Taco Bell Likes to Keep Me Fat

At the root of my Taco Bell problem is that I visit them so frequently, it is an ingrained habit. Part of me wants to stop, part of me doesn’t. I have to take action. I don’t want to be a slave anymore.

The employees working the Taco Bell on Riverside Dr. know me by first name. When their computer went down once, they offered me a free meal. I felt my decades of patronage were finally paying off. Never mind I could have put a two kids through college with the money I have spent there.

When I load my healthy groceries into the car, the irony is that I have to move the empty Taco Bell bags from the floor.

I went to a gym last year for 4 months and didn’t lose a pound. For a while I was angry with the gym. The Gorditas and Chalupas sabotaged my efforts.

When I am really not feeling good about myself on a Friday night, I will smoke through a 12-pack of Cinnabons.

I can’t manage to save $100 a month into my savings account, but I can manage to contribute $174 a month to Taco Bell’s CEO?

For the sake of self-preservation-I had to try harder. As of today, I have 21 days without any fast food.

Human Design Fail — Excess Consumption

Dear God,

I have a few questions and complaints to run by you regarding the design of my body.

Why did you design my stomach to be expandable?

For thousands of years, humans managed to eat just for survival and stayed thin. Now that the internet and Rachel Ray are here, it seems that many of us have become insatiable hogs.

Why did you give our brains pleasure sensors and endorphins?  When I eat a charbroiled steak and it creates a neural pathway equivalent to having an orgasm — something is wrong.

Why did you give us the capability to produce delicious treats like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? We went and invented factories to make millions of these things every day!

We use planes for mass distribution. Now Reese’s and Big Macs are being sent to the other side of the earth and making those petite Asian people gargantuan.

How come when I eat a meal it takes my brain 20 minutes to tell the rest of my body I am full? When I hammer the shit out of my finger, that message is instant.

Nobody Likes A Chubby Yoga Teacher

I have been entertaining the thought of becoming a Yoga teacher.

But there’s a small problem – I refuse to be a “chubby” Yoga teacher. I have some rules for myself: I have to lose my belly and be able to do the splits.

I have a recurring nightmare: I am leading a Yoga class doing a folding leaf stretch and my shirt creeps up (exposing my pasty muffin top). The old ladies snicker and point at me.

A doctor must not dry heave at the sight of blood. A pizza maker must be able to toss raw pizza dough around and not drop it on the floor. The splits are a mandatory thing for any Yoga instructor.

It’s not like I practiced gymnastics as a child and became limber. I was never on that “flexibility” wagon.

I am really close to being able to do the splits, but close enough isn’t what champions are made of. My rule is: the balls have to touch the ground.

The weight thing is important to me because there is a certain appearance one must uphold as a fitness instructor.

Richard Simmons may have a great Afro, but he never had a 6-pack. His personality and flamboyance do a great job distracting us from his frumpy belly.

Not to pick on him – his attitude is infectious. I don’t have his personality though, and I’m sure he can clobber me in a sit-up challenge.

I desire to have credibility. If you engineer a tower in Italy and it leans heavily to one side, no more architecture for you.

I can’t be the chubby Yoga teacher, it’s just irresponsible.