It’s Just Fucking Food

I’m neglecting writing an important essay that is due yesterday soon to piss and moan about more things in society that make me want to throw things at heads. Sharp pointy things. Or large bludgeon-like things. Take your pick.

Anyways, today I was really really tired. I hate pumping caffeine into my body, because I’m already chemically dependent on other things (Dexedrine: legal amphetamine to help me with ADHD) and it does bizarre things in combination with what I already do take. But I bit the bullet and decided that staying awake at work and in class was more important than keeping my sleep schedule or not destroying my digestive system (really, coffee makes me ill even though I love it). One of the great things about my work is free coffee at the organic cafe next door. Not shitty coffee, either, good coffee. They never burn it. So I indulged in a very large cup of it.

As I mosey over on to the milk bar to add my dash of non-coffee things to make it taste better, I come across a girl I know in passing from one of my classes out for her morning muffin before going to campus. We exchange pleasantries, and I pick up the soy milk and pour some into my coffee. With the other hand, I decide to go straight for the non-sugar vanilla “creamer” (no milk in it). In for a penny, in for a dollar. If I’m pumping caffeine into my system, what’s a little chemical-that-tastes-like-sugar going to do? It’s not like I do this every day, or even every week.

But she noticed. Oh no. Most of the women I know do this competitive eating shit. Except it’s not the fun kind where you get to eat a lot of pie or hotdogs. It’s the kind of competition where whoever loses starves wins. Chalk another one up to the bullshit body-punishment culture.

“Oh, you’re on a diet! I could never stomach both soy and sugar-free creamer. Tastes horrible.”

I laughed and replied, “no, I drink soy because I think milk is disgusting and being lactose sensitive makes drinking it no fun. I think the sugar-free stuff tastes better. The stuff they have here with sugar is too sweet, it makes me nauseous… plus it has milk. Also, I’m not on a diet”.

She just smiled at me, self-indulgently, like I was some silly player in the same game of charades where we all hate ourselves and punish our bodies accordingly, pretend such self-destruction is positive, and then deny our adherence to the goals of this ritual to be humble.

Before I could think of some awe-inspiring way to convince her that my momentary lapses into socially inspired self-hatred are far too short to necessitate any sort of action or overcome my love of most things food-like, she left.

Well, fuck.

Really, as much as you all must think I’m awesome, I’m much less eloquent in person. I do this thing where twenty brilliant things are running through my head at the same time, and by the time I stop indulging in mental self-praise of my intelligence, whomever I’ve been talking to has inferred that I don’t have anything smart to say because I either paused too long or keep peppering my non-sequitors with “uh”.

It all makes sense in my head, I swear.

Back on topic: it’s just fucking food. If it tastes good I eat it. If I want some ice cream, I have a pint of it. Sometimes, a whole pint until my intestines try to force their way out of my body in protest of all the milk. My digestive system hates me.

If salad tastes like shit with vinegar or no dressing, I put some nice Greek or full-fat (the fat-free tastes like dog poo) Italian on it. I usually load it with all sorts of exotic vegetables too, because they are so much tastier with dressing. So while some dieters might be able to force down a serving of spinach with no dressing a couple of times of week, my favorite food is this amazing Cilantro Lime salad I get at the very same organic cafe mentioned above loaded with all these finely chopped vegetables I can’t pronounce and really dark leafy greens. I love me my vitamins.

I really don’t think all that much about food. If I want it, I have it. If I don’t want it (and I don’t quite often), I don’t have it. I’m probably in that weird limbo between hot and chubby on society’s fucked-up meter, but as long as I can bike on the highest (read: most resistance and fastest) gear on my bike for six miles and get all the vitamins I need, I usually like to give society’s expectations of my diet the finger.

I’m healthy. I’m way healthier at size 12 than I was at 2. For one, I finally figured out that milk is bad for me, and that Mountain Dew isn’t good either. Eating is also fun compared to competitive fasting.

So as much as I find myself slipping some times, I remind myself: it’s just fucking food. You need it, all of it–fats and calories included–to survive. And really, your body knows that better than your head, which is brainwashed as hell.

So shut the fuck up brain, I’m having what tastes good tonight.

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Posted on September 29, 2008, in Beauty Ideal, Feminism, Ranting, Snark. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. I can really relate to this post. As I was reading it, for some reason I got this idea that I seem to know you really well. It’s that relatable. Thanks for it.

  2. Thanks! I put a lot of myself into my writing. I’m glad that that is obvious. I’m also glad, in kind of stupid way, that what I talk about isn’t just the crazies. Our opponents label us as weird and hysterical, but I still survive with the occasional acknowledgment that what I say is culturally relevant, not just a product of this insanity nay-sayers attribute to me.

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