I sat politely through the meeting, nodding my head at the appropriate times - and then went home and inhaled Subway while I watched the hockey game, talked on the phone, and painted my nails.
In fact, I didn't think too much about this topic at all until sometime Sunday while I was experiencing the Deathbed Hangover. Now, before I elaborate further on this I want to clarify that I am not blaming my "illness" on what I ate on Saturday night (as much as I would like to) - I readily admit (as difficult as it is for me) that I drank too much wine.
While I spent most of my day laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and praying for death to come - I did have time to think about some things. As much as I tried to push any memory of wine or oysters out of my head, *gag* I did think about how I slurped back those raw oysters the previous night without so much as biting them twice (you're supposed to bite them once).
And I thought, "That can NOT be good for the digestive system".
(And then I thought that drinking a bottle of wine is probably also not good for the digestive system, but that's a topic for another day.)
A fact that I remembered being discussed at the meeting was "digestion starts in your mouth" and that food should be almost liquified by the time you swallow it. So how hard did my digestive system have to work to process those whole, unchewed, cold, slippery, RAW oysters? And liquified? I'm guessing that washing them down with wine really doesn't aid in the liquification process.
Eating food like this - even if that's how oysters are supposed to be eaten - can not have done my body any good what-so-ever.
And so at tonight's meeting, when the topic was touched upon again I listened a little more closely (yes, still feeling the effects of Saturday), and I payed more attention. The people who tried experiencing the food that they ate, and who chewed and chewed and chewed their food before they swallowed - they said that they found the food more satisfying and got full before their plates were empty.
I figured after last Saturday, I owed it to myself to at least try it out.
When I sat down to start my meal this evening, I was really quite hungry. I put the usual amount of allotted calories on my plate and sat down to nosh. Ok, I'll admit that the hockey game was indeed on (baby steps) but I still managed to concentrate on chewing, tasting, eating my meal. I chewed my food until it was liquified. I actually put my fork and knife down between bites to prevent myself from mindlessly loading another shovelful into my mouth before I had swallowed the last one. I chewed and chewed and chewed. (And I washed my meal down with water instead of wine).
I'm happy to report that I could did not finish my meal. My belly felt comfortably full before my plate was empty and so I stopped eating. It felt really good to be able to do that. And to realize how mindlessly I eat sometimes. (Even when I'm not slopping back a bottle of wine).
And there's me, taking something as terrible as a Deathbed Hangover and learning something valuable from it. Makes it all worth while.... not really.
Today I learned that when you are not feeling on your game and you are in a particularly sour and prickly mood, it is a really bad idea to head out to the super-mall at 7pm on a Monday evening whilst wearing your track pants and a stained sweatshirt to try to do some clothes shopping and having the sales people look at you suspiciously like you might be homeless and trying to steal things - even if you are down to the nitty gritty in your wardrobe and have nothing to wear to work, to the gym, to dinner, to anywhere. And then your sour and prickly mood will be compounded when after finding sweet fuck all to fit your fat ass, you come home empty handed and annoyed only to find that your garburator is broken and has puked up everything into both sides of your kitchen sink and your husband is trying to fix it whilst turning the garburator on and off and on and off and AND ON AND OFF AND ON AND OFF AND ON..... and you are also hungry but the kitchen is torn apart into a million pieces so you can't make/get yourself a snack.
1 can condensed reduced-fat cream of chicken soup (undiluted)
1 can condensed reduced-fat cream of mushroom soup (undiluted)
1/2 cup low fat sour cream*
3 cups cooked diced chicken**
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 can sliced mushrooms
1 1/2 cups shredded reduced-fat sharp cheddar cheese
~ Cook manicotti according to package direction, omitting salt and fat; drain and set aside.
~ Preheat oven to 350.
~ Combine soups and sour cream in a bowl; stir well.
~ Coat a large nonstick skillet with cooking spray; place over medium high heat until hot. Add onion; saute 2 minutes or until tender.
~ Bake, uncovered, at 350 for 15 minutes. Sprinkle with cheese, and bake an additional 5 minutes.
Yeild: 6 servings (serving size: 2 shells).
WW points per serving: 8
** I bought an already cooked, roasted chicken from the grocery store and picked and diced the meat from it.
“Awww… it’s an old man” I said, feeling pity for him.
“An old pervert.” said Steve.
“Why a pervert?”
“He just looks creepy”
I didn’t think anything more of it. Until he took the same exit as us and pulled up two lanes over at the next stop light. I glanced over at him to see him shaking his head vehemently and also apparently yelling something very colorful at me. Oh and I think he was waving his middle finger around too.
Naturally I needed to roll down my window to find out just what the old chap had to say.
Tarable: Are you talking to me??
Creepy Old Man: YOU’RE A FUCKING BITCH!!!!!
Now, usually I am a fucking bitch but this time I really hadn’t done anything to warrant such a label. I had even felt sorry for this man not 2 minutes earlier. However, I did find the situation entertaining and so I engaged further in the “conversation”.
Tarable: I’M a fucking bitch??
C.O.M.: YEAH! YOU’RE A FUCKING BITCH!!!
Tarable: Am I a fucking bitch because you drove into our lane and almost ran us off the road? Is that what makes me a fucking bitch??
At this point, the red light turned green and we were in the lane to turn, he was in the lane to go straight. Clearly Steve was also entertained by the situation because he changed lanes and drove along the street beside the Creepy Old Man while he continued to scream obscenitities at me.
C.O.M: YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT!!!
Tarable: And how am I going to get it? Exactly what is going to happen to me?
C.O.M.: HE’S GOING TO GET YOU!!!
Tarable: Who is HE?
C.O.M.: HIM!!!! HE’S GOING TO GET YOU!!!
Tarable: Well I need to know who HE is so I can watch out for HIM. Especially if HE'S going to get me.
C.O.M: HE’S GOING TO MAKE YOU SORRY. HE’S GOING TO GET YOU!!!
Tarable: Yeah, you've told me that. But who is HE?
C.O.M: THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE BESIDE YOU! HE’S GOING TO GET YOU!!!
So Steve is going to "get me" because a crazy old man almost ran us off the road which in turn made me a fucking bitch. Right. Of course.
That's completely logical.
At this point Steve and I both burst out laughing. He told me to wave goodbye to the Creepy Old Man and we drove off.
After the laughter died down:
Tarable: *sigh* oh ok. This has been such a rough week.
Co-worker: Oh I know. Hang in there. At least the bad people are leaving in a couple of hours.
Tarable: Yes, I know. I'm looking forward to not having someone looking over my shoulder at my every move.
Co-worker: And just think, it's a long weekend this weekend!
Tarable: Thank God. Oh, and I'm leaving at noon today.
Co-worker: That's great! Are you going somewhere?
Tarable: Yes. The liquor store.
Still I kept going - after all, I have a routine. I need to stick to the routine.
And then... the treadmill rotated. Yes, it rotated. I really thought it rotated. Treadmills aren't supposed to do that. I thought maybe the gym had installed some new fangled treadmills that rotate after so many minutes in order to test and improve your balance. So I grabbed on to the handle to keep from falling off and looked around. Nobody else's treadmill had rotated. Upon further investigation, neither had mine. I had experienced some weird light headedness. I thought of how strange it felt and wondered what was going on. All the while, I kept jogging. It's part of my routine.
But then it rotated again. Actually, the whole room did. And I'm pretty sure the gym is not on a swivel.
I was so close to the end of my treadmill session that I decided to ride it out. But I kept feeling dizzy and I wondered how on earth I was going to finish the next 20 minutes on the elyptical trainer. (Because, as you might guess, that is part of my routine)
Just then I flashed back to a conversation I had with Lady Shanny recently. I had climbed wayyyy up on my soap box and lectured her about her walking routine. She had developed shin splints but didn't want to give up walking to work every day - despite hammering pain in her shins. After all, it's her "routine". Well I let her know in no uncertain terms that she needs to listen to her body. When it tells you it needs a break you need to allow yourself the break. No matter if it inturrupts your routine. After all, you are only hurting yourself in the end. It's ok to have a break from your routine when your body needs it. And blah, blah, blah. Blah-de-blah blah blah.
Luckily I remembered this soap box session of mine and called it quits before I ended up in a sloppy, sweaty mess on the floor of the gym with peppermint swirls in my eyeballs - wondering what happened, all the while the 20 year olds with stripper bodies looked on.
I continue to recover as I sit here and type.
Got ready for work
Went to work (noticed it was brighter and cheery during my drive to work due to the time change and I had virtually little or no road rage - coincidence???)
Got to work
Did only what was absolutely needed (read: as little as possible)
Stalked some blogs
Read more emails
Counted down the minutes to go home
Drove home with minimal roadrage (although it was not completely absent)
Got home from work
Cleaned up dog pee
Had a snack
Laid down to read my book
Had a nap...
And here's where things got messed up:
Usually when I wake from my 20 minute nap, I throw on the gym attire and skip out the door to the gym. But today when I woke, my room was considerably darker. Oh that time change! So I put on my new fuzzy socks and turned on the fireplace and had to talk myself out of ordering pizza. I couldn't (and still can't) quite talk myself INTO going to the gym. And going for a walk outside is completely out of the question due to it being pitch black out! It's not even 6pm!! It's hard enough leaving my house at the best of times - but now that it's going to be dark starting around 5pm??? My body is somehow not prepared for this and is not co-operating with the time change. I will need some time adjusting into my daylights savings mode.
In the meantime, I'm going back to bed to read my book.
New wall decor:
Recent visit from Marta!
(aka: Italy's Sommelier of the year)
Black and white of my arm. (Updated to brighter, clearer picture)
Please note: It is still a work in progress and is unfinished.
No questions please.