Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Baby, can you spare a yolk?

You know when you're restricted from something you want it all that much more, even if it wasn't anything in the forefront of your mind? Someone tells you not to think about the color blue and suddenly you're barraged with all things blue and into your mind pops the memory of that hideous, dingy aquamarine sweater your Aunt Helga knitted for you and forced you to wear at Christmas dinner your junior year in high school when the boy you had your hormonal hots over was coming by and your hopes of being kissed in the night mist on your driveway were dashed because you looked like a blanket from a yard sale. Not that that happened to me.

And we all know the story of the Stay Puft Marshmallow man. That was a disaster.

This phenomenon is bad enough for innocuous subjects such as tasteless clothing and obscure movie villains, and can cause a perfectly well-balanced and utterly groundedly sane person such as myself (stop that laughing this instant) to develop a noticeable twitch and crazy eye, but have the object of your restricted desire be FOOD, and people, blood could be shed. Justifiable blood.

In order to prepare for my scan on Friday, I have to deplete my system from as much iodine as possible. I could get into a lengthy explanation of thyroid cancer and all that rot, but not everyone is as interested in the subject as me and there's no short version. They use radioactive iodine in scans and treatment, so you want any cells that may be floating around to be "starving" for the stuff, therefore, you can't eat any nor can you get any on your skin. Guess I'll have to cancel my iodine soak later. Shoot.

As I previously mentioned, you would not fucking believe how much shit has iodine in it. Anything that comes from the sea and anything made with anything that comes from the sea. Ever see the word "carrageenan" on your Ben & Jerry's label? That's made from seaweed folks. Yep. That's right. Seaweed. For those of you who poo-poo sushi and swear to never put anything remotely related to fish past your precious lips, if you've eaten ice cream you have ingested seaweed. Ha ha ha. Seaweed eater.

I also can't have iodized or sea salt or anything containing those, dairy, egg yolks, dye #3, molasses, rhubard (I know, the injustice. I don't even know what rhubard looks like, but alas, don't give me any!!), anything manufactured or processed (did you catch that part? This means if someone besides me made it, I can't have it. Wanna come over for dinner?), any meat that has been injected with broth, soy in any form (gag), beans, potato skins, and the worst of it all, chocolate.

I'm not just a label reader now, I'm a label scrutinizer. I'm forced to cook, which I suck at, and I'm eating about 500 million pounds of plain pasta with non-iodized salt and olive oil a day. That's so not on the South Beach plan. Organic, raised on the non-stressful plains of Iowa massaged daily by virginal Swedish massage therapists and completely tasteless Zen beef that cost approximately $20.00 a pound. Home-made bread that I refer to as "the brick", although today's loaf could be re-named "the disintegrate". And the occasional cucumber slice.

This. Blows.

I can't eat normally until after my scan on Friday and I've been on this stupid, stupid diet since the 14th. I've been on a million diets and this one is by far the worst mind-fucking, crappy, bland, nearly impossible one to follow. I thought Weight Watchers was bad. With the points and the counting and the slide rule and the algorithm charts of the cellular breakdown of fats to consider. OMG! I just ate a peanut! How many points is that?!? What a pain. For any person who thinks about food more than normal, why do they create a program that makes you think of nothing but? Now, it's not like I can switch to low-fat, low-sugar, normal food. Noooooooo, I have to follow this obscure low-iodine crap and now I'm obsessed with food, worse than usual.

And this leads us full-circle back to my current dilemma. I can't look at anything that deals with food. Commercials, print ads, billboards, cat food. All that dripping pepperoni on pizzas and happy people stuffing their faces with juicy burgers and bright orange Doritos. Those Aussie Outback bastards and their steaming steaks and tight asses. Jack and his damn chicken Chiabata. And the California cheese cows. Those god damn cows.

And of course, my stomach has to pull it's normal deviancy and behave like the schizophrenic that it is. I'm starving ALL THE TIME and it's upset ALL THE TIME.

I've taken to fantasizing about what my first non-restrictive meal is going to be Friday afternoon. A few days ago it was a restaurant-style burger and fries. Then it morphed into a Big Mac. Then it switched to a big salad, then onto a gooey burrito with sour cream and red sauce. Today it was Subway, which might not sound like much to you, but when you've been eating nothing but a 1/3 a cup of plain rice and 4 ounces of baked chicken a day and STILL NOT LOSING A FARGING OUNCE, Subway sounds like La Cirque.

I know this is all necssary, and I've put myself on the strictest regime rather to be safe then sorry, and it's only 10 days out of my life, but damn. It feels like time is standing still in my kitchen and the devil is my bread machine. I feel sorry for anyone who gets in the way of my hoovering maw on Friday when I make my final choice of fare. Step aside people, this chick needs some fucking cheese. Seriously, look out.

I would punch a child for some Taco Bell right now.

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