Something About Insanity

Posted on January 17, 2014 by tosabarbell

Help me out here, how does the saying go? Repeating the same thing over and over and expecting different results is the definition of what? Insanity. Yet here we are, expecting different results from the same self absorbed redunkulous . Yup. Insanity.

Twirls and Khaki’s.

One of my guilty pleasures these last few years is watching the lifestyles of the pretend rich and crazy on Bravo’s Housewives series. Even I have my limits though and have gotten away from it, they’re just so mean. But one little train wreck down in Atlanta believes herself to be “Gone With the Wind fabulous” and will twirl…with a fan. It’s so deliciously bizarre that when she pops up on the tele, I’ll watch for a bit. But this past week (or whenever the episode aired) she told her father that she wanted to make contact with her mother (the same mommy who told her she never wanted a child; her; and don’t ever contact her) to move on from pain this separation has caused to Ms. Fabulous. Well, that was very sad and of course hit home for me in a sense. When all of a sudden, Kenya’s father threw a bucket full of reality right back at her. Do not expect a different result to this conversation. She hasn’t changed, no matter how much you want her to. She doesn’t want to be a mother, I know that hurts but you’re not going to change it. It was real and it was sad. And familiar. Unfortunately.

I was reminded of this last night that even though time goes by and distance is placed, wanting a different relationship with the same people who have brought a dark energy not only into my life but those of my children is absolutely insane. Why would I expect different? Misplaced hope I reckon. The fact that a bucket full of reality was placed on the Oz man and hearing his disappointment in it was almost too much for this confrontational mama bear. Congratulations, your grandson hears loud and clear he’s not important. By the way? GFY. There, that’s something I almost got on the phone and said. Restraint Yo! Insanity. We hear you loud and clear, we’re off the merry go round. Well done.

And talk about twirls, did you see the Jim Harbaugh’s twirls last weekend? Good lord I love that man. He is the most hilarious the NFL has and he seems to know how to win which seems to piss some people off. Me? I watch football for entertainment and I am constantly entertained by him. I’ll always cheer for his team to move on in the playoffs just for one more week of his antics. OH! And talk about khaki’s? Here’s a pic of him picking up a stack at Walmart last spring with his classic “WTF look”…

By the way, the 49’rs are supposedly selling his old game day pants. I’m assuming that’s an Onion report. Yes??

Enjoy your weekend.

Dispute not with her; she is a lunatic.

William Shakespeare, Richard III

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Writing Checks Your Body Can’t Cash…

Posted on January 15, 2014 by tosabarbell

I remember a couple of years ago having a conversation with Bigg about friendships. He explained a few of his close friends like this…it’s like having a friend checking account. Sometimes you make deposits, some times you make withdrawals. Ok, so I was new to the scene and even though it looked to me as if he was making a hellava lotta deposits, could be he’d been taking withdrawals for years that I haven’t seen. The funny thing about that stuff is things just seem to settle on their own. At some point you realize how healthy friendships seem to stick and others just fall by the wayside in time. Anyways.

The same concept can be said about our bodies, our internal checking account. For example, my Grandpa. Grandpa lived to be 96 and up until about a week and a half where he was unconscious in the hospital before he died, he was going strong. In fact, the day or two before his falling ill, he was eating hamburgers with his son’s. That’s pretty cool. So okay, 96. If I were his son’s, I’d think to myself, huh…I’ve got some pretty rockin’ genes. Let’s keep this going for as long as possible.

But the good genes checking account can only take you so far. At some point,  you have to begin to make deposit’s into it. Of course that starts with food. Unless you are horribly malnourished child, and unfortunately we know a few of those, or a child fatty walking the Type II tightrope for your first 20 years, chances are the average daily meal of a youth athlete is pretty ok. You’re not making deposits early but you’re really not making withdrawals.

But what if you’re not a youth athlete? First off, extreme diets have no business for our youth. None. Kids need nutrients that food supplies them and drastically depleting these nutrients to follow a trendy diet is not acceptable. Especially in ‘Merika where we have grocery stores with tasty food and if you can’t afford that, we do have food shelves (believe me, I’ve had to use them when the Z’s were young.) A box of Hamburger Helper is about three bucks and a pound of hangaber is around three bucks. BAM, dinner for $6. You’ve got protein, some carbs, some fat. Right there in a new style box (SRSLY, did we need new packaging for Hamburger Helper?) Don’t fall under the spell of making your children instantly start withdrawing from their checking account. It’s not fair. They don’t have a voice yet to say no and when they do they’re driving their friends nuts at school by eating all of THEIR food. Srsly.

We talked about the sugar hounds and child fatties (sensitive, eh?) yesterday. Same thing applies to this. With every sugary treat NEEDED (no, I’m not talking about fun stuff like birthday cake, or pancakes here or there). I’m talking about the sugar addicted young who immediately begin a withdrawal system that will follow them well into adulthood. Where are the deposits of these kids? We can’t keep withdrawing, Wells Fargo doesn’t let us, neither does your body. At some point you’ll need to pay up. Duh.

I know a dear, dear person who is about as sweet as they come. In fact, she reminds me a lot of my Auntie Karen and for the few lucky one’s who know my Auntie, you know how high that compliment is. But my friend’s daughter has an eating disorder, and it scares me for this woman. She had her first heart attack at age 20. That was her body attempting to close their account. I want to be very respectful when writing this. It is terrifying and having a child in a different form of trouble, making withdrawals just as serious on his body in a different form, I am bonded with her as a scared mom. Our accounts will close at some point, let’s not hurry that along.  Food and the types, amounts, and limitations our bodies have already sent us is going to be your biggest deposit, or your biggest withdrawal. At some point; however; constantly withdrawing will close your account. Only instead of receiving a nasty note from your bank, your loved ones will be planning your funeral. Your parting gift to them for eating like shit, forget it, you get a pine box.

The average person exercising or training is just that, average. Therefore, it is not necessary for us to run our bodies into the ground with something that is supposed to be making deposits into our accounts. We are not professional athletes, we just like pretending we are. But we’re not, so knock it off. If whatever you are doing finds you constantly injured; constantly in pain (ever see a runner walk around complaining about how bad their knees are F’d up?); or constantly exhausted…you’ve stopped adding and have started withdrawing from your account. The very thing that began with weekly deposits have taken a turn. Stop that. We all know these people, my favorite are the “powerlifters” who’ve been training for 5 months or so; have bought every EliteFTS and Westside Barbell t-shirt available; walk around with their hoods up in the gym; have become fat and completely asshole and grunt through a 225# squat. Dude, srsly. Check yourself, is your training making deposits or withdrawals.

Of course there are other important factors; sleep; water; good wine; bacon. All ways to make deposits. But food is number one.

What’s in your wallet?

Whoever is happy will make others happy too.

Anne Frank

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Rewarding the Kids

Posted on January 14, 2014 by tosabarbell

I saw a youtube video a couple of years ago with a fat little kid chain smoking. It was both disturbing AND hilarious for some reason. It was just so WRONG by the standards of ‘Merika! After all, we take steps in the good ‘ol U S of A to make sure our children are as healthy as possible. Gym class; recess; free milk with school lunches; getting rid of the vending machines or only filling them with “healthy” waters and sports drinks, etc. We don’t allow smoking in buildings anymore in most states (that’s actually a rule I like. As much as I dislike the gov’t barging their way into private businesses, it was disgusting going out for a beer down in Texas. I’d smell so bad when I got home that I’d have to leave my clothes out in the garage and immediately shower or Fabreze my hair. Fun.)

We give dirty looks to those parents who are smoking outside near their precious cargo and tsk tsk their bad parenting…all while we are cutting up the piece of cake we just bought little johnny for not sucking at math class. Or feeding our little chubs, oops I mean cherubs, gas station candy to ensure a smooth ride for the next 10 minutes so they don’t completely flip out that they’re not being entertained at the moment.

We’ll reward our kids with only shitty, sugary snacks and tell them it’s deserved when they do something good (or we’re bribing them to do something good) so they expect it over and over. Which means that when we DON’T give them sugar, they didn’t succeed? I dunno, sounds pretty Pavlovian to me.  We’ll also reward them with a completely dysfuncitonal relationship with food that will follow them through life…like yours. Thanks Ma!

We reward our kids with Obesity but find the idea of giving them a fag to smoke when they’re four bad parenting. Uhhhhhh, huh. That’s an interesting little scenario you’ve talked yourself into. Let me guess, YOU like sugary snacks and find them rewarding after a hard days work. OHHHHHHHHH, so you want THEM to have the same satisfaction YOU give yourself. Cuz it wouldn’t be fair if you got all the snacks and they didn’t. We like fair in our world. Except when it comes to the last piece of bacon, all’s fair in love and the last piece of bacon.

I had the pleasure of having breakfast with my awesome brother last weekend while in Minneapolis. I adore my big brother. He, in my eyes, is the epitome of someone who wakes up each day and works their ass off for his family to have. Have what? Have whatever they need, and most of the time whatever they want. He stumbles, gets back up, and fights another day. I respect that. He’s my Bro. Anyways, we each ordered an omelette and he got pancakes while I skipped the bread altogether. Poor me. We started talking about food and I shared with him why I can’t eat pancakes. While it’s true I’d feel like crap for three hours afterwards, the most important part is that it awakens the fat kid in me and I try to keep her quiet. He said he probably shouldn’t have them either and was a little blown away when I told him, “Why? You’re not a fat kid. Have a fuckin’ pancake.” 

I then went on to explain what the term “fat kid” actually means (to me anyway.) That we have always battled food and choices. That it doesn’t matter how active we are, we can’t out soccer/out softball/out skateboard our shitty food intake. We become fat. But what if we’re not fat? Well then we’re skinny fat and the constant inflammation you put your body through will catch up to you at some point. Have fun with that. Always enjoy eating whatever shit you want and suddenly in your 40’s your hormones are so fucked up you can’t lose weight even if you’re trying? Uh huh. You’re a fat kid.

Our relationship with food is a mess. Rewards. Bargaining with ourselves over cookies DESERVED due to not eating cookies for two whole days in a row. There’s actually very happy people in the world who don’t eat cookies at all. Did you hear that fat kid? None. And they’re happy. Oh wait, they don’t have the stress and all the responsibility that you have. You’re so important that you deserve this shitty food that is detrimental to your health. Uhhhh, ok dude. Eat up. How can I disagree with such a sound argument?

If I start eating sugar on a regular basis, I can’t stop. That’s a fat kid. I was a bit chubby at times in my youth. That’s a fat kid. I was also very active, there were some summer’s where the first swim practice started at 5am and in between that and the last practice at 7pm I had summer school, babysitting, and softball. But I ate like crap, and I loved it. I always wondered how my  petite best friend Sheila could pick at her food. I devoured it and then looked for more.

It also didn’t help that my mother had some food reward issues. So that even when I DID try to eat better as I got older, she’d show up with some dairy queen or cupcakes or anything else that we could “enjoy together.” Well, I liked spending time with my Ma so sure, I’ll eat what I know I shouldn’t so we can be together. F’d up. That’s another key, if one or both parent’s of a fat kid have food issues, they’re possibly screwed. Where do they turn for mentoring of a healthy relationship with food? Kid, just light up. You’re screwed anyway. By the way, I don’t know why I’m a fat kid and my brother isn’t. I have dark hair and he’s a blonde. Ya ya, we’re adopted so it doesn’t really count but the fact is, sometimes we’re just born fat kids. It’s just the card we were dealt. Oh well.

Anyways.

Why have you talked yourself into the idea that preparing your child for a lifetime of unhealthy food relationships and obesity is okay but shudder at the absurd idea of buying them cigarettes? Is it different? IS IT?

So the next time you’re at that gas station and your fat kid (ya, you have a fat kid. That’s not YOUR failure, it’s just a fact. Teach them how to live a healthy partnership with food and they’ll keep the fat kid at bay) wants the Little Debbie snack cake and you don’t want to be a big meanie and say no cuz then they might feel bad…look behind the cashier, what’s there? Cigarettes. What’s your poison fat kid? Smokes or obesity. I actually choose not to give you either, let’s grab some cheese and beefstix. Ya buddy.

Overeating is the addiction of choice of carers, and that’s why it’s come to be regarded as the lowest-ranking of all the addictions. It’s a way of fucking yourself up while still remaining fully functional, because you have to. Fat people aren’t indulging in the “luxury” of their addiction making them useless, chaotic, or a burden. Instead, they are slowly self-destructing in a way that doesn’t inconvenience anyone. And that’s why it’s so often a woman’s addiction of choice. All the quietly eating mums. All the KitKats in office drawers. All the unhappy moments, late at night, caught only in the fridge light.

Caitlin Moran

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Monday Bacon: The Color Purple

Posted on January 13, 2014 by tosabarbell

I love the color purple. Always have. I remember when I was FINALLY old enough for my mom to buy me nail polish, I chose a light purple, almost Lavender. I was so excited. My mom was less in love with the color but let me get it anyway. I went through the whole bottle within a couple of weeks. It’s still my favorite color of nail polish but I do tend to try other colors each week for variety. I even tried grey a couple of months back. That was the weekend that Bigg and I almost blew it, so lesson learned…no more grey. Grey is bad.

I caught the last third of the movie The Color Purple last night. I came in right at the scene where Oprah comes to life after being imprisoned; Whoopi finds her voice (finally) and tells Mr. to GFY and takes off with the singer lady. Ironically, this is also one of my favorite movies and no, not because it’s purpley. That’s just a bonus.

There were a few different ways the movie spoke to me. Watching Whoopi go from abused and scared to independent and successful was fun. The music was fantastic. Margaret Avery, the actress who plays Shugg, is the real deal. The dual scene between she and her Preacher father, Sunday morning between the sinners and the church goers, all coming together. The music, blues and gospel. Eventually being accepted by her constant disapproving father and suddenly all the sinners ending up in church finding a commonality in the love of music.  Forgiveness and open hearts all wrapped up in one morning with young singers bowing out to the seasoned veteran. Name most anything more awesome that that.

Of course at the end, Celie and Nettie are reunited. Sisters finding each other among color.

I’d like that. To find my long lost sister, Becky, in fields of purple. Or just anywhere.

I like the impact color can have on my day. Even if it’s not purple, but mostly if it is. It can brighten, or comfort, or bring up memories that have been hiding in our minds. It can signify a love for others (ribbons) or teams (coincidence that I’ve stuck with the Vikings all these years? Hmmmmmm.)  But mostly it can give us a much needed respite from the rediculousness of our world. Internet squabbles; the best way to squat; forum arguments; and yes, even food fights. Just Google purple gardens…and see where it takes you.  Take a breath…and be thankful that your life isn’t shittier than it could be.

SRSLY.

I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it.

Alice Walker

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