Friday Foibles

Though I wouldn’t say I’m an incredible cook, I do consider myself fairly proficient in the kitchen.  However, sometimes I do such stupid things that I wonder whether I was born yesterday.  Case in point:

That would be oat bran.  The orange thing sticking out of it would be a fetus carrot.  See, I have some packets of carrots that really need to be used up, so I decided to do something a little more interesting than just, well, eating them.  I dumped oat bran, an egg white, Truvia, cinnamon, and the whole carrots into my mini food chopper.  Who does that?!  Obviously, no chopping went on at all.  I tried adding some liquid, but it didn’t help.  I just gave up and dumped the whole mess into the pot.  So I wound up with, essentially, oat bran with whole baby carrots.  It was incredibly, incredibly strange.

Before I segue into my babbling, here are some things that actually did turn out the way I would have wanted.  Then again, most of this didn’t require much cooking beyond opening and closing the oven door.

vanilla yogurt, toasted / crumbled chocolate chip muffin topper, chocolate hazelnut butter

roasted BBQ tofu

roasted cauliflower (chili powder, paprika, seasoned salt)

roasted kabocha (chili powder, paprika)

On Tuesday, I was discussing with one of my co-workers (the cupcake co-worker, coincidentally) my troubles with my foot.  (If you are wondering why I am discussing this with a co-worker, of all people — it is because almost everyone in my life lists among their primary interests sitting on my butt.)  Photo for clarification purposes:

The red spot is pretty much where it hurt.  The blue arrow is pointing to the top eyelet from which I removed the laces, thinking it would help, but it didn’t.  My co-worker suggested that I loosen the lower laces (the location of which is marked with the green X), but loop it tightly enough on top so that my ankle isn’t wobbling around.  I tried that on Wednesday, but it still hurt a bit.  Then on Thursday I had the brilliant idea of kind of flexing my foot while tying the laces, then relaxing it afterward; and I don’t know if it was just time, or if it did the trick, but I was able to run a pain-free mile.  It was also a cramp-free mile, because it was pretty slow.  I ran a faster mile this morning, which was not cramp-free.  This leads me to believe that I am just a natural slowpoke.

And the babbling starts here.  This stupid individual made the very ill-advised decision to get on the scale this morning.  Obviously, I was not. happy.  And that’s putting it mildly.  I could ramble about that forever, but it would serve no purpose, so I won’t do that.  I just read this book yesterday, and while I do agree with a lot of it, somehow I feel like it just… doesn’t apply to me.  Other people should definitely not tell themselves that they are weak / disgusting / out of control / fat / ugly / worthless, because it’s not true.  But apparently, I’m a different story.  I do feel that way, and I don’t feel like it isn’t true, and I am really struggling to justify eating as much as I do when I clearly shouldn’t be doing that.  And on my way home today — when I was really thankful that it’s a pre-holiday weekend, because I had a total anxiety attack and definitely would not have fared well as part of a human sandwich — I had an epiphany.

I don’t hate myself because I hate my weight.  I hate my weight because I hate myself.

Semantics, semantics.  But it isn’t the same thing.  Still, this knowledge does not change the way I feel.  Which, at present, will be summed up with this emoticon: 😦

And here’s my second coconut milk concoction:

I used the same kind of Devil’s food cake mix, but I was intending to turn the batter into cookies, so I added a box of chocolate pudding mix along with an egg and the coconut milk (I don’t remember how much). Then I randomly decided to add some peanut butter and chocolate chips.  The batter was thick, but it was too “gloopy” to turn into cookies.  Instead, I just spread it in the pan, sprinkled more chocolate chips over the top, shoved the whole mess into the oven, and hoped for the best.

Not only was my brother unable to taste the coconut milk, he’s already finished half of the pan.  So there.

Oddly, I poured some coconut milk over cereal, and it didn’t taste much like coconut either.  I poured out the excess, though.  I just can’t bear to drink coconut milk plain.  Shudder.

Happy Fourth of July weekend!!

“All men kill the things they hate, too, unless, of course, it kills them first.”
~James Thurber

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8 responses to “Friday Foibles

  1. traynharder23

    yay for baking gone WELL! i think i’ve perfected my “no need for added fat” cornbread. now i just need splenda for less sugar.

    and sorry about the feelings about the scale. i really am curious but i KNOW i’m going to hate on myself. gotta move along, move along, like all american rejects sings.

    and carrot pieces. hmmm. how do you make your roasted tofu? it looks better than mine.

  2. I wish you didn’t torture yourself by stepping on the scale, love. You know it’s not going to show you a number you’re happy with… ever. The best thing is to stay off of it. I know it’s hard, but it’s like any other addiction… you just have to force yourself to stay away from it if you want to cut the ties. I haven’t weighed myself in about 6 months and while it was incredibly difficult at first, it’s also been one of the most liberating things I’ve ever done. Try your best to wean yourself off ❤

  3. “I don’t hate myself because I hate my weight. I hate my weight because I hate myself.”

    omg this needs to be on a sticky note to be posted for constant reminder and reference. that is one of the most brilliant and honest things i have read in a long time!!! i just love it 🙂 🙂

    way to make me die a little over the coconut chocolate cake. i need to pick myself up off the ground with that one. can it be my birthday please- i need this right now!

    btw, u made me laugh with the carrot fetus comment!! LOL ❤

  4. I just found your blog and reading through your archives (sorry, that sounds super stalkerish). I’m also in recovery and my mom was Israeli and my parents spoke hebrew to me growing up (I say “was” cause she died ten years ago). Your dead on about the israeli dairy thing, cows in Israel must be treated better.

    Sorry about the oatbran, but I’m a chef and I’ve made so many mistakes, this really is nothing compared to my mishaps! I once used cinnamon instead of chili powder for tacos! anyhow, I love you blog, and I’m still laughing from the “carrot fetus” comment!

  5. ~Jessica Zara~

    Don’t worry: your foodie fails do not rival mine…I’ve melted countless plastic utenstils, broken two blenders and tried to microwave something with tinfoil on. It’s a wonder I can make a cup of tea…which sometimes I can’t!

    Kabocha looks amazing as ever.

    With regard to weight, I seem to weigh myself more frequently when I feel like I’ve gained, so the results always upset me. If I feel less puffy and fat, I’m less inclined to weigh myself, which makes your statement “I don’t hate myself because I hate my weight. I hate my weight because I hate myself” make a lot of sense to me. I agree though: the realisation doesn’t stop the hatred either of weight or of self, and I’d never apply the ‘rules’ of self-loathing to other people aside from me. That’s why these self-help books never work.

    But I’m sure you said you retain a lot of fluid in hot weather and always gain in the summer. So it’s not ‘real’ weight in terms of fat. Just trying to make you hate yourself a little less!

    *hugs*

    ~Jess~
    xxxxxxxxxx

  6. Shelley (findinghappinessandhealth)

    I can honestly guarentee you are literally miles & miles away from being fat. Remember the factors htat go into weight fluctuations. I am really sad to hear you have such negative feelings about yourself but i’m at least glad you realize it so maybe you can figure out what you need to do to change that attitude. You deserve to feel positive about yourself and your body. You’re beautiful!

    xoxoox

  7. Pingback: What Does A Body Need? « Blue Eyed Heart

  8. Pingback: Crazy Race |

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