the wrath of hell that might descend on their stepmom if so much as a hair on their head were injured under their care. Schnookums got quiet for a minute and said “I never thought about it like that.”

They talked about their irritations with their siblings and various unfairnesses. They told me about the uncle that had promised to one day build them a computer (after finding out I’d done this with Spawn’s) only to never deliver. Schnookums had a lot of pent up frustration with the adults in their life, and I guess I was non-adult enough to be a sounding board for their frustration.

They also talked about how they really didn’t get religion and I’m condensing it in adult language, but they felt it sounded hollow and pretentious to them… and essentially bullshit. I kind of went on to describe how I realized when I was their age, I had no faith. None at all. Up until that point, I’d sat in the front row, took notes and pelted the pastor with dozens of questions they could never really answer and I realized all this in a shitty little bible belt town with no one to talk to about it and no name to really give it.

I went on to say that Spawn however was a believer and I’d always felt that faith and belief systems were all a personal journey, even if it sometimes had to be a quiet one considering where we lived and limitations we had to be in discussing it. I never wanted my beliefs to corrupt Spawn’s own thoughts on it and in just my limited time, I had a vast assortment of many religions in friends and former family close to me. Our only commonality is we didn’t judge.

It’s sad but I live in a state that when surveyed, felt that they would rather hire a gay believer than an atheist. I’m not sure whether to consider the openness for this racist, bigoted little state on one hand somewhat progressive, but its rather insulting on the other too. Kind of a double-handed insult on both ends since why does it matter about either?

Schnookums went on to tell me how their mom was the superhero fan, but they’d never heard of Free Comic Book Day or May the Fourth be with you. Their stepdad was this outdoorsy type, which is why so many weekends they had to spend it hiking. They went on declare to how much they hated it.

Some of the general comments made by this kid while talking, the dry humor especially, at one point, I said “you’d make a really good Lex Luthor type… the evil businessperson plotting global takeover.” To which, they responded “yeah, that’d be cool.”

I immediately like this kid. We ended up chatting until Kim had to close the cafe and I had Schnookums text their mom to make sure it was ok to hang out at our house. Since their mom had dropped off Spawn once, I knew they knew where we lived.

Spawn and Schnookums played on the PS4 on a game I refused to play (I suck at side-scrollers). Schnookums used as many opportunities as possible to touch Spawn’s arm or shoulder or back, while I casually peeked over Spawn’s monitor under the guise of playing Skyrim.

After awhile, the game lost it’s allure and I was once again pelted with questions and observations by Schnookums. They seemed to heave a sigh of relief when I mentioned something about how girls start growing faster than boys and its about the first year of high school when the boys not only catch up but usually fly past. Spawn is not bothered by their general size disparagement but I can tell it bothers Schnookums.

I have never understood this about myself or my home or maybe the environment I create. Spawn’s BFF and their sibling were the same when they came to stay with us one weekend. I was needled to death and pelted with one question after another. It was exhausting. I asked Spawn why in hell kids were drawn to interrogating me, did they smell some weakness I didn’t notice. Spawn just said “because you answer them?”

Damn, that’s just fucking sad.

kicking diabetes ass: week…5…6? fuggit I have it marked on a calendar (g2)

Yes, I’m still doing the food insanity, somewhere around week 4 and a half it’d become such a habit I forgot to log my food. By the time I realized I hadn’t done it, it’d been almost a week.

I’m an organized soul, let me unclutter your life. (don’t, really… you’ll never forgive me.)

In the first 3 weeks, I dropped about 20 pounds and six inches out of my midsection, but I kept forgetting to check after that. Apparently, nothing else has moved from my midsection another 5? 6? weeks later, but I’ve noticed other stuff or I’d be insanely depressed. My last check had be averaging about 727 calories/day.

In the past couple weeks, I have been able to navigate stores without the assistance of a cart. For me this has been big. The pain started first and the weight followed, one exacerbating the other. It was three years before diabetes showed up. Walking around a store was hell and not just because I detest shopping. If you’ve ever seen the first steps of the TinMan after Dorothy gave him an oiling (that’s what he said) or someone trying to move their body in spite of paralysis, this is roughly how I managed to get around. No amount of pain pills could touch it.

I decided we were going to get up at buttass’o’ clock one Saturday and pick blueberries. We were out there until we filled 2 buckets, which took Spawn and I a little over an hour. It was disgustingly hot even at 7am, but we survived and physically, I was fine. I haven’t been fine in years.

Spawn asked their best friend if they wanted to join us, which they did but they had their six year old cousin visiting so they had to join us as well.

We already had plans to hit our favorite Saturday breakfast spot when we were done (they have about six or more omelets I can totally eat and still stay within range).

Pain In The Ass aka the 6 year old, only likes waffles. Plain waffles.

Our favorite spot only has french toast.

I got to hear about two hours worth of shit PITA doesn’t like, but also has never tried.

I know in my logical brain Spawn also went through this phase, but this child has never heard the word “no.” Ever.

Spawn’s BFF exemplified a patience I’ve only seen in the most kindest of souls. I kind of felt sorry that they had to play parent to just a PITA…but then, they could have left it at home too.

PITA and I butted heads only twice. The first happened when they had picked blueberries for about fifteen minutes and determined themselves bored and demanding we leave. My response was they were told beforehand that I wanted two buckets for us before we left, and if they were done they could either help make that go faster or find something to enjoy about the place until we were done.

The second, PITA dozed off on the way to breakfast choice number two (we checked the menu to make sure plain waffles were on it). When we got there Spawn’s BFF couldn’t get it out of the car. I poked my head in on the other side and said “You knew were coming here, so get out of my car please.” It did.

Spawn asked if I yelled at them, I told them I didn’t have to, I’m terrifying enough without volume.

In spite of it all, I still had a pretty lovely but insanely hot day with three kids, a good breakfast (spinach crepe with chicken) which I forgot included potatoes pancakes. Thankfully, they were small, and I managed to mangle them a bit and eat about 2 tiny bites so I could call them touched without being devoured, while small enough I didn’t feel bad about leaving it.

The blueberries though were a bit on the small side. I’m sure part of it was the season started earlier this year and I didn’t realize it until later, combined with the need to hurry so I didn’t hear “I’m bored, when are we leaving?” before I throttled someone’s kid and buried it under one of the bushes.

But fuck yeah, I picked mah own muthafuckin blueberries, bitches!

kicking diabetes ass: week 3, day 4… feed me, seymour! (g2)

Damn, forgot to publish this when I wrote it…. my bad.

I’m guessing this is the point where my body is going “What the holy fuck are you doing?!?! I just got this body to a good point to be self-sufficient for at least 7.47 fucking catastrophes. You will fucking eat now!”

In other words, I spent a lot of time being hungry. Hungry is new for me during this little journey through insanity. It started off me eating below 500 and having to remember to eat a bit more, to then forgiving fluxes between 500-800 since it was still the goal range. To now, where I’ve touched 1k once or twice and could have still gone for a steak… or three.

Ironically as I try to lean into protein to stabilize the hunger pang more, my carbs have been occasionally dropping in half. This looks really weird when your calories are higher than you want, but your carbs are almost nonexistent. It was easier to do than I ever believed possible. Really, I would have fought you like hell and said there was no way to have 18 carbs a day, but I did just that.

It’s also been a really interesting exploration in applying new ideas to old concepts. I found that half a sliced avocado with salsa and diced ham is friggin epic and kicks a hunger pangs ass.

I love grilled cheese and tomato soup. I found a soup that worked well carbwise, a huge gourmet chunk of aged sharp bacon cheddar and found a recipe for eggplant “dude food” style. I know only one way I can make eggplant… fried. I love it at Japanese restaurants but have no clue how to do it, and the idea of cooking it to mush makes me gag. This was perfect.

I’ve been finally feeling a wee bit lighter, but I won’t be taking any kind of measurements until the weekend and only then in inches in my midsection. I didn’t want to get hung up on numbers, but I know, aside from diabetes, abdominal fat will kill me.

My legs still ache, though not as much, and I’m still retaining a ton of fluid on my legs. I wonder sometimes how many pounds of liquid a diabetic body holds and why in hell it just seems to be a balloon about to pop. Gran always looked like their skin in places was stretched to its max, but it all felt like fluid, like you could pop a tap into it and it would just pour out.

On the other hand, I caught myself sitting with my foot tucked up under my leg more than once, a position I’ve been unable to sit in for at least 4 years.

i think i live in a constant state of diarrhea of the brain (g2)

So one day, I’m explaining my thought processes to my offspring on how I decided when something was or was not good for me to eat, and it ended up, in a matter of minutes, suddenly confessing some of my more mundane sins of drinking underage and pretending to be a foreign exchange student to get into a nude bar, also underage and how, knowing this, I understood that when Spawn’s inner devils finally tried to make a powerplay over their good decision making skills, all I asked was to call me to pick them up if they were drunk.

And never accept an open container of anything from anyone, even if you know them.

I managed to stop myself just before I got into the stories of when I DIDN’T do this and or start spouting off how many lovers I’d had in my lifetime, including the one sort of homosexual incident that did little but confirm what side of the fence I preferred.

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I just sat there for a minute and asked myself “how the fuck did I get to this subject matter?”

Of course, when I started thinking backwards into it, it made complete sense.

Irresponsible drinking and ignoring state laws started because I was talking about being in Germany when I was a teen where as long as you can sit up over the bar table they don’t give a shit how old you are and I got on that because I found it ironic that 99% of my diet in Germany consisted of pork, starch and beer but for some reason I would still lose 20 lbs every time I went and I got on THAT because I was talking about low carb being kind of the magic bullet for diabetics since it would force the body to burns its own resources.

OK, yeah that makes TOTAL sense now!

Right…

I do this at work too, and it seems to keep my immediate co-workers are in a constant state of disbelief/confusion/awe/revulsion/laughter/irritation… I’m not entirely sure but they seem kind of caught off guard by it. Of course, I refrain some things at work, especially personal stuff, but usually everything else is diarrhea of the brain.

I could also wander tangents better than main roads of thinking as far back as I can recall. I hated A to B to C thinking, if I could cross over and hit Z in less steps, I was all for it. I’m the person with spare parts left after the “some assembly required” instructions have been tossed aside.

I suspect my brain just went “WHEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEE…. never fucking organizing a coherent thought again, asshole!” when my teacher decided to spend a couple weeks teaching us “stream of consciousness writing” which meant everything that popped in your head had to go on paper. It spoke to me on a deep level. I suspect my papers actually got better because of it… after the 50th proofread by me and others, anyway.

I was always bad about missing key points or small facts that better supported my goal since I was trying to force a brain of chaos into a linear set of organized thoughts and flowing with the stream let that all come out alongside the “damn, my left buttcheek hurts on this fucking chair” and “I wonder if that skank smell is coming from the lunchroom or that guy a couple rows down.”

Of course, once you’re in college, flowing with the stream was epic in my creative writing classes. My weird tangents seemed to amuse my professors to no end, at least those who didn’t have a stick up their ass.

I had to write a book report on William Burrough’s Naked Lunch. I titled it Losing My Lunch. Did you know that Peter Weller actually starred in the fucking movie? It’s just as shitty as the book. So I guess that means they did a good job? Yeah, RoboCop and the guy from Leviathan! That guy! I hated it, and I rambled on in detail. Got an A.

Of course, now I’m sure an entire crew of former english instructors would go apeshit if they saw my minimal use of commas, semicolons, colons and overuse of periods today.

In the mix of my random tangents, seems to be what my co-workers refer to as my own little idiosyncrasies. I can’t remember cliches and generally just don’t care for them. These two facts could influence one another.

Instead of saying… well fuck, I can’t remember. I was going for an example that I seem to say similar involving a guitar, but now I can’t remember the cliche or my own rendition.

The only thing I can remember saying recently is one guy came through our office and just seemed in a shitty mood and hell bent on taking it out on everyone in there. When he finally left, I remarked, “wow, wonder if he stuck his tampon in the wrong hole.”

This is normal for me, and I was moving through my thought process to ask my boss a question, but since they seemed physically incapable of inhaling it took me a good several minutes of waiting before I could finally proceed with my question, but not before hearing:

“Where the hell do you come up with this stuff?!?!?!”

“Um, I blame the ADHD toddler on crack that lives in my head. He’s a real pain in my ass.”

“….”

kicking diabetes ass: week 2, day 6… as long as you feel ok, keep doing what you’re doing (g2)

My doctor’s visit was yesterday and that’s what they said after I got done with my long diatribe.

Spawn got their vaccine(s) and was given the final verdict that they were “disgustingly healthy.” We thought they were only getting one shot, but it ended up being 2 shots and a fingerstick hemoglobin test. I’m sure because my iron is still low, I’m also at fault for that one. My kid ended up with two Daffy Duck and one Tasmanian Devil band-aids, so overall I think it was a win.

My bloodwork in March determined that my A1C was down to 6.3 from 7.3 in January. I brought it down a full point in 3 months and this is before the insanity diet started.

I also dropped 20 lbs since I came in last. That was more reassuring than I thought it would be. Sure, you always hope for more no matter what amount, but when you have a ton to lose, you don’t see it until its a massive amount. It kind of felt like justification that what I was doing was a good idea.

The only measurement I’ve done at home, and only after I’d been doing this for a week, was measuring my midsection. That too has lost 4 inches in a week.

I was excited by this and felt the need share the good news with diet buddy. I don’t think they took it too well though. I have a feeling I might have to stage an intervention at some point so they don’t get disappointed and start using more excuses to end it. Their kids are going overseas for a few weeks this summer, so their excuses will be gone too.

With that said, I, like the planner I’m not, forgot to print out all the crap I was going to bring in hand for my doctor to review. I had to give the reader’s digest super-condensed version of what I read, what the study’s goals were and what I was trying to emulate. I at least had my app out and let my doc peruse the information I did have logged and how I was tracking my nutrition as well.

My doctor countered with starvation mode and the vices of that. I countered that I was only intending on doing this for 8 weeks, not forever and would be gradually increasing to a more reasonable level after. The goal being to shock the system into burning its own fat, especially in the pancreas. I told them about my carb goals, and how that had been working out. I told them I had cake on my birthday, so I added an extra day. They said “you can have cake on your birthday.”

They asked questions about how I’d been feeling, if I’d added any exercise and how my digestive system had been doing. I told my doc fine, no and actually pretty good. I said I had only had issues when I hadn’t had enough water, and I got a headache once from not enough salt, but otherwise I’d been feeling pretty good.

I also said that regardless of how well I did on this, I still wanted surgery if I ever got the option because I simply didn’t want to deal with this ever again. Doc said they’d write the referral as soon as I had the coverage.

Sometimes it just nice to know 1, you’re doing ok, and 2. you got someone in your corner.

kicking diabetes ass: week 2, day 4: smugness gone and damn, I’m hungry (g2)

I enjoyed my moment of smugness, it only takes a mirror or a visit to a scale to slap my ass back to reality though so I revel in it when I can.

I have my doctor’s appointment soon, so I have to remember to print out everything I’ve been eating so I can either get chastised or commended depending on how they feel about things.

Last night was probably one of the single most annoying days I’ve had yet. I was ravenous. I wanted anything and everything. A co-worker brought in lemon ricotta cookies, and I made the massive mistake of having one. I’m drawn to new things, food being only one subject that this applies to. It’s like it triggered a starvation response.

I wanted meat, copious amount of it. I ate an entire head of cooked cabbage for dinner and was genuinely sad when there was no more. I had a bite of Spawn’s mac and cheese, just a bite, but I would have happily licked the bowl clean when they were done. I still kept my calories within in check, but my carb exceeded what I wanted.

I don’t know where this is coming from. Perhaps my body is finally going “oh fuck, you’re still not going to eat more than this?!?!” Or maybe the sugar and carb in the cookie set off the diabetic desire for yet more sugar and carbs. Or maybe, its time to add a little meat/egg to see if that helps.

It was frustrating to say the least, but I don’t seem to be having the same issue today. Maybe, regardless of calories, the carb level is the only thing I really need to watch when this is over. Below 50, I don’t have problems, but above it… and I get massive cravings.

It will be something to watch at least.

A nurse at my chiropractor’s said that her joints started feeling better when she eliminated all MSG from her diet and really watched her salt. My sister-in-law made sure her daughter got at least 50g of protein a day because it helped her focus in spite of her ADHD.

Do any of you have to watch certain aspects of what you eat in this way? What happens if you don’t? How did you discover the anomaly?