A Few Things to Get off My Chest

That's right, it's everybody's favorite installment: LETTER TIME!

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

The Local Taqueria Strikes Again!

Oh, local taqueria, why do you have this hold on me? Didn't I tell you it was over between us? Why must you exploit my weaknesses? You knew I was feeling tired and gross today. You knew that I was suffering from a food hangover (because I'm sure it was all the tasty food I ate for dinner and not the multiple glasses of wine that kept me awake all night, leading me to my decision to not ride my bike this morning). You knew that I would want something cheesy and okay to eat. And, yeah, you won this battle tonight, but the war is far from over. Dare I say that tonight's flautas were particularly bland. It's true. The salsa looked delicious, but didn't taste good. And well...I think maybe this was the kick in the pants I needed. It's over. I'm not falling for your siren's song anymore! Don't expect to see me anytime soon. I'm just going to walk on by. That's right. Walk. On. By. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to try on my snowboarding pants because I have a date with the mountain tomorrow morning.

I've Got Some Letters To Write!

Dear Knee,

I feel that since we've known each other for so long, I can be frank.  What the hell is your problem?  We've gotten along so well, and then, out of nowhere, you decide to act up?  Seriously!  If you were one of my ankles, I'd understand.  They never do what I tell them (especially when dancing wildly, walking down stairs, or getting out of cars), but you...you...I counted on you!  Was it something I said?  To the best of my knowledge, I've been nothing but sugar to you (even if I eat a little too much of it myself).  If I did say something, then all I can say is, I'm sorry...I was drunk.

Now, you need to stop this whining and get back into the game.  We begin triathlon training this week, and I need you to be front and center.  I have a record to beat, and I plan to be just as fast as the 77-year-old, rather than 45 minutes behind him.

Cool?

Non-Athletic Triathlete

 

Dear Bacardi Frozen Margarita Mix,

I have a few questions for you.  First, is your expiration date something I should adhere to, or is it merely a suggestion?  I'm hoping it's a suggestion since I chose to use you in my margaritas even though you expired 2 years ago.  Should I not wake up in the morning, we'll all know why.  My second question is regarding your instructions.  According to the "can", I should add Rum to the mixture.  Now I could be mistaken (since I'm not a professional mixologist), but aren't margaritas made with tequila?  Last I checked the agave elixir cornered the market on margaritas, while rum had a hold on dacquiris, mojitos, and a variety of other frosty beverages.  While I'm asking questions, I wonder if you can tell me if tequila expires as well--specifically if really, really cheap tequila expires.  I know this isn't your realm (especially since you advised against the use of tequila and favored Bacardi Rum), but I thought you might have an opinion.

Well, that's all.  I just thought I'd check in with you.  The margaritas are on the wrong side of delicious, so I probably won't put my health at risk for too much longer.

Sincerely,

Lone Drinker

 

Dear Blender,

Tonight I finally used you for the first time since I purchased you as a gift to myself for my 27th birthday.  At the time of purchase, I truly believed that I would entertain people in my home (which is why I also purchased a variety of glasses that are currently on display in my cabinet).  Sadly, that never really happened for a multitude of reasons, starting with the fact that I'm secretly slovenly.  At any rate, I wanted to let you know that you did a great job on those margaritas.  Don't be sad that I just threw all of it out.  It had nothing to do with you.  The ingredients were some kind of awful, so I didn't want to subject myself to the torture any longer.  Who knows when I'll use you again, since I've never cozied up with the idea of drinking smoothies, so I hope you enjoy your time in the cabinet next to the chopper I also purchased for my 27th birthday (and have used one time).

Your pal,

Drinker of lukewarm beverages

 

Dear Local Taqueria,

What exactly are you putting in your mediocre food that has such a strong grip on me?  Seriously.  It's not that good.  My favorite place requires a short drive (or a long walk), so I really think convenience leads me to your door--that and, your food is really cheap.  I might be a little more on board with your taste sensations if your guacamole were less liquidy and more avacado-y.  I suppose if that is my only gripe you can't be that bad, but you really are.  Please don't allow me to come back into your establishment.  I no longer want to subject my gullet to sub-standard food...even if I secretly love it.  In fact, I'm writing a letter to my paunch regarding this very issue, so you really shouldn't count on getting anymore of my dollars.  Pepperidge Farms will be hearing from me as well, because, as of tomorrow, their goldfish crackers are dead to me.

Keep up the good work!

Mexican Food Aficionado

 

Dear Jeans Designers,

Who, exactly, are your fit models, and are their waists really that close to their pelvic bones?  I endured yet another frustrating day attempting to find a decent pair of jeans, and I'm really getting tired of this process.  I'm not asking you to flood the market with "mom" jeans, but, at least, recognize that not everyone wants their ass hanging out for all the world to see.  Hell, I'm not so keen on having my flesh pooch out (or see anyone else's fleshy hips bubble over their pants for that matter), but I do understand that you have your reasons.  I just feel like you could add, I don't know, one inch of fabric, so I don't have to walk around with a coin slot (cuz nobody wants what that vending machine is serving). 

Now, some of you have figured out that when making jeans for people that may need to "whittle their middle", you shouldn't pretend that their hips are actually their waist.  Because, when you do that (and you better be listening DKNY), you create an enormous, flabby doughnut between two waists.  There is absolutely nothing attractive about that.  So, to those of you that keep the top of the jeans straight when they are meant to hang at your hips (which is typically the largest part of the female form), I say thank you.  Also, to those of you that realize that some people actually have a little junk in the trunk, thank you for allowing some room for that.  I'm not a fan of my back fat, and I certainly don't want to subject the world to it (especially when my jeans are making a mountain out of a mole hill).  I realize that I could stand to lose a pound or ten, but until I do, I need a pair of jeans to wear that actually look flattering.  And by flattering, I don't mean that after trying on 20 pairs of ill-fitting jeans, I'm suddenly smitten with the ugly old pair I already own.  I just want to look good, okay?  Do you think you can help me out with that?

Warmest Regards,

Bootcut jeans enthusiast

 

Dear Blubber,

Consider this your final warning.  I know I told you that my campaign to rid my body of you began two weeks ago (Friday's delicious meal of polish food was totally unexpected), but I mean business now.  I didn't invite you to be a hanger-on, yet here you are.  I suppose you could argue that I left the door slightly ajar when I ate all that pizza, but I certainly didn't intend for you to be such an eager beaver.  Go away.  I've already informed the taqueria and a few snack foods that our relationship is over, so you may as well wander over to someone else because you are not wanted here anymore.

It's been far too easy for you stick around and invite all your fat friends to the party, but I'm pulling the plug on this operation.  It's true, my self-control has been phoning it in for quite some time, but it's on notice as well.  Things are changing around here, so pack your bags and leave.  I will not let you bust anymore zippers.

With Venom,

Salad Eater