- Ice Cream
- Yogurt
- Fruit Smoothies
- Mashed Potatoes
- Oatmeal
- Canned Peaches
- Overcooked Rice
- Overcooked Pasta (Angelhair only)
Does this suck? YES! aside from being an Atkins nightmare (and fuck that, I friggin love my carbs. My own personal version of hell includes everyone being on this nonsensical craze, and Satan telling me Pasta has been outlalwed. Nooooooooooooooo), it's very...well, bland. I never thought I would tire of ice cream, but as I am limited in flavours that don't contain large chunks of foreign goodness, it's beginning to get old. I can have chocolate, vanilla, and sorbet. Lately, I've taken to Mint Chip, my all time fav, and just slowly letting the chips melt on my toungue. This usually results in the entire mess being melted by the time I am done though. I swore off mashed potatoes for the rest of my natural life after the first week. Oatmeal? Well, thank god Quaker feels my pain, and provides a few varieties. The overcooked rice thing is a new addition to the line up, and is so far working out ok. I adore broccoli au gratin, and the rice variety has the veggie bits in small enough pieces that I can swallow whole.
Aside from it being a dismal experience for my palette, it's become friggin hell on my waistline. When your options can be contained to one pantry shelf, you desire it all the less. And we all know what happens when mama eats less, she becomes the incredible shrinking woman (minus the irritating acting of Lily Tomlin). Beh, I'm getting thin and bored all at the same time. I tried to eat a tuna sandwich yesterday, only to hang up the attempt halfway through because my jaw was screaming. Being done in by a processed protein is hell! I was able to get through a whole hotdog today though, so I am going to attempt fries tomorrow when dad comes by.
Ah, Daddy Days. For those going 'huh?', my father, who I am exceedingly close to, comes over every wednesday because he has it off of work. We usually go out to a nice meal, although that's of course not been an option since I've been incapacitated. Although we could conceivably go to some diner where I'd suck down a milkshake and longingly stare at Dad's cheeseburger, he has thankfully saved me that torment. You know what gets me? I was a friggin vegetarian for 10 goddamn years before I met my husband. A decade without beef or poultry (I occassionally ate fish during that spell, as I have always had a hard time with nutrition and it was one of the concessions I was willing to make to get protein and amino acids into my system). But I've had to go three weeks without a burger and it's driving me up the damn wall. I don't know if this is a testament to a hideous eating regime that living with Rick has made me accustomed to, or simply a sign that in my years I've become increasingly stubborn when it comes to sacrafice. I've always done bad with Lent (bad catholic, BAD!), but this is fucking ridiculous.
*sigh* I swear I am going to do a dance on a table when I get to eat a steak again. Seriously, Black Angus will want to kick me out (or hire me, I am damn good!). On the upside, the swelling and bruising on my face is now officially GONE, so I look like a normal (albiet more slender) person with a...din ding ding! Kick ASS smile. Seriously, I am so not ashamed to toot my own horn in that respect. Back before my teeth began to show the signs of deterioration, I was known for my broad and toothy grin. Shawntay used to call me the ball o' teeth when I laughed, and I figure the moniker was accurate. The denture is, surprisingly, smaller than my original set (I had been blessed/cursed with slightly larger front teeth. I wouldn't say BUCK teeth, as they fit my poufy lips, but they were there). I had been terrified that having a denture would leave me with unaturally large, square, too even to be natural teeth, but apparently the science of making the doohickeys has come a long way. Unless you knew what I had done, you seriously wouldn't know. Well, that is until you saw me covetting your fajita.
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