Fifty and Other F-Words Read online

  Dessert carts will be ushered back.

  Chocolate is your enemy,

  Stevia your frenemy.

  Burgers, fries, and apple pies,

  Become a threat to slimming thighs.

  Lettuce eat, your rallying cry.

  No more candy, said with a sigh.

  No wine? You whine,

  Have you lost your mind?

  Water, water everywhere,

  And not a martini to drink!

  What fresh hell is this?

  Something is amiss.

  Who could ever love a diet?

  Not I, that’s why I’ll never try it.

  Random Thoughts on Food and Dieting

  When I was a teenager, I went on the popcorn diet. No one suggested this diet; I figured it out all by myself.

  Step right up and get the revolutionary new Popcorn Diet. It’s fairly simple—just replace two meals a day with popcorn. Popcorn has no caloric value. If you use an air popper, it’s a net loss. I lost weight, but I spent a lot of time flossing. The downside to this diet is that popcorn popped in an air popper tastes like Styrofoam. As you can imagine, this diet didn’t last long. Now I can’t eat popcorn without melted butter and shredded extra-sharp cheddar cheese.

  I have managed to ruin a lot of good-for-me foods over the years. After all, if it’s tasty, wouldn’t it be tastier dipped in a flavorful sauce or sprinkled generously with a yummy topping? Why stop at tasty when you can create a mouth explosion?

  These are rhetorical questions.

  I was much less food adventurous as a child because I have a visceral dislike of mayonnaise. When my mother was pregnant with me, she could not eat mayo. Even in utero I was protesting the ingestion of that vile substance. I won’t even spread it on my husband’s sandwiches—I hand him the jar with a look of disgust and turn away. Just thinking about mayo makes me gag.

  My limited childhood powers of deduction led me to believe that anything that resembled mayo was suspect. This meant I avoided a wide variety of sauces and toppings. It took me years to figure out that sour cream was delicious. Then I discovered the culinary delights of hollandaise and béarnaise sauces. After that I dug into yogurt, ranch and blue cheese dressings, and cottage cheese. There was a world of wonders to explore!

  My kryptonite is onion dip. There are two onion dips that I savor, Lipton® Onion Soup Mix mixed with full fat sour cream or Heluva Good!® French Onion Dip. I am particular when it comes to onion dip. Don’t try to slip me some no-name generic brand. I don’t dip vegetables in my onion dip, even though it might be marginally healthier. Why ruin a perfectly good onion dip with vegetables? I like my onion dip served straight up with a generous helping of Ruffles® potato chips. I like what I like, folks. My relentless specificity is an ongoing struggle that I have passed on to my daughter, along with pale skin, a preternatural distaste for mayonnaise, and a subversive sense of humor. She also hates onions, but she loves onion dip. Go figure.

  Though I have developed a hearty love of sauces, you can’t fool me with tartar sauce or Thousand Island dressing. Somehow, some fool managed to make mayonnaise even more disgusting. What the hell is wrong with these people? Have they no sense of decency?

  I still can’t believe how many years I went without knowing the wonders of crème brûlée.

  I think everything is better with butter. Therefore, Julia Child is my idol.

  On the Atkins diet I could enjoy all of the meats, eggs, sauces, and dips that I wanted, but none of the crunchy delicious carbohydrates. I lost weight, but I cried a lot. I decided my happiness was more important than having a smaller posterior. Butter up that bread, baby!

  My favorite food group is orange. Cheez-Its®, Cheez Doodles®, cheese balls, cheese, orange soda, orange juice, so much to love! Orange is such a happy color. Plus, cheese is my favorite.

  I have a friend from China. She once told me that the Chinese don’t eat cheese because they think it makes you violent. I lobbed a cheese stick at her. That shut her up.

  Nobody Likes Kale

  Nobody likes kale. Sure, they will tell you that they LOVE kale. They will insist that kale is delicious, a perfect food bursting with nutrition, and they love to eat it every day. They will become seriously offended if you suggest that kale is not delicious. “You just don’t understand,” they’ll say. “Kale is the BEST.”

  Uh-huh.

  I say kale is the Emperor’s New Clothes of food. People say they love it, but they’re lying. If they’re not lying, they’ve been brainwashed. They’ve lost their ever-loving minds. Their taste buds have gone awry. Nobody likes kale; they love the idea of kale. They love the idea so much that they’ve convinced themselves that they love kale. What they really love is the feeling of superiority that eating kale gives them. They love the idea of appearing healthier than the other slobs while drinking gloopy, bitter, decidedly untasty green juice, crunching on hideously horrid kale chips, and wearing yoga pants in public.

  Kale may be healthy, but it is not tasty. It will never, ever be tasty. It is the crap they put under the orange slice on your plate at Denny’s®. It may be filled with minerals, but rocks are also filled with minerals and we don’t eat them for dinner. Whoever masterminded the marketing behind kale is a genius. They should be given an award and immediately hired to market other “good for you” but unappealing things like the DMV or colonoscopies.

  There are kale shortages right now. People are so bamboozled by the lies perpetuated by the Kale Marketing Association that they’ve bought up all of the kale. It’s insanity!

  There are kale chips, kale smoothies, kale candies . . . yes, kale candies—blech. There is even kale ice cream. The horror! Who would do such a thing to delicious ice cream? What is happening in this world?

  Someone has to say it and it might as well be me.

  Nobody likes kale.

  My Cheez-It Problem

  I’m not sure if you should trust a person who doesn’t like Cheez-Its.

  My daughter came home from school one day to find me sitting in my studio with an empty box beside me, telltale orange crumbs across the front of my white ribbed cotton tank top, a glazed expression on my face. She picked the box up and shook it. She gave me an irritated look.

  “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CHEEZ-ITS?!”

  I smiled slyly, holding the box up to cover my shame-filled face and replied in my sweetest of voices . . .

  “I have a little problem.”

  It’s true, it’s true!

  I think they’re evil. They may claim it’s paprika in them there orange squares, but methinks it’s something a bit more powerful. Something so powerful I simply cannot stop popping them into my mouth. Pop, pop, pop. Holy crap! I ate the whole freaking box!

  I must ignore the siren call of the orange and red box. I must not think of the crunchy snap between my two front teeth. I must forget the salty goodness on the tip of my tongue and the tang of cheddar as it dances gleefully across my taste buds.

  I must remember that a serving is a mere 20 crackers.

  I must resist . . .

  the siren song

  . . . of the Cheez-It.

  Do you think they have a 12-step program?

  The Five Stages of a Diet

  Most diets fail for any number of reasons. Nothing about going on a diet says “fun.” First of all, there’s no cake. To add insult to injury, ice cream is off the table. Literally. As if that wasn’t depressing enough, bread and butter, two of life’s greatest pleasures, are also off-limits. You can’t even wash down your wilted spinach with a nice Pinot Grigio. It’s dismal, but the rewards may outweigh the challenges. Diets aren’t for wusses; they require immense amounts of intestinal fortitude. It won’t be easy, but if you can make it through the five stages of a diet, you can make it through anything.

  Stage One: Denial

  Diets are all about denial—denying yourself things that you enjoy. Denial is the main reason diets fail. As soon as you tell yourself you can’t eat a certain
food, it will be all that you think about. It will become an obsession. You will start to notice that everyone is eating this food. This food will appear in every TV show, movie, magazine, and commercial. You will then become paranoid. You will wonder if there’s a covert plot to derail your diet. There is—it’s being financed by the food industry. They’re not fucking around, folks. They’ve spent billions of dollars engineering food to maximize mouth feel and the ratio of salt/sugar/fat that causes our brains to light up like a Christmas tree. It’s not you, it’s the food. The deck is stacked in the house’s favor.

  Stage Two: Anger

  This is what happens when you start to go into withdrawal. It’s not pretty.

  “Fucking diets are the worst. I hate lettuce. This green juice sucks. I can’t believe these people, eating macaroni and cheese right in front of me. Have they no decency? Don’t they know that crap is killing them? I’m going to set them straight. Hey! Do you know how many calories are in that macaroni and cheese? How can you do that to your body? Hey, wait, don’t leave yet, I’m not finished!”

  During the anger phase, you may find yourself spending a lot of time alone. Nobody likes angry dieters. They’re worse than reformed smokers. Get a punching bag and some boxing gloves and channel that anger into exercise.

  Stage Three: Bargaining

  This is the part of the diet where you might slip up a little. You’ve seen some results, and you’re feeling cocky. You tell yourself that if you eat a Snickers® bar today you will eat one more salad tomorrow. Don’t do it. It starts with a Snickers bar and before you know it, you’re waking up from a food coma on the couch surrounded by wrappers, boxes, and cans. Not that I’d know anything about that, mind you. This is the crossroad—a lonely, sad crossroad. There’s no sugarcoating this, and there shouldn’t be, because sugar is poison. Hello! Step away from that Snickers bar.

  Stage Four: Depression

  This is the sad part. The diet may be working, but the thought of eating one more piece of celery is taking away your will to live. There will be tears. There will be protestations. There will be weeping, moaning, and gnashing of teeth. You will be sorely tempted to cheer yourself up with a slice of cake. Cheer yourself up with a new smaller pair of lady pants instead. Look at you, losing weight! Play some sad songs, cry some sad tears, watch some sad movies. You’ve made it this far. Hang in there, sister.

  Stage Five: Acceptance

  Somewhere along the way, while you were distracted by a whirlwind of emotions, you lost weight. You look better! You feel better! Clothes fit better! YAY, YOU! This gives you a new sense of purpose and conviction. Use this to propel yourself forward, because you’re going to go through these five stages multiple times as you make your way to your goal weight. Eventually, you will arrive at your goal weight, feeling fabulous, wondering how you ever got to that number on the scale. There are those last five pounds, which can prove frustrating, but stay the course. The trick is staying at your new weight, which means the diet will have to segue into a lifestyle change.

  I’ve yet to successfully implement this final phase, but I’ve heard good things about it.

  Whatever Happened to the ERA?

  Does anyone remember the Equal Rights Amendment? In case you need a refresher, this is the gist of it:

  SECTION 1. Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex.

  SECTION 2. The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.

  SECTION 3. This amendment shall take effect two years after the date of ratification.

  What could possibly be the problem with giving women equal rights? What is the objection to ratifying this innocuous amendment? What are they so afraid of? Whatever it is, the ERA has been ratified by only 35 of the necessary 38 state legislatures since it was passed by Congress in 1972. Even with the extension of the deadline to 1982, the ERA has yet to be fully ratified. The ERA has been presented to every Congress since the second deadline passed, but it has not been passed yet. We have been waiting 36 years for this amendment to be ratified. Women got the right to vote in 1920, and we’ve been waiting for equal rights ever since.

  I’m still waiting. My daughter is waiting. Half of the population of the United States is still waiting to be recognized as having equal rights under the law. But the ERA is rarely discussed these days. Setting women against each other is far more entertaining than encouraging us to join forces and demand equality. A few years back I appeared on a “reality” TV competition show. I was disappointed to discover that the narrative for our episode revolved around the two older women clashing. I was shocked at the behavior of my competitor, who hurled insults at me for hours from across the room. I refused to play the game, and therefore I lost. This is par for the course for cable TV. There are entire TV reality franchises built on pitting women against each other. If you look at the narratives of the housewife shows on cable, they’re driven by contrived conflict. Reality TV is manipulated and massaged to produce drama. It’s presented as truth, but it’s a lie. This female versus female narrative filters into our social media and creeps into our day-to-day interactions. The 2016 presidential election and the shit storm of “fake news” online have divided women even further.

  And, of course, bra burning (remember that?), raising our voices, speaking our minds, and protesting—it’s all so unladylike. Behold, instead, the Stepfordization of the American woman. Smile pretty, ladies! Distracted by our need to wax our nether regions, shrink our waistlines, and increase the puffiness of our lips, we’ve been sidetracked, and our attention has been deflected from the importance of fighting for equal pay, equal opportunity, affordable and accessible child care, access to affordable reproductive health care, family leave, and the right to work without being sexually harassed or abused. So much of what has been gained is under threat. We can’t sit back and let this downslide continue.

  I’ve thought about this often over the years, gotten fired up, and made some noise. I’ve blogged, ranted on social media, made videos on YouTube. I haven’t done much about it beyond that. I have a litany of excuses . . .

  Organizing is so much work. Blech.

  I have to spackle my face and pluck my chiskers, folks. Be there in a few.

  I’ve got ADHD. I’m easily distracted by shiny things.

  My memory is going. What were we discussing, again?

  Oh, look, the internet!

  Who doesn’t like a cute animal video? Amirite?

  Do these lady pants make my ass look big? Never mind, I already know the answer to that question.

  There is never a shortage of excuses if you’re willing to look for them. Taking action requires effort, and it can be downright isolating and even dangerous if folks around you aren’t open to your message. Suffragettes were arrested, beaten, and starved for the right to vote. When they went on hunger strikes to protest, they were force-fed through a tube, which resulted in long-term damage to their physical and mental health. If these women could go through all of that to help get us the right to vote, the least we can do is to demand equal rights under the law. We can even go a few steps further to ensure that every woman, regardless of her skin color, sexual orientation, religious beliefs, age, or ethnicity, gets equal rights under the law. That includes transgender women for the win!

  I have officially run out of excuses and cute animal videos. I guess it’s time for me to get off my sassy ass and do something. What do you say? Are you in? We can do this, women! Let’s get the ERA passed. Let’s stop buying into the lie that we’re competing with each other for success and start helping each other. Together we can become the rising tide that lifts all boats.

  We can do it!

  F is for Feminist

  I’m a feminist. Yes, I said it out loud, in public. EGADS!

  I’ve never shied away from that F-word. I have embraced it, owned it, and lived it to the best of my ability. To me it means be
lieving that women should be treated equally under the law, at work, in society, and in relationships. It means that women should have equal access to the fundamental rights of citizenship. It means women should have control over their bodies and their lives. What could possibly be wrong with such a logical idea?

  Somewhere along the way, “feminist” became a dirty word. There is a new generation of women who are, in action, thought, and expression, feminists, but who nevertheless refuse to identify themselves as feminists.

  I don’t like to be labeled or shoved into a box, either. Identifying as a feminist is only part of who I am, not the totality of how I live my life or define myself in the world. For me, it has meant taking an unpopular stance at times, and being the odd girl out. I’m okay with that, because living out loud and living my truth has released me from the expectation—and the burden—of being liked by everyone. On occasion, this has meant losing jobs, losing friends, and even losing heart—sacrifices I’ve been willing to make, knowing they might help pave the way for other women to fearlessly make similar choices for themselves.

  At the same time, there are aspects of me that are not stereotypically feminist. I like makeup and fashion; I have pink hair, I hate bras, but I’ve never burned one, and I’ve been known to use glitter rather liberally. A narrow definition of the word feminist limits women. We should be free to be, do, say, wear, think, and believe what we choose and allow other women to do the same. That’s the true spirit of feminism.

  Older Woman Almost Breaks Glass Ceiling . . . and Then She Doesn’t

  My country voted for a man who bragged about sexual assault, made highly sexualized comments about his daughter, mocked the handicapped, ridiculed women for being overweight and unattractive, called Mexicans rapists and drug dealers, threatened Muslims with deportation and targeted surveillance, suggested reinstating Stop and Frisk for people of color, called for his opponent to be locked up, and, worse, encouraged his followers to attack protestors, shared fake news stories from white supremacist sources, and lowered the bar of basic civility and common courtesy through a barrage of insults and late-night Twitter rants. This man won the presidency over a woman with 30 years of experience, a woman who has dedicated her life to public service and improving the lives of women and children. This woman has been at the center of a 30-year smear campaign and multiple multimillion-dollar investigations that have yielded not even a single conviction. She has risen to the occasion after being knocked down again and again. It is obvious who is better qualified for the job.