Eating all the food

So I hate people watching me eat. Always have, always will. It's like a preview of pooping, people. POOPING. 

For God's sake look away.


What I hate more? Discussing the food I am currently shoving into my face-hole (the larger one, for clarification- snorting protein powder is not a level I am certain I wish to reach, no matter what gains may come of it) with people who

A) note I am eating, and therefore mouth is occupado, amigos

B) wander over and start asking me questions mid-chew,

C) stare into my gaping maw as I now desperately attempt to swallow my food ASAP so as not to be rude, thus diminishing the enjoyment/actual tasting of said food in order to blurt out what it is,

D) continue asking questions as soon as I re-engage mouth and food tango.

It's kind of the worst, guys.

"But Tennaners," they defensively mock-joke, "you're just so into fitness and I wanted to know what you "healthy people" eat, that's all."

This often leads to me explaining a food I eat, and then they start to debate it, calling on the supreme wisdom of this guy they know who once said dairy/carbs/meals larger than 200kcal for a lady-bro/whatever it is I am currently actually eating is BAAAAD, often said as they smugly tuck into a Chipotle "extra everything" burrito and you know what, we are leaving that for another post because how rude is it to start using phrases like "mucus producer" when I am actively masticating Greek yogurt? (Answer: super rude, you jerks.)

But in the interest of the few who are actually curious, and aren't just looking to bust out that One Weird Tip to Blast Belly Fat For Good, here's an example of what I'm eating tomorrow.

I follow intermittent fasting/leangains. It means that, instead of "stoking my metabolic fire" with 6 tiny meals spaced out all day, leading to my angry eyes sweating the clock all OMG HAS IT BEEN 2.5 HOURS MAY I EAT MY ELEVEN CHICKPEAS NOW

NOOO ONLY 2.15 HOURS GAIS HOW MUCH CARBS IS HAIR WEAVES?!

I instead eat 2-3 largish meals during one eight-hour period. Which means, depending on if I lifted that day or not, I'm downing ~1390 kcal (non-lift) or ~2000kcal (lift whooo yeah) in 2 meals. Which is fantastic.

Note that there is still the element of calorie watching, guys- Leangains.com explains it all sciencey, but simply put, you have to balance out your macros- protein, carbs, and fats. Intermittent Fasting is not about starving for 16 hours, then eating your weight in cake and Cheetos for the magical 8 hours; you still end up eating a lot of "clean" foods to meet those goals. The kickass part is that you can still eat absolute garbage, you just have to plan it.

Check it- I love me some Good&Plentys. Those black licorice candies are my kryptonite, and opening a box means the whole she-bang is fair game until I poo green. (As you will. Trust me.)

(Please. Just trust me on that one. I'm not Google-Image-Searching that for your own good.)

But guys? I can totally eat that shizz if I want. 

A box of those sweet suckers is 170 kcal, 43 grams of carbs. So if I get 180 carb grams grand total for the day, that means I have to trade out other foods (like sweet potatoes and pasta) and end up eating less volume, with the understanding that I will feel like butt the next day from the sudden surge of processed sugars in my usually clean system. BUT. I can if I want, because I am a grown up, and bonus- I didn't break my diet, so none of that residual case of the fuck-its to mess up my fitness mojo.

Which can get boring, which is likely why the Internet is chock-ful of bastardizations of all sorts of meals, swapping quinoa for white rice, spaghetti squash for pasta, Greek yogurt for full-fat sugar-added varieties, etc. 

Enter (one part of) what I made for "breakfast" for tomorrow.

PB&J Pudding

Time to make: lol

Difficulty: spoon

Ingredient Round-Up:

Fat-Free Greek Yogurt- PLAIN, you fools. Fat's not bad, but I'm saving it for my dinner- it's slower to digest, and since I work out at 0400 the next morning, I need as much "staying power" in my dinner as possible. Possiprobably psychosomatic. Chobani is acceptable, but Fage has like 1 more gram of sweet, sweet protein, so in it goes.

PB2- it's a powdered peanut butter, 2 TBSP = 45 kcal, and it has a smoky yum flavor. Also, since it is powdered, you have to mix it with water to make it less demon-hate-throat-desert and more mmmmmmmm, and therefore, it's hard to binge/overeat. I get this from Amazon, btw.

Vanilla protein powder- I'm currently rocking Optimum Nutrition's Vanilla Ice Cream- there are cheaper brands for the same oomph/macronutrients, but I was completely out of protein powder and needed some pronto, and ON's flavors have yet to disappoint me.

Sugar-free preserves- I think I've got some Smuckers Sugar-Free strawberry preserves att- it's 10 kcal a TBSP, and unless you go all hog-wild and eat like a cup, the Splenda sweetener shouldn't give you the bubbleguts. I've been me long enough to know that sugar is just one of those things that makes me gain weight, and not the good, flexin' kind of weight, either. YMMV. 

Walden a.k.a. Weirdo Farms makes a TON of calorie-free food-type things, so if you're sperging out over 10 kcal, you can try that, but with warning- none of that tastes good on it's own. Mix it with other food, you should be okay. Eat it as is... 

Directions:

Here's where you see behind the curtain- I totally make shizz up on the fly, so this was a creation ala 3 hours ago. I reserve the right to trip-report/come back here and edit tomorrow after I actually eat it. But here's what I did this time:

1 cup yogurt + 1 scoop protein powder +4 TBSP powdered peanut butter. Mixed that up until it looked like cheesecake that has yet to be baked. 

2 4 TBSP strawberry preserves. Just glopped it in, didn't mix too much because I wanted there to be some discernable fruit-bits, and not just a blend like someone ate a sandwich and then puked it into a tupperware. (EDIT: It needed a bit more fruit. Also, might consider going grape for maximum old-fashioned feels.)

                                                               Bobby Flay, I am not.

Put in refrigerator. If you're going to eat right away, go for it, but I think it's better if you let it set up a bit first. I make my food the day before, so it'll sit in my icebox overnight before I throw it into my insulated lunch bag tomorrow and eat it at noon.

This is one part of breakfast- all told, tomorrow's is coming in at 903 kcal.

"But Tennaners," begins peanut gallery, "you're just so into fitness and I wanted to know what you "healthy people" eat, but that is surely going to make you a fat."

To which I could say more words, or just show you what going from ~1100 kcal a day... 

to 1390/2000 kcal splits for 3ish months can do.

Your mileage may vary.

The Drawing of Three

Another word vomit post, but in re-reading all the posts prior, and in assigning the byline I did to this blog, it occurs to me that now might be the time to share the messups I've made in this dating game.

What? I'm not perfect? HOW CAN THIS BE

There are three notable instances, the first of which revolved around my first crush of ever.

The first was the first boy I noticed as a *boy.* Reaaaaallly noticed. It was the defining moment in which all the girls I knew who hoarded Tiger Beat posters of JTT finally registered in a big "Oooooooohhhhhh."

All this time I thought it was for hairstyle tips...

He was a few years older than I, and worked with me at one of the many weird little odd-jobs I had growing up. Essentially, T was Jason Lee with less of a long face, and I adored the sarcasm he heaped upon me when he bothered to note my existence. This was not the me of weightlifting and retrobilly and not being a total introvert weirdo, either- I can't imagine anything endearing he might have felt for a girl-kid with 2" long hair, soft in the middle and gooey-eyed like a Lisa Frank dolphin. I was fat. Acne was my forever friend. I knew SOMANY of the words from reading everything I could get my grubby little paws on, but actually saying them to PEOPLE? Not so much.

Not pictured: crippling social AIDS.

Kids, I made every mistake in the book, many of which were really bad, because I wasn't all dewy in the glow of youth- I was 20. I think there is a certain amount of forgiveness given to kids in their early teens (see post about C- even though he tried to knock over a drugstore for condoms and then drug me into it, you still have a bit of the ol' shrug and "kids will be kids" about it.) This slack is not so easily extended to those of us who were interested in frogs and Animaniacs well into mid-teens, which, fair enough- God knows I was an utter sperglord, and social skills are one of those steep learning curves that you fall down plenty before learning to clamber up. I never got any hands-up, and I figure the me of today owes people of then for not allowing me to continue on being said sperglord.

Stalling tangent thus concluded, did I mention T was an artist? An amazing one. Guys, like, you don't even KNOW. Did he know? Better tell him! Tell him a dozen times in one shift.

You see, I too had nurtured a nascent drawing ability, and tried desperately to wedge it into every protracted conversation I could corner him into. Which were as many as I could possibly fit, every shift, every day I worked. I would find reasons to bother him in his part of the store, reasons that then seemed ironclad in aloofness, but in retrospect were as subtle as wearing a sandwich board that read "Do you like me? Check Yes or Yes." I drew the dumbest, worst things. With the word "love" on them, like some attempt at sublimating my feelings into his brain. He would accept them with the bemusement of a guy who has found himself trapped in one of those 127 Hour scenarios, trying to make nice with the wild boar that shuffled up and is insisting on being his own personal Pumba.

But alas, writing 'love' on things didn't work. Neither did bringing up the same tired conversational topics every single shift, entirely limited to

A) Work is the sucks, eh eh? A little commiseration, look at how well we match up, eh eh?
B) OMG you are teh best arteest- over and over, over the same 3 pictures he had shown me very early on, before he realized his mistake.
C) Uh so you know my sister right? RIGHT? I am one of those younger kids whose older sister was, is, and forever shall be, one of the more famed peoples in my hometown, and even though it made me ache with anger that he knew her, and when he spoke of her I got jealous that he remembered things about her... hey! It was still him talking to me, and that was enough.

Well, more like him not running full tilt away as I talked at him... count it.

So, so far you're reading along, thinking yeah, I was a stage 5 clinger, and yeah, this guy was being the absolute most by not insisting on a in-store restraining order, but...

Oh Lord this next part is painful.

When he one day, for no reason I've ever been able to deduce, decided to invite me back to his mancave/rented house he shared with another bachelor bro... I nearly squealed. For about a second. Then I actually squealed, loud. Trepidation flitted across his face, but whatever inner resolve he had about the matter held, and lo did I venture into the home of the dude I adored.

When I got off one good joke about his pad's decor (because as such an astounding artist, to have a pizza delivery advert be the only thing hung on the wall is pretty lulzy) and he actually graced me with a chuckle, well. I was in heaven. And I liked heaven a whole bunch, so I continued to allude to my hilarious observational wit at least four more times, long after he stopped politely smiling at it. He proffered up a movie to watch, The Big Lebowski.

I heretofore admit that this is ranked as one of my top five favorite movies of all time just because of the association with him. Once an aspie, forevermore.

We were to watch it, but perhaps dealing with my manic wackiness was too much, and it quickly (but as always, politely) became an offer to let me watch it back at my place and report to him as to what I thought. Entrusted with such a treasure- a DVD he owned, and had put in my hands! - I did the only thing I could!

I hugged him. Oh, I hugged him after a shift working in a butcher shop. For hours. With no 'freshening up.'

And

Oh God

And I exhaled, and when I did I said the three words. Those three words.

Sure, I knocked A down there for saying those words at the month mark... well how do you like not even dating the guy? How's that timeframe work for you?

He stiffened, from the hug or if he heard what I said, I'll never know. I was politely escorted out, about 20 minutes after my arrival. Of course I drew some dumbass picture and shoved it in the DVD case before I returned it, and of course he was nice about that. I left the butcher biz shortly thereafter to pursue a career in the AF, and boded my time at a now defunct electronic goods store in the meantime... but I never forgot him. And when I went to basic training, I wrote him. He wrote back, perfunctory, pleasant, even included a drawing. Probably shouldn't have responded with 4 more letters, all of which went unanswered.

... you know what? At least The Big Lebowski is actually a good movie in its own right. That makes it okay, right?

Hahaha don't read this it's super boring

A. Well, I dumped A. He was super nice, super chill... and had no goals or motivation other than to politely ignore my many 'serious talks' about how my schedule does not permit him to be all up on me all the time.

To wit: HOW TO BE A TENNANERS

1. Wake up at 4am. Curse the world.

2. Be at gym NLT 0420 to lift heavy things (more on that in a minute.)

3. Be done lifting heavy things by 0545 so as to shower and not gross out my coworkers.

4. Be on road to work NLT 0615 because Beale AFB is smack-dab in the middle of Nowheresville, man, and unless you want to live in the strata around a military base (and you do not, it's like when you leave a greasy plate in the sink water and the muck sort of comes loose to form a protective, nasty ring around the dish) you are looking at a sweet 20-30 minute commute. Curse the traffic.

5. Work your balls off until 1530. Resist urge to laugh when people complain about 0600 showtimes being "sooooo earrrlllyy."

6. Return home at 1620ish (oh, traffic.)

7. Eat everything in sight... oh haha whoops, no waifu to make the food, so this should actually read MAKE ALL THE FOOD... then eat it. Curse your pile of laundry that isn't getting done until Sunday and you both know it.

8. 1800 sees you staring at the mountain of art you owe people. Curse hands for inability to draw straight lines.

9. 1900 oh lol, time now to pack up clothes for the next day, take out your grimy wet towel, use it to let your shower toiletries air-dry, get new towel, set out gym clothes, make breakfast to be eaten at work furtively at your desk the following day.

10. 2000 answer texts and emails. 

11. 2100 ignore continuing calls, texts and emails that all begin with "I know it's past your bedtime but..."

12. Curse self for not passing out- lay in bed until 2200 when sleep finally overtakes you.

Weekend routine: laundry, food shopping, cleaning, dishes, and all the other little stuff that piles up over the week. Stay up too late and mess up your sleep schedule, but have the satisfaction of knowing you *can* stay up because no one can tell you not to, you grown up.

So if I don't take an extra bathroom break or whatever, that leaves me a good chunk of Saturday to actually be social. I explained this to A, made charts and maps that should have finally made it clear... and he would nod, rephrase what I said to show he heard me and agreed... and then promptly invite himself over every chance he could, to sit on my couch and do nothing.

Now, do not get me wrong- there were nice times, and some of those were just kicking back and watching Netflix / video gaming and not doing much. But over the weeks, there appeared a rift- one of us would get up, decide what was for dinner, make it, clean the dishes, etc. And the other would sit on the couch. Laundry would appear in my hamper, laundry that was not made for 133 lb girls. It would get washed and folded with the rest. And the other would sit on the couch. ETC.

I could get into a million little nitpicky things about him (he had begun to put on weight since he discovered alcohol and every carb ever, and so he employed his 'before-basic' diet plan of loading his plate up with the food I made- food I bought, prepared, planned out to have leftovers of, etc.- eating half of it, and throwing the rest away... deliberately) but what's the point? I'm certain he could counter with a list of things *I* was WRONG-O about

starts with a "b" and ends with "cuntweasel calm your tits once in a while" 

and the back and forth would be cathartic, but utterly pointless. Suffice it to say, the weirdest bit was his stops at my parents' house over the holiday- his parents' home being north of mine, he stopped by on the way up, then decided to stay the night. He did so again on the way down, only this time, he sprang the surprise that he actually had a couple more days of vacay left, and was planning to just graft himself to me and my family for the duration.

Which, a month into dating? Uncool, man. My parents have only met one other dude I've dated, and you know? It's weird. I told him that we had plans to go see my gramps the day following his arrival, so he would have to leave.

Then he tells me he loves me. 

I tell him thank you, but he still has to leave. 

The next day sees my parents and I, awkwardly piled into my car in the driveway, and A sitting in his car, doing the same... waiting us out to make sure we're actually leaving. We ended up pulling out and driving off after a few minutes of stalemate, while he still squatted placidly in our driveway. Effin' weird homeskillets.

The nodding and rephrasing, bee tee dubs, was not just for 'serious WTF are you doing kid talks'; turned out the kid was so nice, he had no opinions about ANYTHING. Politics, religion, plans for the future, diet, exercise, clothes and style, what movies suck (Notebook, for example) and which ones rule (um duh Expendables and Die Hard,) all went the same way:

Me: "I think Thing A is awesome, because it is blue and not green."

Him: *nodding slowly* "It isn't green, it's blue. That is a thing that makes Thing A awesome."

If I wanted to date myself, I would have spent a lot more time waxing, is what I'm saying. When I dumped him, I mentioned this, and suggested he needed to find some of his *own* hobbies and interests and ways to feel about them. His response was "I should find interests and hobbies of my own... I don't really know who I am, but I think maybe that's something we can work on together."

I told him I wasn't interested in telling him who to be, he agreed, dumping finished, but not before he updated his FB with a picture of him in 1950s swag and posted a status about how "I'm going to stay primal on my deployment." 

So that's over, and so is not smoking because I am a weak-willed humanoid and you may all commence to mock my pitiful resolve. Well, the remainder of the resolve I don't use up to do IF (Intermittent fasting / carb cycling is my new thang, and holy smokes, it actually works) and 5/3/1, both of which are google-able terms if any of you feel froggy enough to learn about them. Or just comment and I'll try to poop out an acceptable answer.

OFF TO EAT ALL THE THINGS / LAUNDRY HO 

"Look, Snotface! *Cobwebs!*"

Oh my heavens oh my stars, how overlooked and forgotten is *this* thing? Lots to do, lots having happened, so let's hit the recaps:

• I moved. The military had me sequestered in Nebraska, land of cold and corn. My specialty while in the service held me fast even after I got my standard GCD; I ended up sticking around the Midwest, working in the same building and same job as when I'd been enlisted. (Cuter shoes, though, so it evens out.) But lo, an opening... opened up in my home state, the glorious West, the Golden State, land of skipping the crappy seasons, and moved did I, back to California. Not only was this a solid career-type move, but it got me away from some of the dram-dram and general awfulness hinted at a few posts ago, too. So for those few friends still stuck in the flatlands, don't be blue; I'm in a better place, where I can run around with other ex-linguists. 

• I stopped smoking. This is notable because of why I stopped- somehow, I picked up a beau, and as he is of the non-smoking variety, it seemed a polite thing to do to not foist upon his delicate palate the gritty reality of lung-butter-breath. The fact that I met a dude who warranted that sort of change is a little awesome, too- all the others either came before I picked up smoking (because smoke breaks rule, to this day) or were told, politely,

But then along came A, and he's pretty rad, so it's looking like my days of cadging a smoke in every parking lot have come to a stinky, ashy end. 

• I picked up a trainer, and she's awesome. Well, first I got a dude trainer, and that little debacle is likely the next post I post, but. THEN he got all fired and I got a girl trainer and she is great at all the exercise programming, which is important because this is the year I accomplish another fitness goal: figure model competition.  So there will be postings about that, too.

• ART. I am figuring out more and more that I really probapossibly should learn Photoshop, or at least how to color things on computers. Until I either take a summer course in this area or figure it out via blind flailing (which is how I learn most things, honestly) I will be working on, well, lots of random things. Newest random thing? CROSS STITCH PATTERNS.

• Finally, NETFLIX RECOMMENDATIONS. It seems like the Flix gets less and less good content as time goes on, so this is both a request and a service- I can thoroughly recommend Once Upon a Time, Better Off Ted, and if you grew up with morgue humor at the supper table, well... the entire run of Law and Order: SVU is on there, too. 

This has been your random recap. Thanks for reading!

Art Dump: Tattoos for Others

Random person on deviantArt asked for this. I have no idea if she actually ever got it done, as I create and molt devArt accounts like a new snakeskin skirt that looks SUPER AMAZING and IS GOING TO BE THE BEST and WORN EVERY DAY THIS TIME I SWEAR MOM until I wear it twice, it starts to itch, and smells like, well, dead snake. Then off to the internet ether it goes.

Someday, I imagine all my abandoned devArt/Elfwood/etc. accounts are going to gundam up into one hideous, malformed and backgroundless beast and come looking for vengeance on the cruel creator what left it in the web equivalent of an abortion clinic dumpster; thank God I didn't get good at drawing proportionate bodies or people without spina bifida until way later on, or I'd have to worry about them, you know, walking after me all upright.

I'll... get... you... even with my question mark of a spine!

Hahaha, dat tumory arm

Needs a background, eh?

*Why not STARS******

He didn't end up getting it, if only because he got himself kicked out of the military for smokin' the ganja, getting hauled in for Operation Golden Flow, and then promptly surrendering AND ratting out all his friends. Pretty sweet design though, right, Space Cowboys?

Has she ever seen a gun? Let's pretend she hasn't so it's just a little sad. 

If you're going to ask a person to draw you a tattoo, it behooves you to ensure they are skilled, are fairly reliable with completing tasks, and that they draw in the style you like.

It also helps if they have experience drawing whatever it is you're looking for; for example, if you want a dragon of a European style, and the only dragon said artist has to their name is an Asian monstrosity with fortune cookies that invoke a Georgia-O'Keefe-ordered-Chinese vibe, well. Like the coat hanger said to the excited fetus, prepare for disappointment.

Why yes I did own a few deep-chest-bodied dogs, why do you ask?

 

This was for Mike. Mike was another guy I met on the ol' dA, except unlike Random McWhat'shertits up there, I actually liked the guy a lot, particularly when he brought me in on a project of spectacular distaste. I mean, how could you not love a guy who would order up the tattoo above? He ended up quitting dA too (if you needed another example of how neato the kid was) but we Facebook friended, so, it's pretty legit you guys.

Did I mention the re-appropriated superheros as fan characters? 

ADVENTURES!

 

Anyways, any of you kids want a design, keep ol' Tennaners in mind, eh? Eh? 

...where are you going?

Surely the Internet Needs MOAR GIFS.

Flew today, and while poo-gas smells were at a blessed minimum, the nature of our jets is that they are very old, very dirty, and let's face it- you know that "not-fresh" feeling doe-eyed preteens murmur to dutiful, tampon-packing moms? Imagine that sensation ALL OVER.

  MOSTLY ON YOUR FACE, THOUGH. And of course, today is the day I run out of my little wet-wipes with the soothing this-herb and cleansing this-botanical, so here I sit with a handful of those Clorox wipes because for reals, I feel too disgusting to be seen even in textual format. My primary concern at this point is that The Roommate will order food and then do that thing he does where he doesn't hear the VERY LOUD doorbell and it will weigh heavy on those manners my mother beat into me, thinking of that poor wage slave at our door, treading water in the 100% humidity out there, until I finally get up to answer it.

And don't think I can just hit The Roommate until he is made aware that his food is here; one of his uncanny abilities is to be randomly and inexplicably shirtless, and apparently making the seventeen year old at the door witness his bare chest is somehow more offensive/trashy than his oily counterpart, resplendent in t-shirt from 4 am and sweatpants issued by the military. So off I pad in my resentment and guilt (which does nothing to further the attractiveness of this situation, as you can imagine.) I pause at the top of the stairs and look down the darkened well.

"Maybe I should leave the light off," I think. "Then they will only see that there are hands holding money, surely that won't be threatening."

"...maaaaaaybe not."

So then I suck it up, hit the massively unflattering overhead lighting, and pound down the stairs. Note the change in verb there? From pad to pound? It's not an intentional thing, kids- the acoustics are conspiring with the lights to make me as monstrous as possible. It is impossible to descend those stairs without sounding like you are attempting to Riverdance and your teacher was Derek Vinyard.

So this kid's tip is like, quadrupling with every Jello-shaking stomp, and just when I am feeling like the most hideous mockery of human girl conjoined with Hutt, something clicks. Or falls off like a load off a truck. I decide, eff it, I was the six year old who wanted to be a T-Rex when I got older; let's own this scene.

 Even with the flying- can we say Spirit Animal?

 

 WHAM WHAM WHAM GREASE GREASE WHAM and the door WHOOMPS open, and I'm 

   because T-Rexes have many teeth AND much attitude, and then I actually behold the delivery guy, 

       He's.... beautiful...

 ...

At least The Roommate is fairly good at comforting me when he finds me fetal-style in a corner:

 

Art Dump: Comics

Tennaners' Log:
Star date: 44731
Mood... silly.