Weight: Too scared to step on a scale
Mood: Speculative
Listening To: Family Guy
I once went to this restaurant with one of my girlfriends who claimed it was vegetarian. I thought to myself "no problem, I can do vegetarian!" and gladly skipped my way to the door with her. As I looked over the menu I immediately felt betrayed, confused and disgusted as I realized it was a RAW VEGAN restaurant. Instead of swearing under my breath and promptly walking out the door, I decided to give it a go. I can't remember exactly what I ate was called, but there was a lot of sprouts and some kind of vegan dressing on it. After awhile, it made me start to feel ill and I can't really tell you whether or not it was the idea of the food that made me sick, or the food itself. What I do know is that when I ate at El Pollo Loco later that night, I have never been more thankful for cooked food.
Here I am, possibly a year away from that event, but with it still crazy clear in my mind, when I am embarking on a week of being a vegetarian. It's really not for any environmental reason, or ethics reason. To fully be able to understand my newest adventure, I have to start from the best spot - the beginning.
It started the week before this past week (that would be two weeks ago to those who don't know how to count) when I was studying for the CBEST. Oh how very stressful that was. I used the Kaplan study guide, which was the worst guide I could have used, ends up. Once I sat down and took the test, I was quick to realize that Kaplan had me studying for things that weren't even touched upon on the test. I should have guessed it when Kaplan included linear algebra in a study guide for a test that has "basic education" in the title. Instead of investigating into the test off of the CBEST website, I took Kaplan's word for it and the stress was insurmountable. Did I work out to relieve the stress? Hell no. Meditation, maybe? Hell no, I needed immediate gratification. Oh hello my old friend spinach dip! Did it stop there? Hell no, I wasn't going to COOK!!! I have NO TIME to COOK!!! I'll just have to order in! I'll just do it tonight, and tomorrow I'll be good and cook. That discussion would continue in my head everyday for the entire week. I never did end up cooking.
Immediately after the test, I proceeded directly to the grocery store to shop for my 19-year-old niece and nephew that were coming in from Tennessee the following day. Hmmm . . . . . what do 19-year-olds like? Fruit? No, I don't even like fruit or veggies and I'm supposedly an adult. Well hello my old friends Doritos, Oreos, Top Ramen and White Cheddar Corn Puffs. It's been quite a long time since we've chatted. I think we should sit a spell. Especially since I won't be the only one visiting with you! I wasn't kidding myself; I knew I was going to have my fair share of visits with these old friends. During the week, I would have additional visits with other old friends like Cheeseburger, french fries, steak, cheese, chocolate and of course not to be missed - Peanut butter cups. Oh they were great visits! Unfortunately those visits will be sitting on my waist for a little while.
Once my babies left me to go back to Tennessee, I was quick to grab a trash bag to throw away the remaining Doritos and such. As I grabbed the bag, I heard them say hello and assumed we were sitting down for a visit. My arm fought me as I put them in the trash bag. I could hear them scream my name "NO!!! WE ARE SUPPOSSED TO HAVE A VISIT! JUST ONE MORE ISN'T GOING TO HURT! DON'T END IT LIKE THIS!!!" My self control somehow prevailed as I sealed the bag and put it by the door and gathered additional items to throw out. When I picked up the bag and saw bright red and orange from my old friend Doritos press up against the plastic. It taunted me, asked me not to end our relationship like this, and if I needed it had baby bags in the vending machine downstairs ready for a visit.
I wish I could say I felt relief when I threw the bag down the trash shoot, but I didn't. I felt regret that I ever said hello to these old friends again. I felt regret that I ended the relationship so abruptly. Although I knew one last visit wasn't worth it, I still think about the bright red and orange poking through at me, shining brightly and pulling me in.
To get back to healthy, I'm throwing myself on a vegetarian track for a week and being miss workout queen as well. I've got a workout scheduled for every day of the week. I'm nervous. Not so nervous about the food. Not so much nervous about the work outs, but more nervous about my self control than anything. Let's face a fact - I have no self control when it comes to food. I admit it, and it certainly shows on my figure. In any case, I treated myself to an Indian dinner as a send off and good luck, wrote down all of my vegetarian recipes for the week and took a sleeping pill to try and catch a little bit of a zero calorie high. Let the games begin . . . . .
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Spinach Dip and the CBEST
Weight: Feeling Fat
Mood: Confused
Listening to: Summerboy by Lady Gaga (That was a random find, whereas Katy Perry would be all sorts on intentional.)
When I was in my late teens, I discovered something I would have a torrid affair with, lasting for years - spinach dip. I've always been a fan of the creamy delicacies and this topped my list of deliciousness. I had my first grown up moment with it when I was sitting at my grandmother's kitchen table in Indiana, talking with my cousins about my older cousins' spinach dip and how I couldn't wait to try it. A younger cousin chimed in on how it was gross and he didn't want it. I asked him if he had ever tried it before, which he hadn't. Then the dreaded grown up words came out of my mouth - don't knock it until you try it. My older cousin and mother would make me literally eat those words for two days. Somewhere around 13 years later, I found myself having a rather enjoyable visit with this very old friend who I hadn't seen in quite some time. We stopped talking once I realized how fat I got, and that this love affair had to end. As I smothered it on a roll of King's Hawaiian bread, the only thing going through my mind was that I was going to fail the CBEST.
You see, in California if you plan on working in the educational sector, you have to pass a state exam called the CBEST. It stands for California Basic Education something or other. The test consists of writing, reading and math. I've never been scared of any of these subjects, and since I went up to pre-cal in college - and liked it - I wasn't really intimidated. I always regretted not going further in math. I enjoyed the high I got knowing that I could solve those kind of problems with ease. It made me feel . . . well, smart.
For the past few weeks, I had been lightly studying all math, never really touching on the reading or writing, even though a previous practice test revealed the trickery of their questions. The skill isn't how well I understand the question or material; it's how well I understand the trickery of the questions. I have been amused over the past few weeks on how linear algebra was not a problem even after all these years. However, fractions and decimals were rocking my world . . . So I concentrated on the math, thinking reading and writing was in the bag. Until today, that is.
I finished my internships last week, and knew that this entire week was going to be dedicated to studying for the CBEST. Even with the interruptions of doctor's appointments and people climbing over the fence onto my patio I still managed to get some good study time in. After taking a practice test last night, and realizing that my scores were lower the then when I took the assessment test a few months ago (how the hell does that happen??), I zeroed in on things I needed to study more.
So today, I'm taking the full test. Roll up your sleeves, girl and get ready to prove you know this stuff! The great state of Cali wants you to prove it, so prove it. First test up - reading. Gawd these sections are boring. I'm totally getting distracted. What? Where would I find this lovely piece of literature? This is an actual question? What does that have to do with how well I read it? Hmmm. Magazine looks good. Gawd I can't wait until this is over. How many more questions do I have to go? 34, huh? This is going to take forever. . . . . Ah, finally done. I don't think I really even read those last few questions, but I'm totally confident on all my answers. Where is the answer key. Huh . . . I got that one wrong. Well, one or two is bound to happen. . . . Wait, that was three in a row that was wrong . . . what the hell is going on here?!!?? Damn. That score adds up to 66%. That's not even passing for my standards. Nowhere near passing. How the hell did I miss so many questions? Where are the answer explanations? What the hell do they mean that is the answer? For one, that's the dumbest question I've ever been asked, it's a trick question and I totally disagree with you. Who the hell wrote this test? I bet it was a cocky man who thinks the world of himself. Who else would come up with this crap? Well . . . . . at least I know I really have to think like a tricky asshole if I plan on passing this test. Fuck I hate that. I'm going to take a break. Zara should be calling me any minute.
As I sat on the couch fantasizing of telling off the jerk who wrote this test, I could feel the pain of my subconscious trying to decipher the way this test is formulated and how to think like the test writers think, who I am now working under the assumption are idiots. So, how to do you think like an idiot?
Zara eventually called and I went to go pick her up, and I could still feel myself on auto-pilot, slowing converting my thoughts over the math, which was the next test to be taken. Once I fought LA traffic and landed her in my car, we headed to the grocery store so she could pick up a birthday cake for the man in her life. I was dressed like a slob in jeans, sparkly flip flops and my oversized UCLA sweatshirt. I didn't have a trace of make up on and my hair was completely pulled back in a clip. I was studying for a huge test; beauty was not a priority at this point. The deeper we got into the grocery store, the more in a math trance I fell. I could no longer complete sentences because the only thing running through my head was "x squared minus the root of 25 equals what? Isn't there a formula for that? Speaking of formulas, one half the base times the height - that's for the area of a triangle right? Coefficients. Those are easy. What are those again?" I could feel myself getting deeper and deeper into this state, and not being able to understand or answer simple questions like "Paper or plastic?" I found myself avoiding eye contact because I knew that as soon as I made it, that stranger behind the counter would realize that I was totally not there, because my subconscious was taking over and when they looked at me, they would think there was nothing going through my head. I would look at them like Bambi staring into the lights of an oncoming Buick, while I tried desperately to decipher the meaning between paper and plastic. Was this a trick question? THERE ARE JUST SO MANY TRICK QUESTIONS!!! . . . . . . Ooooh, look, spinach dip!
I later went home and took the math test. I scored lower than the night before, in which I scored lower than the initial assessment I took months ago. So as I stood in my kitchen, enjoying the visit with my old friend spinach dip, I began to wonder something. I began to wonder if I was an idiot. I always thought I was one of the smartest people I know. But maybe this proves my theory true - when you're stupid, you don't know you're stupid. Fuck that would suck for me.
Mood: Confused
Listening to: Summerboy by Lady Gaga (That was a random find, whereas Katy Perry would be all sorts on intentional.)
When I was in my late teens, I discovered something I would have a torrid affair with, lasting for years - spinach dip. I've always been a fan of the creamy delicacies and this topped my list of deliciousness. I had my first grown up moment with it when I was sitting at my grandmother's kitchen table in Indiana, talking with my cousins about my older cousins' spinach dip and how I couldn't wait to try it. A younger cousin chimed in on how it was gross and he didn't want it. I asked him if he had ever tried it before, which he hadn't. Then the dreaded grown up words came out of my mouth - don't knock it until you try it. My older cousin and mother would make me literally eat those words for two days. Somewhere around 13 years later, I found myself having a rather enjoyable visit with this very old friend who I hadn't seen in quite some time. We stopped talking once I realized how fat I got, and that this love affair had to end. As I smothered it on a roll of King's Hawaiian bread, the only thing going through my mind was that I was going to fail the CBEST.
You see, in California if you plan on working in the educational sector, you have to pass a state exam called the CBEST. It stands for California Basic Education something or other. The test consists of writing, reading and math. I've never been scared of any of these subjects, and since I went up to pre-cal in college - and liked it - I wasn't really intimidated. I always regretted not going further in math. I enjoyed the high I got knowing that I could solve those kind of problems with ease. It made me feel . . . well, smart.
For the past few weeks, I had been lightly studying all math, never really touching on the reading or writing, even though a previous practice test revealed the trickery of their questions. The skill isn't how well I understand the question or material; it's how well I understand the trickery of the questions. I have been amused over the past few weeks on how linear algebra was not a problem even after all these years. However, fractions and decimals were rocking my world . . . So I concentrated on the math, thinking reading and writing was in the bag. Until today, that is.
I finished my internships last week, and knew that this entire week was going to be dedicated to studying for the CBEST. Even with the interruptions of doctor's appointments and people climbing over the fence onto my patio I still managed to get some good study time in. After taking a practice test last night, and realizing that my scores were lower the then when I took the assessment test a few months ago (how the hell does that happen??), I zeroed in on things I needed to study more.
So today, I'm taking the full test. Roll up your sleeves, girl and get ready to prove you know this stuff! The great state of Cali wants you to prove it, so prove it. First test up - reading. Gawd these sections are boring. I'm totally getting distracted. What? Where would I find this lovely piece of literature? This is an actual question? What does that have to do with how well I read it? Hmmm. Magazine looks good. Gawd I can't wait until this is over. How many more questions do I have to go? 34, huh? This is going to take forever. . . . . Ah, finally done. I don't think I really even read those last few questions, but I'm totally confident on all my answers. Where is the answer key. Huh . . . I got that one wrong. Well, one or two is bound to happen. . . . Wait, that was three in a row that was wrong . . . what the hell is going on here?!!?? Damn. That score adds up to 66%. That's not even passing for my standards. Nowhere near passing. How the hell did I miss so many questions? Where are the answer explanations? What the hell do they mean that is the answer? For one, that's the dumbest question I've ever been asked, it's a trick question and I totally disagree with you. Who the hell wrote this test? I bet it was a cocky man who thinks the world of himself. Who else would come up with this crap? Well . . . . . at least I know I really have to think like a tricky asshole if I plan on passing this test. Fuck I hate that. I'm going to take a break. Zara should be calling me any minute.
As I sat on the couch fantasizing of telling off the jerk who wrote this test, I could feel the pain of my subconscious trying to decipher the way this test is formulated and how to think like the test writers think, who I am now working under the assumption are idiots. So, how to do you think like an idiot?
Zara eventually called and I went to go pick her up, and I could still feel myself on auto-pilot, slowing converting my thoughts over the math, which was the next test to be taken. Once I fought LA traffic and landed her in my car, we headed to the grocery store so she could pick up a birthday cake for the man in her life. I was dressed like a slob in jeans, sparkly flip flops and my oversized UCLA sweatshirt. I didn't have a trace of make up on and my hair was completely pulled back in a clip. I was studying for a huge test; beauty was not a priority at this point. The deeper we got into the grocery store, the more in a math trance I fell. I could no longer complete sentences because the only thing running through my head was "x squared minus the root of 25 equals what? Isn't there a formula for that? Speaking of formulas, one half the base times the height - that's for the area of a triangle right? Coefficients. Those are easy. What are those again?" I could feel myself getting deeper and deeper into this state, and not being able to understand or answer simple questions like "Paper or plastic?" I found myself avoiding eye contact because I knew that as soon as I made it, that stranger behind the counter would realize that I was totally not there, because my subconscious was taking over and when they looked at me, they would think there was nothing going through my head. I would look at them like Bambi staring into the lights of an oncoming Buick, while I tried desperately to decipher the meaning between paper and plastic. Was this a trick question? THERE ARE JUST SO MANY TRICK QUESTIONS!!! . . . . . . Ooooh, look, spinach dip!
I later went home and took the math test. I scored lower than the night before, in which I scored lower than the initial assessment I took months ago. So as I stood in my kitchen, enjoying the visit with my old friend spinach dip, I began to wonder something. I began to wonder if I was an idiot. I always thought I was one of the smartest people I know. But maybe this proves my theory true - when you're stupid, you don't know you're stupid. Fuck that would suck for me.
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