There's WHAT In My Food?!

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. That is like telling someone what you wished for when you blow out your birthday candles, win the long side of the wishbone, see the first star of the evening, or catch the clock reading 11:11. Yes, I wish on all of those things. Typically I don’t even give resolutions a thought, however due to the timing; my current focus could be considered a resolution. I prefer to think of it as making a conscious effort. Unlike most of America, my conscious effort was not to join (and actually go) to a gym. This year, I’m trying to teach myself how to make better food decisions and pay attention to what I am putting in my body.

It started during a conversation with a co-worker late last year about high fructose corn syrup. Of course I’d heard of HFCS and knew it wasn’t good for you, I just hadn't done anything about it yet. His challenge was to read the labels as I went grocery shopping. Turns out, HFCS is in EVERYTHING. So step one was to cut down the amount of HFCS I was exposing myself to. I started doing more grocery shopping at places like Trader Joe’s, and occasionally Whole Foods, where I was hard pressed to find food with HFCS in the ingredients. When I go to a brand name grocery store (Safeway, Fred Meyer, etc.), I do my best to stay out of the middle of the store. I have also attempted to not buy things I see advertised on TV. You know those Yoplait yogurt ads that look enticing and make eating yogurt sound good for you as well as delicious? Turns out the second ingredient in most of their products is HFCS.

Step number two was to eat more natural foods. Fresh fruit, vegetables, meats, etc. My fridge is now stocked with some pretty healthy foods. I learned something though in doing some research and label reading. Just like HFCS is in everything man-made, there are chemicals in or on just about everything. And if you want natural or organic foods, it’s going to cost you.

I was recently going over my spending for the past three months. Thanks to my favorite budgeting program, mint.com, I’m able to see exactly how much I’m spending and what I’m spending it on. Aside from learning that I need to cut back on shopping, I was shocked at what I’ve spent on food these past three months. We’re not talking excessive eating out, it was all on groceries. By attempting to eat healthier and ingest fewer chemicals, my grocery bill has just about doubled.

Each year when the weather gets cold, I sit around my apartment wearing layers and blankets. By mid November, I finally have a conversation with myself, reminding me that I have a good job and can afford heat. I had to have a similar conversation with myself regarding my grocery bills. There are other ways I can cut down the bill, less impulse purchases, making a menu, etc., but I feel like it’s worth it to pay a little extra to be putting fewer chemicals in my body.

Trying to eat more natural foods makes it so I have to plan a little more. I have to think about what I’m going to eat the next day and prepare a lunch the night before rather than just grab a frozen dinner. I have to spend some additional time in the grocery store reading the list of ingredients. I have to spend more money to buy fruit not covered in pesticides and meat that isn’t running rampant with growth hormones. It makes me thankful I’m in a position to be able to afford those things. And while I’m not obsessive about it (if someone offered me a regular apple I’m still going to eat it), I feel pretty good knowing that I am making my conscious effort. And it’s lasted three months already. So there gym-going resolutioners.

Journeys and Wanderlust

Somehow I’ve gotten myself a reputation. Thankfully it’s that I travel all the time, not anything worse. I do travel a fair bit, but I don’t feel like it’s excessive. I’m young and single . . . what am I supposed to spend my disposable income on?

Everyone I know, from friends to mere acquaintances, ask me where my next trip is. It’s not as though I go somewhere exotic or exciting all the time, I just make an effort to get out of Portland and go see some place new. Or someplace old, depending on where my friends are who have a free couch for me to sleep on. Even the president and CEO of the company I work for regularly asks about my next trip. Good thing I work in an environment where they don’t look down on you taking time off! I even had a friend assume I wouldn’t be at her wedding because I already had travel plans. That made telling her I couldn’t make it due to a trip much easier.

This traveler reputation has actually worked out well for me. You know that awkward small talk you have with acquaintances or people you haven’t seen in a while? This turns out to be a great starter conversation piece. And it is much less infuriating than being asked if I’m dating someone and if not, have I thought about online dating? Because they know someone who just got married who met their spouse online, etc. etc. etc. But I digress. I’ve actually had conversations that were interesting and animated instead of awkward with friends and strangers about the places I’ve been.

Most of the time, I actually do know what and where my next trip is. I usually have them planned out about a year ahead of time. For example, last month I went to San Diego. In a few weeks I’ll be in Hawaii, then Canada, then Priest Lake, ID, and then likely Sunriver for Labor Day. I’m to the point now where I feel a certain amount of pressure to have a trip planned though, just for conversation sake. And now it’s been a few years since I’ve been overseas, so I’m feeling some pressure to put Europe on the docket. Some people are peer pressured into doing drugs, I’m feel pressure to travel.

While I have a reputation for a number of things, from being a picky eater to a shoe whore, I do enjoy being the person that travels. And leaving every now and again helps to remind me why I love Portland so much. Besides, life tends to be more interesting when you’re counting down the days to your next adventure.

The LBC

Before Dawson had a creek and Ryan moved to the OC there was . . . LBC.

LBC, also known as Little Beaver Creek, was the road I lived on in high school. And unlike the Creek and the OC, it definitely did not warrant a television show. At the time, it was 90% dirt road that made about a five mile loop off of the highway. The nice thing about living out on the LBC was there were a bunch of other kids out there. It was almost as good as living in town, except instead of living blocks apart in town; you lived either 20’s (as in acres) or miles apart.

This past weekend I was up visiting my brother and we were reminiscing about high school. After comparing the number of times we lettered (I was the clear winner), how we extricated ourselves from having to practice with the band but still played at away games and our half-assed attempts at competing in the Science Olympiad, our talk moved on to life on the LBC.

One of the things I’m most remembered for amongst my friends is doing something stupid while driving. Living in a small town, three people had called my parents before I even made it into the parking lot at school. Thus, my punishment was my car being taken away for a couple of weeks. So I did what any smart ass teenager would do in that circumstance. Knowing that my parents fully expected that this meant I would have to suffer the teenage embarrassment of riding the bus to school, I called my friend Seth who lived just down the road and asked if he could give a ride to school for the next couple weeks. Since he was likely to run into the same problem eventually, he readily agreed. The parents were not pleased with this turn of events, but knowing they hadn’t been specific and I had outmaneuvered them, opted to leave it alone. They’d probably be even less pleased if they knew I had a bet going with my friends as to when they’d get tired of picking me up and driving me around and give me my car back.

I know I wasn’t the first kid, or the last, to get their car taken away for being a dumb teenager. In fact, I’m pretty sure it happened to every kid on LBC at some point. And we all offered each other rides when someone lost their car for a period of time. Unfortunately, not only did we all live up the same road, a whole lot of our parents worked together and all of them knew each other (small town thing again). Once the story of how I outsmarted my parental units got out, any time a kid lost their car, an additional punishment was clearly stated, “And you will ride the bus. Riding to school with someone else is not an option.”

So while we never had an opportunity to bond together while standing outside a school board meeting shouting “Donna Martin graduates,” the kids of LBC were there for each other when it mattered. Which was usually when one of us was carless for being an idiot.

Knockers

When you go to the same gym every day at the same time, you start to recognize the people that keep the same schedule as you. These become people you smile at in passing, grumble with in January when the New Years resolution people are taking all the cardio machines and stare awkwardly at trying to place them when you see each other outside of the gym. Some of them are characters and make going to the gym an experience. There is the really tall guy who wears really short running shorts. The guy who always changes the angle of the rowing machines for no particular reason. The girls who run, and I use the term run loosely, with their hair down and perfectly coifed. And my current favorite character . . . Knockers.

One of the great things about Knockers is she stands out in a crowd. So much in fact, that when I mentioned seeing her at the gym to a co-worker who frequents the same gym, she knew exactly who I was talking about. Complete strangers would be able to finish each others sentences when trying to describe this girl. Person 1, “The one who wears,” Person 2, “that hot pink scrap of nothing?” Person 1, “And who never,” Person 2, “actually sweats?”

Knockers got her nickname for obvious reasons. She is the Pamela Anderson of the Pearl 24 Hour Fitness. You know how guys watched Baywatch because it had large breasted women running with no support? Yeah, that’s Knockers. She has giant implants, and wears a tiny, spaghetti strapped hot pink tank top and no bra. When she runs, even I can’t help but stare at her. It’s similar to watching a car accident, where you can see it happening in front of you and know there is nothing you can do to stop it. One, or both, of those fake boobs are bound to come flying out of her top at any minute.

While I watch her in amusement (because if you wear a tank that covers less than a string bikini, and try to run in it, you deserve what’s coming to you) and wonderment that indecent exposure hasn’t yet occurred, my favorite part might be watching the people around her. To be more specific, to watch the guys watch her run . . . without falling off their cardio machines. Yesterday, a guy spent his entire time on the treadmill with his head turned sideways just staring.

Thank you, Knockers, for making it easier to figure out which guys attending the Pearl gym are actually straight. And for giving us gym goers another form of entertainment beside our iPods and TV. Because if the TV in front of us is set to Oprah instead of ESPN, you can be damn sure we’re staring at you while you run.

Bras

You know why women are addicted to shoes? Because they always fit. You can gain or lose a few pounds and your shoes will still fit. You can have a pair of shoes for 10 years if you want because unless your body undergoes some strange metamorphosis, like pregnancy, your feet stay the same size for most of your life. Thus you can amass massive quantities of shoes on the assumption that you're going to be able to use them until there are holes in the soles.

Like pants, shoes are slightly frustrating in that you can wear any number of sizes depending on who makes the shoes. For example, in running shoes I wear an 8 because my feet swell when running and I value my toe nails. In a pair of dress shoes, I tend to wear a 7 or 7 ½ depending on the type of dress shoe, if it is cheaply made or not and whether or not it will stretch. What do shoes have that makes them superior to all other forms of clothing? They come in half sizes, so you’re almost always guaranteed to find some that fit.

You know what else should come in half sizes? Bras. I have a number of friends who would argue that bras are a waste of money anyway, but anyone who actually needs to wear a bra would agree with me. After shedding a few pounds, I find that my current bras are too big. Yay! So I did what any girl who cannot shop in the actual Victoria Secret store because all they carry are push up bras or scraps of nothing, I hopped on the website and ordered some in a smaller size. Upon arrival, I discovered that like pants, I was between sizes. Are you freaking kidding me? All I’m asking for is a bra that fits! I’m left trying to make the decision of a bra that is too big or a bra that creates the boob version of a muffin top. Neither is flattering.

If you think about it, the bra sizing system is completely ridiculous. Nothing else that we wear comes in sizes A through F. Those are letters that go on a report card, not on your bra. Plus, it goes against everything we’re taught growing up. In school, everyone wants an A and if they had given out AA’s in school, I’d have wanted one of those too. No one wants an F. Except in bra world it is completely backwards. Everyone wants to be a C or D, something that did not fly on my report card growing up. It’s completely unnatural.

So while we’re re-doing the bra sizing scale because it is ridiculous, we may as well make it more useful. Let’s add half sizes, because the only people I know who fit into a bra perfectly don’t need to wear them in the first place.

Karma . . . What A Bitch

When the news about now “not so Silent Bob” getting kicked off a Southwest flight for being too large to fit in a single seat, I found myself intrigued and read many opinions thoughts and articles about the fiasco. Ironically, I found myself in the opposite situation the next day on a flight to San Diego. Assuming that the plane doesn’t crash at some point during the flight, there is little worse than eyeing the seat numbers as you walk down the aisle of an airplane, and realizing that your seat is next to the giant person taking up their own seat and part of yours.

Large people must hate having to sit next to me because as soon as I see where my seat is I think to myself “Son of a Bitch!” and I’m 98% sure it is perfectly reflected on my face. I consider myself a medium sized person (short plus not stick thin equals medium) and I am uncomfortable in an airplane seat, so I can’t imagine being tall or overweight and having to fit into an airplane seat. I realize that large people are incredibly uncomfortable physically, and are likely fully aware that everyone getting on that plane is hoping that their seat is somewhere else. I felt bad for the large man sitting in the middle seat because he was clearly aware that half of his body was in my seat and half of me was in the aisle.

Most airlines have a rule that as long as you can get the arm rests down and buckle the seat belt without an extender; you technically fit into one seat. That is a load of crap because a person with broad shoulders doesn’t even fit into a seat correctly. We’ve all heard of a muffin top, right? When the fat rolls spill out over a pair of pants? The same thing happens over an arm rest people, except it goes both directions. The arm rest is like someone squeezed a tube of toothpaste from the middle.

To be fair, I have an exceptionally large personal space bubble, so I don’t like the fact that I have to sit next to anyone on a plane. But I really don’t care for other people taking up half my seat as well as theirs. I am incredibly uncomfortable touching strangers to begin with, I am even more uncomfortable having to touch legs or arms or shoulders with them in a confined space. I paid for a whole seat and I would like to use it. If you’re a hot single guy, we can negotiate arm rest usage.

As I was boarding my return flight to come back to Ptown, I realized that I had managed to seriously piss off the airplane gods. 19E. A middle seat, because that was all that was left when I bought the ticket. In 19D and F . . . . two people who were triple my size. As it turned out, they were husband and wife, who bought tickets with a seat in between them. I’m sure they were perfectly nice and also uncomfortable, but my body was physically sore the next day from being cramped into a tiny space while trying not to touch anyone else. Anyone larger than me would never have even fit in there.

While this is going to make me appear to be a very insensitive person, I’m taking the opposite side of Silent Bob. I understand where he is coming from and if the people on either side of him were okay with his being there, he should have been allowed to stay on the flight. But as a person who fits into the seat, I paid for my whole seat and I want to use all of it.

I have a long flight coming up in about six weeks. After the last experience, I’m a little nervous about the seating arrangements since my karma seems to need some redeeming. How does one get back on the good side of the airplane seating gods?

Stars, Stripes and Maple Leafs

Every two years, I become obsessed with the Olympics. I love watching them, hearing the stories about how someone overcame severe injury to race for gold or even how an entire poor city pitched in to buy their Olympic hopeful a pair of shoes. I’m a total sucker for all things Olympics, from the clothes on the athletes and spectators to Bob Costas (anyone else think his hair is looking unnaturally dark this winter?).

I always thought it would be an amazing experience to go to the Olympics as a participant. During the opening ceremonies, the commentators talked about how the majority of athletes there don’t have a chance or hope to medal, but are simply hoping for a PR. I would be perfectly happy with that. Alas, I’m one of those people who is athletic enough to be average at almost all sports and don’t excel at any one in particular.

While watching skiing the other day, I noticed a few skiers who had dual citizenship and were skiing for the country they had not grown up in. In this case, they were skiing for Australia and New Zealand rather than Canada. I always thought my dual citizenship would come in handy when the Middle East got their nuclear weapons together to bomb the US, I never considered athletics! That’s not entirely true, I have a friend from college whose brother wrestled for the Canadian team in Beijing since they also have dual citizenship. But who wants to be a wrestler?

All of this led me to wonder what could have become of my Olympic dreams if I’d been a dual citizen of say the US and Ethiopia. Or some other African nation that isn’t known for their winter skills. Instead, I have to have citizenship in two countries that are huge and always produce a ton of athletes and medal counts. I’d be quite an Olympic anomaly representing Egypt in the winter Olympics!

Alas, the Olympic dreams of my youth are gone. I’m content to be a spectator and watch people with amazing athletic skills dominate. Lindsay Vonn may win an Olympic medal, but I went to my high school prom. While it’s fun to wonder what it would be like be a participant, I’m quite happy to be at home cheering on my Stars, Stripes and Maple Leafs.

Sugar and Starch and Sweets, OH MY

I find myself torn . . . between wanting to be thin and not wanting to put a bunch of chemicals in my body. The obvious solution would to be to undergo hypnotherapy and re-train my brain to love eating vegetables and to dislike sugar. But let’s be realistic, vegetables are never going to taste like cake.

Somewhere along the way, our food sources became so convenient that we’ve managed to throw health out the window. Instead of making dinner, we can buy chemicals in a box that will turn into dinner with a little heat and water. Instead of having dessert for special occasions, we’ve become trained to crave sugar and dessert every single day, if not after every single meal. We’re surrounded by commercials telling us to bring home a bucket of fried chicken for the family or pizza or that eating a $5 sub is good for us.

I was such a picky eater as a child that I’m pretty sure I exhausted my parents to the point that there wasn’t a lot of effort put into teaching us how to eat appropriately. Just the fact that there was something I would eat was a mini triumph. So after years of eating whatever I wanted, and finding my pants a big snugger each year, I find myself having to re-teach myself how to eat. An interesting concept for a person having been responsible for their own eating habits for about half their life.

Transition number one, must eat more fruits and vegetables. Seriously. I have to eat them. I’m starting small though, at least one fruit and vegetable a day (sadly, this is quite an increase in my previous habits), and I’m attempting to eat salad twice a week. I really don’t care for lettuce as it turns out. It tastes like dirt and it makes me feel like a damn deer.

Transition number two, reduce the amount of starch and sugar I eat. Why? Not because they aren’t good for you. Which they aren’t. Mostly it’s because they make me fat. Which leads me back to the chemicals versus fat topic. The chances of me giving up desserts and baking are slim to none. But there are a lot of substitutes for all that delicious fat and sugar that can make desserts with less calories. But with less calories comes more chemicals. For example, have you tried cool whip lately? I hadn’t had it in years, but in an effort to curb sugar and calories, I tried a drop of cool whip with my strawberries the other day. Delicious. They can do amazing things with chemicals now days.

I know it’s better to cook and bake with natural foods, but how clean are our “natural” foods today anyway? Everything is injected with hormones and sprayed with chemicals. And because I love my desserts, I’m making the case for chemicals occasionally. As one person with a serious sweet tooth, I am perfectly capable of making an entire batch of natural cookies and eating them all. Note that I said I’m capable of doing this, not that I actually do it. Most of the baked goods end up in the bellies of my male coworkers. While chemicals aren’t great for you, they will help to not pack on as many pounds with the dessert. And the extra pounds are bad for your health too.

I know that “nothing tastes as good as being thin feels,” but cake tastes pretty damn good. I realize that the correct answer here is the ever present and boring “everything in moderation.” Of course, realizing that cancer is how I’m likely to go someday anyway, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to thinking that if I’m going to get cancer anyway, I may as well be thin!

For the Love of Ptown

As a kid, I remember watching television shows about people who lived in big cities, specifically Manhattan, and thinking that it looked pretty cool. One thing always stumped me though . . . how did they get their groceries? I was used to my mom coming home with a car full of groceries, possibly 8-10 bags at a time. How did someone in a city without a car get their car full of groceries?

It wasn’t until I moved to a downtown neighborhood where everything I needed was within walking distance that I figured it out. You don’t buy 8-10 bags of groceries at a time, you buy what you need for a few days and can carry. And durable, reusable grocery sacks are a must.

I was in college when I decided that someday I wanted to live in the neighborhood I live in now. Of course, there are a lot of things I decide I want to do that I don’t follow through with. Sometimes it is still a bit of a shock to me that I followed through and am living exactly where I wanted to ten years ago. Coming from a very rural background and then transitioning to the suburbs, moving downtown was a bit of a change. Instead of driving everywhere, I walk 90% of the time. Everything I could possibly need is walking distance from my apartment. Grocery store, gym, coffee shops and restaurants, hospital, and even a recently discovered cobbler. Now I am so used to the downtown lifestyle, it seems weird to get in my car and drive somewhere.

I was talking to a friend on the phone not too long ago and he was asking about Portland’s real estate and if we’d been hit by the downturn or not. As he lives very far away, I was confused about the sudden interest in my neighborhoods real estate market. Turns out, he’d like to have a get-a-way place in a neighborhood like mine, where you can walk to anything you’d need or want to get to. At first I was shocked that this guy actually wanted to walk, as I typically heard nothing but complaining when he was in town and I dragged him around the neighborhood on foot, but after some thought, it made me realize what a cool lifestyle I had right now. I was living in a place where someone else wanted a vacation home.

That conversation opened up my eyes even more to my great neighborhood. I found myself enjoying my lifestyle even more. And finding a cobbler a block from my dry cleaner only enhanced my appreciation for my neighborhood. I have all the downtown living amenities I could possibly want, plus I am only a 15 minute walk (or a 5 minute drive) from the biggest inner city park in the country.

There are times when I wish it was easier to get a car full of groceries, but a decade or so after watching people living in big cities and thinking that looked pretty neat, I’m quite pleased with the way things have worked out. It’s not Manhattan, but my section of Portland is pretty freaking fantastic.

Convenience, eh?

I wrote my very first check when I was in second grade. No, I didn’t have a checking account at the age of eight, but my second grade teacher decided to teach us how to write a check for some reason. I don’t recall why Mrs. Calvert opted to tear out twenty some odd of her own checks and teach a bunch of eight year olds how to fill out a check, but that was just part of what made her awesome. That and the fact the she always had red vines.

The main point here being that I’ve been writing checks for over twenty years now and I don’t find it to be that troublesome. In today’s world, where you can get everything online from clothes to bills to food to things you wouldn’t want to be seen purchasing at an actual brick and mortar store in front of strangers (much less a potential acquaintance), I find myself paying more and more things via debit or credit card over the internet. Bills and clothes and airline tickets, not so much the unmentionables. After doing so much shopping, etc. online, I was unsurprised to find that the State of Oregon would allow me to pay them the $50 in taxes I still owed them online.

As I was clicking through the website getting ready to hand over my debit card information, because it just seems wrong to pay your taxes on a credit card – even if you are getting rewards, I noticed a small little disclaimer. They wanted to charge me a convenience fee of $2 to accept my online payment. As I am not opposed to writing a check and believe in the investment that is the Forever Stamp, I’m unclear how charging me an extra $1.50 ($2 minus the cost of a stamp) is convenient for me.

I already think that I pay too much in taxes and here they were, trying to swindle an extra $1.50 out of me. So instead of “conveniently” paying online, my cheap self wrote the state a check and mailed it in. Have fun dealing with the extra paperwork government suckers. H – 1, Oregon – 0 . . . not including taxes.