Life, these last couple of months, has been a gel-filled stress-ball’s squeeze-frenzied nightmare.

Here’s a little something about me: As I’ve said before, when the pressure is on, simple carbohydrates are my lifelong addiction buddies - the ones I hung out with when I was younger and more metabolically advantaged, and in whose company I dove head first into the shallow end of the dietary trouble pool. Simple carbs are the overly accepting old friends that I have to avoid if I want to “stay on the wagon” with real food.

Some people take a walk with Lassie to regain their center of gravity; I on the other hand, tend to take a drive to Taco Bell, hoping that they’ve finally figured out the Holy Grail of fast food: the lascivious matrimonial union of sugar, preservatives, hormones, antibiotics, and dirt-cheap meat.

Pulling around the finely crafted drive-thru arc of asphalt and concrete curb that says, enter dear friend, but know that there is but one way out, I think to myself: “What sweet and savory surprise awaits me on the shimmering ordering board this time, my old corn syrupy compadre? Is it a newly-conceived melding of steaming hot “cheese-ish” sauce, oddly and excessively chopped ground beef-like meat, and powdered jelly donuts? All wrapped in a freezer-burnt artificially-colored tortilla? Maybe I’ll be greeted by the hearty handshake of yet another Blast flavor of soda-lovin’-in-a-bucket, calling my name when I roll up to the crusty drive-thru microphone?”

I’ll go out on a limb here: If there is one place in the world that can stick just about anything into a tortilla and turn disgusting into sellable, it’s Taco Bell. Believe me.

So have I given up this whole real food thing? Am I now indulging in mystery beef bathed in succulent cheesy goo? Say it isn’t so! Read the rest of this entry »

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Ed. Disclosure: This entry is not really food related (well, dog food I suppose), but I just had to share it with my friends who are reading this site. Part of the purpose of Almost Fit is documenting my life’s changes as I lose weight and get in shape, and while this truly has nothing to do with that, it is part of my life… OK OK, I’ll admit it: that last sentence is what is called, “a stretch.” This has nothing to do with Almost Fit. But hear me out.

This morning I had a little reminder of just how old I am (at least I HOPE it is age related).

To buy dog food I generally go to the farm supply store, which I did this morning after I dropped Jonah off at preschool. In fairness I looked kind of haggard - I was up until 2AM last night working to make a deadline, as I have been doing for a week now, so this morning I skipped the shower before I left in favor of a few more minutes of sleep.

At the farm supply store, in the dog food area there was an average mid to late teens-looking girl, stocking the dog food shelves. Let’s call her, “associate.”

Associate: “Can I help you find anything?”
J: “[distracted] - Uh, no…I’m fine, I think I found it.”
Associate: “What were you looking for?”
J: “Well I came here for dog food, but Wow - there are Chicks here!”
Associate: [with a teen look of what-everrrr on her face] “Uh, OK…?”
J: “Man I’ve gotta bring my son back here, he’ll love this!”
Associate, silent, eyebrows raised and looking away, presumably reaches for her pepper spray…
J: “Oh and my wife too!”

Realizing the tension, I grab the dog food and leave quickly.

Here’s the thing: there were horse troughs, right there, full of baby chickens and ducks, cheeping and hopping away. You know, CHICKS? On my way out of the store, dog food in hand, I thought to myself that had I instead said Gallus Domesticus Infantus, maybe I would have sounded less creepy, but I think in general using Latin names is in itself it’s own veritable creep-fest.

Ah, to be old and crusty among the young and naive.

There’s your Monday morning story.

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