Dear Crappy Taqueria,
So we meet again. I know you thought I was gone forever. Sure I may have psyched you out a few weeks ago when I walked in, checked out the menu, and walked right on out of there. You thought I wasn't coming back. I like to imagine that you were sad (and that perhaps you heard the conversation I had with someone outside your door last April, as I begrudgingly went in to buy a burrito (You know, the conversation where my "friend" went on a ridiculously long and detailed tirade about all of the misfortune that he and his coworkers endured from your food...despite the fact that I told him I was going in there to get my dinner (thank you Sunshine)), and you figured that was the last straw); but alas, the force is strong in you. As usual, I came crawling back, begging for that flautas platter like I have done so many other times (By begging, I simply mean that I politely asked for it). Sure you've made some changes. You raised your prices, so it costs over $10 for the loads of mediocre food you dish out. And yes, you now have the salsa bar (which I REALLY like) and you finally abandoned the avocado mayo in favor of real guacamole (which is a major improvement), but that doesn't change the fact that I was just using you. That's right. You were merely a pawn in my game. I'm like an angry tween getting back at her mother for asking her to clean her room. You're just collateral damage, my friend. Or maybe you're profiting from my irrational behavior. Whatever the case, I'm over it, and I'm over you. We're done, you and me. Done. I'm not even gonna walk on your side of the street anymore. No way. And I'm not even going to tell you how much I like the new napkins, regardless of the fact that they are a major improvement over the old ones (that never existed). So this is our swan song, crappy taqueria. Adios.
With distended belly,
Cardelia Boardeaux
Dear Jenny Craig,
Yeah, yeah, you're onto me. You got my number. You know what's what. Well, I have news for you! I'm onto you and your game. Oh yeah, how do you like me now? Huh? Huh? I thought so.
Look lady, you can't tell me what to do. Oh yeah, I DID go to the crappy taqueria for dinner last night. Oh, and I DID eat two snacks. Oh, and you wanna know something else? I blur the line between lunch and dinner foods. Uh-huh, it's true. I do all these things. Why? Because I can. Because you're not the boss of me. No, I am. And my boss makes poor choices--all the time. Sure there may be a better way to change a $20 bill than by simply buying a frosting-covered cookie cup at Mrs. Fields every time you need to take MUNI home, but is the better way as tasty? Does it give you the feeling of going into a sugar coma? Is it so sweet that your tongue hurts? No, it's not, and it doesn't. The only better way I'm looking for is acquiring that $20 bill, so I'm not immediately accosted by a crazy toothless woman at the ATM asking me if I can get her some cash.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's not working out. I just don't think you truly care about my weight loss. Why do I think that? Is it because the staff asks me the same questions as if reading them from a script and don't listen to my answers? Is it because the new guy who saw me last week kept trying to sell me things I didn't want or need (and when I told him as much he suggested I give pedometers to my family and friends as stocking stuffers in a last ditch effort to make a sale)? Is it because he also shook his head in disappointment when I told him all I'd done exercise-wise was to walk downtown and back home four days in a row (a total of 8 miles each time) as if I'd told him I considered walking between the couch and my bed to be exercise? Is it because the crazy manager of the center thanks me for helping her hit her numbers every time I purchase food (and also gave me a weird nickname that I don't like)? Is it because the larger ladies look at me with loathing when I walk in as though I'm a skinny girl with low self-esteem and a skewed self-image (fyi...I'm trying to nip the problem in the bud at the extra 20 pounds instead of 300)?
It's all of those things. And, it's just the mere fact that I don't like to be told what to do, and your food (while tasty) is boring. I think I'll do better (and spend less money) if I just take care of my own meals. That, and I like to use my kitchen gadgets.
So, I guess I'm breaking up with you. I hope you understand. We just aren't right for each other, and I think I'll work out if your people aren't telling me I have to. Maybe I'll keep some of your food around, but I think I miss my turkey tacos and lackluster salads. The truth is, I don't have much going on in my life right now, and I need something like cooking to give me something to do. Your microwave meals are just too easy. I can't do idiot-proof.
Happy trails,
CB
Dear Weight Training Class,
Miss me? Really? Did you? Then why did you have to make the workout so hard today? Don't tell me it's because I'm out-of-shape. Don't tell me that it was always that hard. Come on. It's gotten harder, right? I'm still having trouble walking down stairs. The jelly legs are out of control. Don't worry, you haven't scared me off. You just made me realize how much I'd let myself go. But I'm coming back. You bet your sweaty gym socks, I'm on the rise. This belly fat isn't going away by itself, and if I want my shirts to button (that's right...shirts...the pants obviously don't button, so there's no need to mention them), I've got to take action. So get used to seeing me. I'll be back on Monday.
Hangin' Tough,
CardBoard
Dear DTV Converter Box,
I blame you.
What kind of piece of crap are you? Seriously! I know I didn't pay for you, but you should work. I mean, really? 3 channels? And not even consistently? What do you want me to do? Get a hobby?
I'm over it.
Your frenemy,
Cardelia
