Venting on Vending Machines

This post is dedicated to Matthew Mittelberg for reminding my head that my stomach was fine.


Vending machines are the worst (<-- Hyperbole, obviously. Genocide, nuclear war, cancer and most forms of homework can easily be considered much more awful than vending machines).

They sit there, fat and happy, filled with all the good things you would rather have inside yourself. To cap it all off, their outers are made of glass, so you can see all those good things. You can gently touch the glass with the tip of your index finger and slowly exhale while your mouth hangs open awkwardly and mothers whisper to their children, "See, that's what happens when you don't eat your vegetables."

I haven't been eating my vegetables.

I threw portions to the wind this last week, stopped making near-midnight runs to VONS for fruits/veggies and even had a bowl of ice cream that I didn't weigh before eating. It was definitely more than one ounce. I will laugh if it was less than ...a lot of ounces.

If there is an explanation for why I have done so horribly on this particular diet in the last month, I don't  have one. Excuses, I have plenty -- no explanations. Maybe it's the negative reactions from people who know about the diet, maybe it's the irregularity of my schedule and finances, maybe it's because I have less self control when faced with homemade Italian chili than I thought I did.

Vending machines.

For those who live off of loose change and out of the back of a car, the convenience afforded by vending machines is vaguely attractive. They're everywhere. They don't close at 7 p.m.  They don't glare at you when you make your whole purchase in coins. They also don't sell vegetables.


So this week I'm at the National Institute for Homeschool Debate teaching values and cross examination theory. Food will be rare and in large portions when present. It will not be nutritious and it may take a lot more effort to track down my daily fruit servings.

They gave me a subway sandwich, but the atmosphere of these types of conferences naturally push me into starvation/survival mode. So even though I had just eaten a sandwich, the Skittles in the vending machine looked rather tempting.

I didn't even have to think up an excuse. The pattern of breaking the rules came so easily to me. I walked over to get some Skittles when my good ol' buddy called out. "Hey Mary, you don't need those. You just ate. You're fine."

Not judgily (new word!) and not jokingly. Serious, but not...serious. Like a friend would.


Maybe it's because I'm sick of giving up on myself, maybe it's because I didn't want to spend my last two dollars on candy, maybe because it was nice to have someone genuinely stick up for me and my crazy plan.

I just walked away.

Proverbs 18:24
"One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."

Mea Culpa -- I ate a cheeseburger

Actually...It was a Big Mac.  Only the bottom half, I might add!  And really, just the bottom half of the bottom half because I didn't eat the top bun.

It shouldn't be a huge deal because this definitely is not the first time that I broke my self-imposed, incredibly stupid one-ounce rule (probably definitely won't be the last).  And I only ate it because I had just finished a two mile run to the park where my church meets to play volleyball on Wednesdays.  The carrots I packed were already eaten.  AND I WAS HUNGRY.

But excuses are a dime a dozen (cheaper, actually, when you consider the effects of our government's recent printing fad).  I ate a McDonald's product -- the symbol of obesity on a global scale.  That's where desperate people go to eat when they can't find an In-N-Out OR a Jack in the Box.  I really blew it this time.  And it did not make the two mile run back any easier, either.

But why does this warrant a blog post?  Why talk about yet another failure?  Am I just writing this because I've run out of ways to procrastinate on my debate assignment that's due tomorrow morning?  (Yes, but only in part).

Really, I've been thinking about this since Wednesday when I ate that garsh-awful imitation dead-cow.  I let myself off the hook too often.  I indulge a little too much.  I say "just this once" a lot more than once!  (This is not to say that I haven't eaten my pet elephant's weight in carrots and boiled string peas, because I have . . . I've just eaten a lot of other stuff, too).

Weekends are the hardest, of course.  When everyone's having a good time, eating, talking, eating . . . Let's face it, all I ever notice is that they're eating.  Stuff I can't have.  That's when I'm put to the test (and when I most often give myself a hall pass).  I'm not really pushing myself!  Not really saying 'no!'  So then what was the point of any of this?

Just watched an episode of Common Law (exactly like Psyche except not as funny).  The white guy was on a cleanse where he only drinks that green stuff (you know what I'm talking about) and at the end he caves in and eats like chicken wings or something dumb.  That's always how it ends.  They always cave.  They give in!

I don't want that to be me.  I don't want there to be so many exceptions to my rules that the rules don't matter.  That would be like using a cup with holes in it or trying to play musical notes on a paper with no lines.  I'm stepping up my game.

Peddle to the metal, here.  Go big or go home.  Live free or die hard!  This just got real.


Also, I don't actually own a pet elephant.

Genesis 25:34
"Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left. So Esau despised his birthright."

Life comes first

Statistics say that nearly every woman in America will at some point in her life be on a diet of some kind. That means every woman has at some point looked at herself in the mirror and thought, "Crud." But more than that, it means every woman has at least tried to pass on the cupcakes, said no to second-helpings (which is hard if the first helpings were made by an Italian woman) or chosen cheerios instead of fruit loops.

These types of decisions are brutal. Made ten times worse when you find yourself at the Del Mar Fair, haven of delicious, lethally tempting foods (expensive, also, but that adjective is less on-point).

Now, I rarely go to the fair. Maybe once every three years or so. My family used to be involved in 4-H so we'd go a lot when I was a small child to show our pigs (yes, you read that right), but that was ages ago. Truth is, there's something magical about the fair that is just hard to describe (although, let's be honest, "chocolate covered bacon" is a good place to start). Gorgeous exhibits, almost-funny vendors, pig races and monster truck derby, livestock and cowboy hats, sawdust and lemonade and sunburned faces. And, of course, the Ferris Wheel, lit up like a firework, towering above a colored labyrinth of games that are impossible to win and rides that are impossible to afford.

But the reason people go to the Del Mar Fair is to eat. The BBQ ribs, the turkey legs, the funnel cakes and ice cream miracles, the chocolate covered bacon and deep fried zucchini are all part of what makes the fair the Fair.

I was wandering around an art exhibit when I noticed a painting of a young woman looking at herself in the mirror. Even the unsteady brush-strokes couldn't mar the look of familiarity. Everyone knows how it feels to see their reflection and scrutinize it - whether it's your face or your life's choices or your haircut or your attitude. We are our own worst critics (sometimes that's a good thing).

But the painting very clearly depicted a shriveled, skinny woman and the mirror reflected someone very large. Sad.

It became a little clearer to me why some of my friends are overly concerned with other people's eating habits (though I still stand by my opinion that society is just too judgmental in every direction). More often than we realize, our personal goals take a dangerously high priority in our lives. And I'm not just talking about wanting to be "skinny" (whatever that is). I know people who are die-hard health nuts who do everything by the book and are careful to exercise enough to balance out what they eat and eat what will help them exercise better, etc. Breaking routine: unthinkable. I know people who are study-nuts! Always putting books before buddies. I know a lot of people who don't put life first.

I won't be the one to assume or judge (you all already know how I feel about judging!) but I'll definitely be the first to say: I needed a little life in my diet.

So I ate red-velvet funnel cake and had ribs and frozen lemonade at the fair. I even had an ice-cream cone dipped in chocolate and a plate of bacon pasta. No, it was more than one ounce. Today I'm back to my fruit and my food scale.

Life doesn't come in one ounce portions. It's not fat-free or sugar-free or dietary. Generally, mixed in with all life's broccoli, there are chunks of chocolate-chip, deep-fried, probably-will-kill-your-pancreas goodness. Eat it up. No regrets.