thejunipertree (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thejunipertree) wrote2006-07-06 07:11 pm
thejunipertree) wrote2006-07-06 07:11 pm
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Holy Mary, Mother of Mice.
I'm beginning to believe, scratch that- I damn well know that the majority of the people in my office are suffering from eating disorders. Or are on the verge of having one. I've never seen such a group of people with so many unhealthy relationships with food. It's unsettling and saddening and frightening, all at the same time.
All they ever want to do is eat salad. Every. Single. Day. But, the salad isn't good enough. They have to pick out all of the things that actually come with the salad. You know, the shit that's listed on the menu? They don't like eggs, they don't like cheese, there's too many croutons, the dressing isn't fat-free. Here's an idea, order the salad the way you would like it to be. I realize that it's a startling and novel concept, but it's not so hard to wrap one's mind around. I have sat and watched people order what is called a "Sport Salad" from this one detestable place called TJ's. It consists of lettuce, grilled chicken, cheese, olives, onions, tomatoes, cucumbers and croutons. Apparently, the meaning behind "Sport Salad" is something with a lot of protein. For athletes. So, they order this salad and then procede to pick out everything but the chicken and the lettuce. Where is the sense in that? And if they've brought their own lunch, it's either a crappy little salad from Wawa or some bullshit Lean Cuisine to be microwaved.
This is what happens on the days that I bring my own lunch and they don't have me to fall back on for decision-making. Every day I don't bring my own lunch, it's a new circus revolving around lunch. What are we doing for lunch today? And they all come to me, like I'm some kind of grand decision maker (which is quite a laugh if you know me well, because I can barely decide what clothing to put on in the morning, let alone what a small group of people should eat for lunch). I inevitably tell them something like Thai or Indian, because I am heartily sick of the sandwich places. They all offer the same damn thing, it's all hastily prepared and with minimal thought into how it actually looks or tastes, and it's all gross. I want something good. I want it to look good, smell good, and taste good. And I don't want it offered on the same menu as cheesesteaks and Italian hoagies. Fuck that noise.
Everyone cries about what I've decided, despite the fact that they came to me for my decision, because not only do they have eating disorders, but they're bordering on xenophobic as well. What's that? How do you pronounce it? I don't like how that looks. That's too weird for me. How do you know that's real chicken and not dog? blah blah blah. Motherfuckers, it's PAD THAI. Noodles, chicken, bean sprouts, peanuts, and a mild sauce. How is that unusual? And if I have to once again teach someone how to pronounce giew grob, I'm going to start screeching. Say it like it's spelled. It's not difficult and you're not stupid.
So, now we have people who are afraid of food, afraid of the fat or whatever in the food, and afraid of different kinds of food.
But yet, the second someone brings in a cake or a box of cookies or some sort of sweet thing, it's like a plague of locusts have descended upon the earth. And then, the crying and moaning over how they shouldn't have eaten such horrible things goes on for an hour or two, with additionalboasting lamenting about how now they're not going to eat dinner.
C'mon, people. I may have a fat ass, but it's certainly not because I have an unhealthy relationship with food. My problem is that I'm a decadent. I enjoy indulgence and I'm incredibly lazy on top of it. The picture perfect definition of a Libra, I would reckon. I used to think that my problem was that I had an unhealthy food relationship, that I ran to comfort eating whenever I had a problem. But, I started scrutinizing my eating habits and how they corresponded with depression or manic episodes. And they didn't match up at all. When I get depressed, I don't eat. When I get stressed out, I don't eat and I smoke too much on top of it all. Overall, I'm not too fond of sweets (except for dark chocolate and that is in small amounts), but cream and butter? Cheese? Red meat and bacon? Oh sweet, suffering Jesus. That's a bit of Heaven, if you ask me. The good thing is that I'm just as likely to get all googly-eyed over garlic-roasted cauliflower (ingredients: garlic cloves, cauliflower, little bit of olive oil, salt and pepper) as I am over Cajun crabmeat au gratin. I could eat garlic-roasted cauliflower all goddamn day, if left to my own devices. And if I took my nose out of a book for long enough to actually walk around the block a couple of times a week, my ass wouldn't be so big and my arms wouldn't jiggle quite so alarmingly.
That out of the way, I'm fairly perplexed by my co-workers' attitude about food and the attitude of women and food, in general. I know it's largely (no pun intended) because of how women have been made to feel about their bodies by advertising and media, but when did it all get quite so neurotic? Are we so afraid of being potentially unloved and abandoned that we'll starve ourselves on iceberg lettuce and whatever high-priced, chemical-laden diet food is currently popular?
And really, the high-priced, chemical-laden diet chow is such a crock of bullshit. Fake food, it reminds of the plastic play food that comes with toy kitchens. All of those chemicals, just to produce something that looksvaguely like food and provides minimal calories/fat. What nonsense is that? All of that shit is full of sodium and horrifying things I can't pronounce. And it does absolutely nothing but make your body believe that it actually ingested something nutrious. Here's an idea: eat something fresh that hasn't been processed to the point where it barely qualifies as food anymore. Eat normal-sized portions, don't starve yourself. Move around more. Don't look for the magic answer that's going to make you look like a fashion model, it doesn't exist.
And stop relying on your BMI as an indicator of whether you're going to die old and alone or not.
I'm beginning to believe, scratch that- I damn well know that the majority of the people in my office are suffering from eating disorders. Or are on the verge of having one. I've never seen such a group of people with so many unhealthy relationships with food. It's unsettling and saddening and frightening, all at the same time.
All they ever want to do is eat salad. Every. Single. Day. But, the salad isn't good enough. They have to pick out all of the things that actually come with the salad. You know, the shit that's listed on the menu? They don't like eggs, they don't like cheese, there's too many croutons, the dressing isn't fat-free. Here's an idea, order the salad the way you would like it to be. I realize that it's a startling and novel concept, but it's not so hard to wrap one's mind around. I have sat and watched people order what is called a "Sport Salad" from this one detestable place called TJ's. It consists of lettuce, grilled chicken, cheese, olives, onions, tomatoes, cucumbers and croutons. Apparently, the meaning behind "Sport Salad" is something with a lot of protein. For athletes. So, they order this salad and then procede to pick out everything but the chicken and the lettuce. Where is the sense in that? And if they've brought their own lunch, it's either a crappy little salad from Wawa or some bullshit Lean Cuisine to be microwaved.
This is what happens on the days that I bring my own lunch and they don't have me to fall back on for decision-making. Every day I don't bring my own lunch, it's a new circus revolving around lunch. What are we doing for lunch today? And they all come to me, like I'm some kind of grand decision maker (which is quite a laugh if you know me well, because I can barely decide what clothing to put on in the morning, let alone what a small group of people should eat for lunch). I inevitably tell them something like Thai or Indian, because I am heartily sick of the sandwich places. They all offer the same damn thing, it's all hastily prepared and with minimal thought into how it actually looks or tastes, and it's all gross. I want something good. I want it to look good, smell good, and taste good. And I don't want it offered on the same menu as cheesesteaks and Italian hoagies. Fuck that noise.
Everyone cries about what I've decided, despite the fact that they came to me for my decision, because not only do they have eating disorders, but they're bordering on xenophobic as well. What's that? How do you pronounce it? I don't like how that looks. That's too weird for me. How do you know that's real chicken and not dog? blah blah blah. Motherfuckers, it's PAD THAI. Noodles, chicken, bean sprouts, peanuts, and a mild sauce. How is that unusual? And if I have to once again teach someone how to pronounce giew grob, I'm going to start screeching. Say it like it's spelled. It's not difficult and you're not stupid.
So, now we have people who are afraid of food, afraid of the fat or whatever in the food, and afraid of different kinds of food.
But yet, the second someone brings in a cake or a box of cookies or some sort of sweet thing, it's like a plague of locusts have descended upon the earth. And then, the crying and moaning over how they shouldn't have eaten such horrible things goes on for an hour or two, with additional
C'mon, people. I may have a fat ass, but it's certainly not because I have an unhealthy relationship with food. My problem is that I'm a decadent. I enjoy indulgence and I'm incredibly lazy on top of it. The picture perfect definition of a Libra, I would reckon. I used to think that my problem was that I had an unhealthy food relationship, that I ran to comfort eating whenever I had a problem. But, I started scrutinizing my eating habits and how they corresponded with depression or manic episodes. And they didn't match up at all. When I get depressed, I don't eat. When I get stressed out, I don't eat and I smoke too much on top of it all. Overall, I'm not too fond of sweets (except for dark chocolate and that is in small amounts), but cream and butter? Cheese? Red meat and bacon? Oh sweet, suffering Jesus. That's a bit of Heaven, if you ask me. The good thing is that I'm just as likely to get all googly-eyed over garlic-roasted cauliflower (ingredients: garlic cloves, cauliflower, little bit of olive oil, salt and pepper) as I am over Cajun crabmeat au gratin. I could eat garlic-roasted cauliflower all goddamn day, if left to my own devices. And if I took my nose out of a book for long enough to actually walk around the block a couple of times a week, my ass wouldn't be so big and my arms wouldn't jiggle quite so alarmingly.
That out of the way, I'm fairly perplexed by my co-workers' attitude about food and the attitude of women and food, in general. I know it's largely (no pun intended) because of how women have been made to feel about their bodies by advertising and media, but when did it all get quite so neurotic? Are we so afraid of being potentially unloved and abandoned that we'll starve ourselves on iceberg lettuce and whatever high-priced, chemical-laden diet food is currently popular?
And really, the high-priced, chemical-laden diet chow is such a crock of bullshit. Fake food, it reminds of the plastic play food that comes with toy kitchens. All of those chemicals, just to produce something that looksvaguely like food and provides minimal calories/fat. What nonsense is that? All of that shit is full of sodium and horrifying things I can't pronounce. And it does absolutely nothing but make your body believe that it actually ingested something nutrious. Here's an idea: eat something fresh that hasn't been processed to the point where it barely qualifies as food anymore. Eat normal-sized portions, don't starve yourself. Move around more. Don't look for the magic answer that's going to make you look like a fashion model, it doesn't exist.
And stop relying on your BMI as an indicator of whether you're going to die old and alone or not.
no subject
I am SO happy to work in a small, all-male office. There's no bullshit. It's like, people eat when they want, and the most planning is "hey, I am going to x. Anyone want anything?" It's so refreshing, and nobody is scrutinizing what I eat, therefore, I can just be happy and normal about my meals.
At my old job, I worked with this batshit crazy lady who would yell at me for snacking on raspberries or sugar snap peas, because she was convinced I was trying to "starve myself" and always try to make me eat chips or cookies or crackers. She thought it was HORRIBLE that I always turned down cake. But the thing is, I don't really like sweets. I'm neurotic about food, yes, I know, but truthfully, I'd just rather eat raspberries or pea pods.
At work, if someone brings in cookies and offers, and I say no, it's "okay, cool." So refreshing.
Not that I am one to talk, because I feel a really neurotic fit coming on based on me feeling like shit because it's summer, because I can't exercise due to my probably-broken heel, and because I feel like Jabba the Hut. ^_^
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b) whoa i'm hungry.
c) we should go out for thai!
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p.s.
One night, I got "who eats that" in response to "mushroom and garlic cous-cous with an artichoke and some baked chicken." Is that even remotely weird? When I told her we went to a Thai place for my birthday, I could all but hear her gagging. Pad See Eau is just noodles with beef, broccoli, carrots and a mild sauce! Satay is grilled chicken! It's not remotely strange.
I don't see why people just completely ignore so many amazing cuisines.
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Hey you wanna walk? Lets walk!
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And yeah, I wanna walk! We could even bring Howard with us.
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And I'm not sure if Howard would. If not, we'll carry him. Because he needs to get out more, poor guy.