Category Archives: Cravings

Gimme Some Sugar!

So, I started Project 40 Monday morning at about 4:00. (Hey, I work third shift; I have bizarre sleeping hours even on my days off.) By 7:30 I was already having sugar withdrawals. I knew they would be coming, but that didn’t make them any easier.


While I wasn’t blogging for awhile, I was eating. And I was eating all the stuff I know is bad for me – processed foods with refined sugar. I even fell off the vegetarian wagon for several days and ate shepherd’s pie that I had made with some ground lamb that my father had left here and that I had thawed in error. (While the shepherd’s pie was tasty, my stomach issues over those days weren’t really worth it.) In general, my system has been in absolute chaos! It was anarchy, I tell you!

And, as it is with anarchy, when I tried to restore order, my efforts were met with stiff resistance – particularly from the sugar junkie cells. As you no doubt know, sugar activates the pleasure centers of the brain in ways very similar to both cocaine and heroine. Still, sugars, both naturally occurring and added, are in nearly everything. We can’t totally avoid it; but, what should we limit ourselves to?

That’s tricky because there are no USDA guidelines like there are for nutrients since sugar isn’t a nutrient. So, it depends on who you ask as to how much is the right amount. I recently found an article on the American Heart Association’s site which recommends no more than nine teaspoons of sugar per day for men and no more than six teaspoons for women. (The World Health Organization uses similar guidelines.) To translate it into units on nutritional labels, that’s 36 grams for men and 20 grams for women. Okay, that still doesn’t have much meaning for me; so, let’s look at the sugar content of some things I’ve been eating:

So Delicious Cashew Milk Salted Caramel Cluster frozen dessert (yum) – 18 grams per serving  – 4 servings per pint and, really, who doesn’t just eat the whole pint at once? So that’s 72 grams. Yikes!
Zero candy bar – 31 grams
Bojangles sweet potato pie – 28 grams
Hershey’s with Almonds – 19 grams
Kettle Chips Backyard Barbeque flavor – 1 gram per 13 chips (13 chips?! Get real!)

In the past month, I’m pretty sure that I’ve eaten three years worth of my sugar allowance. Now my brain has gotten used to it and weaning the grey cells off the white stuff is going to be a battle, any way I look at it. Still, it’s a battle I’ve won before and I won it with apples.

So, my kitchen is well-stocked with apples and for the next week or so, I won’t worry about my daily sugar intake as I reach for an apple when the cravings hit really hard. If Project 40 works like the Great Reduction, I won’t have to reach for the apples for very long. The Sugar Monster will slumber once more and all will be peaceful in the kingdom.

Well, kinda.

Vodka on My Breath

I haven’t written in awhile. There have been several reasons; but, the chief reason was that I have been unwell and, in my illness, I felt like a fraud. The Positive Thinking Blog Goddess was having trouble thinking of reasons why brushing her teeth on her off days was necessary. Hardly positive thinking in anyone’s book, I’d say. To me, writing about making good food choices, good health choices or positive choices of any kind would have been tantamount to standing up as a sponsor at an AA meeting with vodka on my breath.

How could I talk about it with any conviction if I knew that I was failing at it in my everyday life? How could I talk about making healthful dietary choices when the primary components of my own diet were popcorn and Hershey’s with almonds?

Since November, when I got the Depo-Provera shot, I have been trapped in a binge-eating nightmare. All of the old, unhealthy language has reemerged to strengthen those old, unhealthy habits. I have felt completely out of control and powerless to do anything about it. My body has been screaming for sugar and salt – mostly sugar. My first thought upon opening my eyes has been, “What can I eat?” Literally, that has been my very first thought. I dream about food. I make good choices at the grocery store, then eat candy out of the vending machines at work or I make a stop at the drugstore for a box of Russell Stover caramels. And the internal litany that accompanies every sugary bite that I take is, “Look at you! You can’t control yourself. Sure, you were thin for awhile, but you’re fat again now, aren’t you? Go ahead. Eat another one.”

Despair-300x199That is the kind of language that kept me trapped in an obese body for decades. No. It’s not the kind of language that kept me trapped. It is the language that kept me trapped.

I have felt myself spiraling down and have been unable to stop it. So, now, even my stretchy pants are tight and my blue jeans aren’t even in the realm of possibility. While certainly nowhere near my heaviest, I am fatter than I have been in three years and I am angry and humiliated about it.

I’ve talked to several people about the depo shot and have heard the same thing over and over – women who took it experienced significant weight gain. I was so focused on the result I wanted from the Essure procedure that I didn’t fully consider the consequences of the preparation stage. I should have done more research. I expected that my doctor would not follow a protocol that would not be the best for me as an individual – this is a doctor I see, at best, once a year. I still think that she’s a good doctor and I will continue to see her; however, I will never again blindly follow a procedural protocol without educating myself. Please understand that I’m not blaming her. I am responsible for my health choices and if I choose to blindly and completely hand over full control of my body to another human being, I am accountable for the results – even if it’s significant weight gain.

I’m taking steps to regain control of my life and my cravings; but, I’m a long way from being in control. So, what you’re likely to see here over the next weeks and months is what my friend Rebecca wanted me to write about in the first place – my very real and sometimes ugly struggle to get my body, mind and spirit back to a healthy place. It’s not always going to be pretty and some days, I’ll write with vodka (or chocolate) on my breath.

Health Information Spin-Doctors

I saw an article last week about adrenal fatigue and was intrigued. I read it and was even more intrigued since it seemed to explain why I’m so exhausted all the time these days.

Then I did some more research.

Turns out that adrenal fatigue isn’t a medically defined condition. Now, as you know, I do not believe that doctors are either gods or the end all and be all of everything; however, I think that they’ve spent an awful lot of time studying the human body and can be good resources. I also believe that this Information Age is just as easily the Disinformation Age and anyone with an idea or product to sell can create a condition for their idea or product to cure. The symptoms of adrenal fatigue are really just the symptoms of exhaustion…..adrenal fatigue just sounds so much better. Right?

Hospitalization for exhaustion or bed rest for fatigue sounds awfully Lindsay Lohan, n’est pas? It sounds like you’ve been out partying too much, you’re secretly in rehab, you’re having a nervous breakdown or you’re just a wimp. I mean, the Mormons walked across the country pushing wheelbarrows, for crying out loud. What do any of us have to be exhausted about?

Well, actually, we have a lot.

I don’t think that anyone can deny that this is a very stressful time to be an adult in the United States. The news tells us that the country has recovered; but, I talk to an awful lot of unemployed or underemployed people who have not seen that recovery. Paychecks don’t go as far as they used to. For instance, I now make the same amount of money that I made 20 years ago – not the same amount adjusted for inflation, the actual same amount. However, the cost of living certainly isn’t what it was 20 years ago. That causes a tremendous amount of stress for me. That kind of stress will just wear a body out; but,  it still sounds kind of wimpy to say that I’m suffering from exhaustion, doesn’t it? Makes me sound like some silly Victorian female suffering a fit of the vapors on my reclining couch. But, if I’m suffering from adrenal fatigue, well, that’s a whole different kettle of fish, isn’t it? It’s not that I can’t handle the stress, it’s that my adrenal glands are letting me down. Damn the luck! Wimpy glands.


Here’s what I found most amusing about the condition – its prescribed treatment: get plenty of sleep, drink plenty of water, exercise regularly, and eat a balanced diet including lots of fruits and vegetables. That’s really the prescription for everything, I think: obesity, arthritis, high blood pressure, and, now of course, adrenal fatigue.

It’s hardly earth-shattering. It’s hardly revolutionary. It’s what our grandparents knew and what we also know, if we’re honest with ourselves. It’s just that simple.

And it’s just that hard.

In our stressful, fast-paced world, we want an immediate solution. We want a pill. We want someone else to do the work for us. We want an overnight miracle. But, it just doesn’t work that way. We have to prepare our meals. We have to make healthier choices. We have to do the work and take care of ourselves.

And I, for one, have got to get started right this very minute.



Feeling Groovy

I suspect that my high school AP history teacher, Mr. Paterson, had a party going on in his head most of the time. He would constantly interrupt himself with non sequiturs and asides to the point that it was almost like listening to a rubber ball bounce off the walls of his mind. He loved history; so, to sit in his class was as informative as it was engaging. Anyway, I mention him because of today’s title – Feelin’ Groovy. The actual title of Simon and Garfunkel’s song was The 59th Street Bridge Song; but, everyone knew it as Feelin’ Groovy. Anytime Mr. Paterson would mention the song (which was more frequently than you might imagine in a history class), he would say, “Feelin’ Groovy, whoever that is….” As a result, I never think of the song without thinking of Mr. Paterson.

feelin groovyAnd, I think of him today as I am feelin’ pretty groovy myself.

I’m about a week and a half into my Recommitment and things are humming along nicely. I can actually feel where I have lost weight in my hands, my abdomen, my face, my thighs and my shoulders. I love that! In addition, my hunger pangs have all but disappeared. Some of that may have to do with how worried I’ve been about the pup; but, regardless, I feel less hungry. I’ve eaten tasty meals heavy on the veggies with some starch, grains, nuts and legumes thrown in for balance. I’ve enjoyed snacks of fruit that give me plenty of fiber and a little burst of sugar when I need it. I am sleeping more soundly and am waking with good energy. At work, I’m getting in plenty of walking; so, my exercise is covered, as well. As a result, I’m feeling stronger. So, it’s good things all around!

And I do mean ALL around. Trey actually ate some of his dinner out of my hand last night and he was hungry for more when I got home this morning.He’s got some pain meds that are helping him manage. While he is still approaching the rainbow bridge, at least he is more comfortable for now. He may even be feeling a little groovy.

Like I said: good things all around. So why wouldn’t I feel groovy? Do something good for yourself today and join me! (beads and flower headbands at your discretion)


What Do I Know, Anyway?

When I find myself with a set-back like the one I’m dealing with now – ugh – that negative little voice inside my head asks, “What do you know, anyway?” “Why should anyone pay any attention to what you have to say? After all, look at what you did!”

Yep. Look at what I did. I gave in to cravings and ate myself 20 pounds up the scale. It doesn’t matter if the cravings were the result of medication, 70-hour physically exhausting work weeks, heartache, or moon cycles. Those things may have caused the cravings but none of them drove me to the grocery store. None of those things bought the Tastykakes that I stuffed into my gob. Nope, I did that all by lonesome. I did it years ago and I did it this time, too. I failed myself.

But, it ain’t over yet!

I lost 94 pounds four years ago and I know how I did it. I know what worked for me and what didn’t. I know how to do it again. Here are a few things that I know without a doubt:

  1. I cannot buy bread. I can’t buy it because I cannot be trusted with it. I will eat it plain or with something smeared on it to make it a sandwich. I will eat a butter sandwich rather than make a nutrient-dense meal that my body needs. I can’t do that if there’s no bread in the house; thus, I cannot buy bread.
  2. I cannot be trusted with a family sized bag of chips. I will turn into a family of one and eat that bag all in one sitting. If I treat myself to chips, they  must be in the tiny, single serving size.
  3. I cannot open cans of mixed nuts while driving in the car. I will eat the entire can.
  4. I am an emotional eater. I must deal with wayward emotions in another way, like going for a short walk, doing ten jumping jacks, meditating, or writing lists to figure out the source of the negative emotion. Eating to make it go away solves nothing.
  5. I want the sugary snacks in the vending machines at work. Therefore, I must not take my debit card or cash to work.
  6. I am a sugar addict. I must eat more fruit to combat the cravings my body assaults me with.
  7. The_Smurfs_2_2013_(Brainy)Each meal must consist of 75% vegetables.
  8. I must move more. I don’t have to start by running a race. I can start the same way I did last time – by walking the dogs.
  9. All food must be carefully measured, else the nine-serving box of cereal becomes a three-serving box.
  10. Undocumented calories still count.
  11. There is never undocumented exercise.
  12. My food and exercise diary app is invaluable.
  13. I deserve to have a body that functions properly.
  14. I deserve to have a body I feel comfortable in.
  15. I have way too many clothes in my smaller size to redo my wardrobe now!
  16. I don’t want to redo my wardrobe.
  17. I can do this.

So, as it turns out, I know lots of things. I just have to remind myself because there is a great, big, giant chasm between knowing and doing. And, yesterday, in setting a new goal in my LoseIt app and by logging all of my food and exercise, I began doing again.

Getting Real with Clotille

Yesterday, I caught sight of my reflection and I look … I look … well, I look pregnant.  I’m not, but I look it. (Pick yourself up off the floor, Ramona. I haven’t seen in you ages, but, girl, Ida called with that.) I’m so swollen up, I look like I swallowed a watermelon. I’ve got sausages for fingers and I don’t even want to discuss my cankles. I’m eating everything in sight. I’m irritable. I’m cranky. My body hurts. Wait a minute, that sounds like….. No, I’m really not.

Last week, I shared with you some of my recent introspection. While I wouldn’t say that I’m “proud” of my self-awareness, I would say that it’s a pretty handy skill to have. Still, although I thought I had identified my eating trigger, my binge hasn’t stopped. I’m puzzled and annoyed. My old stand by coping skill wasn’t working. So, I went over it all again, looking for an additional blown emotional fuse. And guess what I found. Nothing.

More frustrated than ever, I looked at other factors, including a prescription shot I was recently given in preparation for an upcoming procedure. When I started looking at its possible side effects, I found my answer. Weight gain. Check. Depression. Bingo! I think I found my culprit. However, since it was a one-time injection, it’s not like I can stop taking the chemical to restore balance. So, I have to find some other way to deal with it. My solution was to sit down and talk with myself.

So, I did. Here’s an excerpt of the conversation.

Me: Princess, you know you’ve got to do something about this. Your clothes are tight and you feel really bad; so, what’s the plan?

Princess: It’s the medicine. It causes weight gain and depression. It’s not my fault. It’ll be over in three months. Let’s just deal with it later.

(On hearing this, my very own inner Jiminy Cricket – Clotille Jones pushed me out of the way and took over.) Clotille: “Deal with it later?” “Deal with it later?” Did I just hear you say, “deal with it later?” Girl, you look like Hell and you feel even worse. Your knees and feet hurt and it’s no wonder with that big ole, swoll up belly you’re wagging around. If you “deal with it later” you’ll be buying clothes in the camping supply section again. We gon’ deal with this right now!

Princess: But I can’t. The fatigue, the 60-hour work weeks, solar flares – I just can’t deal with it right now.

Clotille: Woman. You are an intelligent being. You are not powerless. Plan ahead. Deal with the side effects – they ain’t making you leave your dirty clothes on the floor. You’re doing that. They didn’t buy that Dream chocolate frozen dessert. You did. Act like a grown up. You ain’t no cartoon Disney princess, honey. You are a descendant of Vikings. Viqueen up and let’s do this.

That Clotille just doesn’t cut me any slack. She is Queen of the Come to Jesus Meetings and, well she should be. Otherwise, my life would be in utter and complete shambles. She’s blunt, but she’s right. I am a sentient being. And, although there are outside forces acting on both my body and my mind right now, I am far from powerless.

I can make better choices. I must. And I have to remember the continuing process of going from wish, want, & will to am & did.

The Button of Truth

Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men? The Shadow may know that. But, who knows what calorie-laden sweets linger on the hips of mankind? The Blue Jean has that one covered.

As I’ve told you, I have not been careful with my food intake for, oh, about a month now. Last night, I firmly felt and saw the results. Oy.

I’ve known that I was gaining a little weight; but, I was using that old standby method of denial – elastic! And as we established just forEVER ago, Satan did, in fact, invent yoga pants. But, last night, I didn’t wear yoga pants. I wore my jeans. Well, most of me wore my jeans. There was some spillage over the top until everything got all stretched out. Muffin top. Yech.

I’ve earned it. And it’s not even the holidays yet; so, I can’t blame it on holiday eating! This is just plain, old emotional eating. Thankfully, I have been able to slow it down since I identified the emotions which started the whole thing. Now, I just have to deal with the aftermath, which, if I’m not careful, could lead from Depression Eating straight into Guilt Gorging. Neither of these activities or mental locations  appeared in The Princess Bride; however, I’m fairly certain that if the book had been written by a woman, there would have been no Fire Swamp, but rather the Gorge of Nervous Snacking. And there would not have been large rats. There would have been huge trees of Little Debbie cakes, potato chip flowers and a river of melted Phish Food. (I’ll let you enjoy that calorie festival vision for just a second.)

I told myself that I hadn’t done too much damage – just a pound or two; but, my jeans showed that as a lie I’ve been selling myself with a side of lycra. But, just as Wonder Woman’s golden lasso will reveal any falsehood, so will the waistband of my blue jeans. And, honey, did those show my deception last night! Thankfully, as I’ve said, I’ve already been able to slow the process to a near halt and I’ll reverse it because I know that I can and, to be in the kind of physical condition I want to be, I must.

As I’ve known all along (but need to be reminded occasionally apparently) self lies are the most dangerous. Thankfully, I have a couple of sets of lie detectors in my closet.

Means, Motive and Opportunity

I awoke this morning to find carnage in my kitchen. At the center of the obvious crime scene were the ravaged remains of a bag of barbecue potato chips, a bag of multi-grain tortilla chips, a king sized Hershey bar with almonds and a container of Dream salted caramel gelato. Oh, the horror! The inhumanity! Who could have done such a thing?! Surely not I, the Positive Thinking Blog Goddess – Her Dotyness herself!

Johnny Cochran said, “If the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit!”

But, then, Cotille Jones (remember her?) said, “If yo ass shows swell, you guilty as hell!” It seems that Ms Jones has seen my jeans.

As I’ve mentioned to you before, I am an emotional binge eater and for about the last month, I’ve been struggling with it – like Godzilla versus Megalon type struggling. Small Japanese fishing villages have been torched in the fray. And I’ve been losing.

At first, I thought the cravings were just PMS (and they might have been), but that’s not the issue now.  In public, I’m making good food choices; but, behind closed doors, I’m eating everything I can get my grubby little hands on. My cats have learned to be even stealthier than usual and my dogs sleep with one eye open. PMS cravings would have ended after just a few days. This has been going on for about a month. Now, the jeans that I could take off without unbuttoning a month ago are a real challenge to button at all. Not good. Clearly, something else is going on here.

My friend Russell told me years ago that I was one of the most self-aware people he knew. I like to think that I’m pretty self-aware; but, I like to think that I look a lot like a young Ann-Margret, too. Whatever my level of self-awareness, I am aware enough to know that to change my behavior, I have to figure out where it originates. If I want to stop my emotional binge-eating, I have to uncover the emotion(s) that is (are) causing it. To that end, I’ve been poking around in my mind to see what anxiety fuse has blown.

The suspects:

  1. Money. Since my income dropped by about 75% last year, I’m always worried about money. Nothing has happened to change that; so, that’s certainly a contributor.
  2. Holidays. Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming. I have to work Thanksgiving; so, I’ll likely be asleep all day and working that night. The traditional holiday meal will likely be just like every other day’s meal. Since I’m not starving, that’s only a First World Problem. I don’t have to work Christmas; however, with money as tight as it is, I don’t see how I can fly my son home for the holiday. It will be our first one apart and just the thought of it is ripping me up, especially since it has been a year since I’ve seen him. Another First World Problem.
  3. Health. I had some curious symptoms that were scaring me. Tests have shown that there’s nothing abnormal going on – no cancer. Relief.
  4. Disappointment. I had an idea where I would be at this point in my life and I’m just not there. I’m trying very hard to get there, but it’s unbelievably difficult.

I worked at Complete Automotive Repair and Service in Metairie, LA. (Julie’s, to most of our customers.) We had this one customer who, when asked how she was, would always reply, “I don’t have any problems that money can’t solve. So, I guess I’m good.” That’s what I need to focus on. And I’m trying.

I don’t walk miles each day to get water of questionable safety. No mortars fall in my town. I don’t live in fear of being attacked every time I leave my front door. I don’t have to wear a burka or have a male escort to go anywhere. I can vote. I can publicly disagree with my government. I can practice any (or no) religion I choose. Stocked grocery stores are all over town. And I have my pick of doctors to see when I’m ill.

As long as I have food, clothing, shelter and health, the rest are just First World Problems that I should be grateful I have.

Then, how come I still want a brownie?




Fatigue: Success Saboteur

I. Am. Exhausted.

Starting any new endeavor takes an enormous amount of energy, and it doesn’t matter what kind of endeavor it is: weight loss, new job, new baby, new puppy, new home, whatever.  You know this.  I know this.  Of course, there is knowing and there is KNOWING.

With my new professional position, I am moving into a state of KNOWING.

New knowledge, friends, clients, situations, and experiences are invigorating; however, I am a middle-aged woman, not the battery bunny.  Long hours away from home are wearing me out and are beginning to have some not-so-great effects, a few of which I noticed yesterday:

  • overeating,
  • bad food choices, and
  •  over-analysis head trash.

My body is tired.  But, because it doesn’t know that I’m doing this on purpose, it is now beginning to register the fatigue as a threat to survival.  As a threat response, it’s telling me that it needs more food.  My hunger alarms are blaring like it’s a London air raid and I need to Keep Calm and Get My Fanny into the Tube.  I know that the threat is not real; however, my basic life functions don’t and right now they are buying all the air time and running commercials for food in my brain.

drive in intermissionAnd the commercials they are running are not for apples, mangoes and lean meats, either.  No, sirree!  I’m getting messages that my organism is in danger and we need high calorie items! It’s like the old drive-in commercials: I’ve got peanut butter cups, ice cream pints, and pastries dancing across my mental screen.  My conscious mind knows that the danger isn’t real, but my brain is still creating massive carbohydrate cravings.

My brain is also thinking too much.  It is my nature to over-analyze.  You can stop reading now because I’m certain you don’t deal with this same issue (yes, I’m rolling my eyes). I was doing a mental post-mortem driving home after an event last night.  I concluded that during the evening, I had likely developed a bad case of what my mother always called Diarrhea of the Mouth.

Speaking with these three really nice women, I realized that I was probably talking non-stop, but I could not shut up! A good conversation partner talks, then listens.  A poor conversation partner talks, then talks, then waits until it’s their turn to talk again.  I’m pretty sure I was the latter, not the former. Laura, Linda, Katherine: I promise that I will bring duct tape to the next function and you can just slap a strip on me when I start running off like that again.  My apologies, ladies.

Alienating people is bad; but, that’s really not the big, long-term danger for me.  The real danger was in berating myself as a boor on the way home.  The head trash – I’m a jerk, nobody likes me, I might as well go in the backyard and eat worms – will sabotage any and every effort, whether social, personal, external, or internal. Just like I said yesterday, I have to recognize that the trash is there and pluck it out before it does damage.

At the moment, I am not so tired that I don’t know the source of my hunger, cravings or self-doubts.  Because I know the source, I can (and, really, must) correct it.  I must address the fatigue before it causes some real harm.  I must take care of me.

Now, for those who have nodded your heads throughout this piece, who is taking care of you?

Get Thee Behind Me, Little Debbie

We had another lunch training session at work yesterday and after The Foolish Cookie Incident, I actually started being a little concerned about the boxed lunches a whole 24 hours prior. I was worried about losing another dual to a baked good.

Boxed lunches arrived and I had a great sliced turkey sandwich.  I ditched the top piece of bread and enjoyed it open-faced.  The chip bags were the big single servings (you know – the ones that aren’t really single servings); so, I ate a quarter of those.  The fruit cup was great.  The pasta salad looked good, but I chose not to eat bread and pasta at the same meal.  So far, so good.  Enter the brownie.

The Brownie.  Four square inches of moist, chocolaty wonder, liberally dusted with white chocolate shavings.  If you’re quiet, you can hear the angels sing.

During my Monday Menu Musings, I had explained my problem with the cookie to a coworker.  I just didn’t know if I could face another one down.  At high noon in the bakery, I’m pretty sure that chocolate walnut disc was going to be the faster draw.  That’s when this Great American Woman stepped in and offered to take the bullet for me.

Appearing to be very athletic and fit, she offered, nay, she demanded that I give the cookie to her.  That kind of sacrifice just brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?  Such a sweet woman!  Of course, I must hate her on principle because she’s beautiful and can still fit into her clothes after eating 440 calorie cookies, but she’s still sweet.

Little Debbie nutty barsTemptation is everywhere, all day, all the time, smiling at us from the snack shelf wearing a Nannette Fabray grin and a cowgirl hat.  We can’t get rid of it; so, we have to find effective ways of dealing with it.  After opening the lunch box, I put the brownie behind the lid so that I couldn’t see it.  I left it out of sight until I could run out of there to give it to Rene. At an event last night, I stood with my back to the M&Ms on an exhibitor’s table.  Although out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind, it does make it easier. Having healthful alternatives close to hand is also good.

I’m not trying to tell you that some hummus and baby carrots are better than an oatmeal creme pie because that would just be crazy talk; however, I am telling you that we don’t have to let Swiss cake rolls determine our fates.  Although I ate an oatmeal raisin cookie at that event, it was my only gastronomic sin of the day. At worst, the net effect of that cookie was break even.

And, sometimes, that’s good enough.