March 28th, 2010
It was as if the evil dairy Gods took control of my willpower and I had no inkling of self control to halt my craving. I ate a bag. Of cheese. Whole milk . I am ashamed.
I was at the deli picking up tampons (super plus) and my right hand (unbeknownst to my brain) grabbed a bag of shredded mozzarella. I had no control. I don’t even eat dairy. My left hand knows that.
Once I had completed the process of using my hands to fill my mouth with shreds of pressed, seasoned and aged curds of milk, the universe worked in my favor and immediately presented a 3 step healing system. Within hours.
STEP 1 – TALK IT OUT
My instincts told me to immediately turn to my support system (via Facebook status update.) I kept it simple and (to my credit) fearlessly admitted, “I just ate a bag of cheese.” My friends responded to my troubling breakdown:
Might as well have smoked some crack. - Adam Holtz
Well…if I get fat...at least I have a good personality. Most of the time. - Me
The crack wouldn't let that happen. - Adam Holtz
Hm. *singsong* somebody's not pooping til Tuesday! - G.M. Guity
I am SO jealous. - Edward A. Sotelo
You won't be tomorrow - Me
We just got back from the deli, where I got a chunk of cheddar for dinner. Coincidence? I don't think so. – David Hammond
I didn't know that cheese comes in a bag - Jennie Sandberg
Cheese comes in a bag…dick comes in a box…just the kinda world we live in now. - Me
Confusing or combining the two is not recommended. - Troy Bynum
mmmmm cheese bag (I cannot cosign the dick box) - Ed Blank
STEP 2 – RECEIVE A RANDOM NONSENSICAL COMPLEMENT
Soon after my online venting session, I had a brief visit from a friend. She’s a hip hop singer. Along with projecting a post calcium overload lull, I answered the door with disheveled Bon Jovi circa ’85 hair, a toothbrush in my mouth and wearing a torn tank top. No bra. I was truly a vision. This little firecracker wanted to know if I wanted to be a dancer in her video. With my perplexed toothpaste filled mouth, I muffled, “Have you met me?” Readers. I have many artistic strengths. Being a badass dancer in a spicy music video is not one of them. However, being asked (especially given my current challenged mental and physical state) was self esteem crack. My friend assumed that I had talent since I had a “dancer’s body.” I had never heard that before. But I liked it. And would be open to hearing it again. Often.
STEP 3 – GET A HAIRCUT AT A BURLESQUE SHOW
I had committed to joining some friends for a burlesque show at Galapagos Art Space. I am certain that if I had not already completed steps one and two, that I would have lost momentum to go to a show where I’d be forced to observe sexy people that probably did not devour a low rent Kraft product prior to their performances. For no apparent reason, there was an Asian woman with pig tailed braids and a Slash-like top hat giving free haircuts in the audience. Of course there was. So you know who decided to get her ends trimmed? This one.
My confidence was back. I had vented. I had been mistaken for a capable MTV dancer. My hair was back to standard. My esteem of self made a welcomed comeback. Hard. I put glittery tassels (which I always have on me) on my nipples, went onstage and did a grippingly provocative dance to Eartha Kitt's "I Want to Be Evil."
That’s a stretch of the truth. OK. A flat out lie.
I came home and ate a bag of almonds.
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