Would you like a little poop with your meat?

I returned from Maui last week. Michael and I longed for some quality time together, basking in the sun and drinking pina coladas. I made the mistake of picking up a book at the Borders in Maui titled, "Skinny Bitch." I found the title humorous and was struck by a few pages, a few words in particular that went something like this: "If you think you can eat cheeseburgers all day and not be a fat fucking slob, you're a moron."

I often struggle with my food choices. I've found I can maintain my weight by eating my diet of protein, vegetables and fruit, but I look at my daughter who manages to stay really thin while eating a vegan diet that consists of all my favorites like pasta and bread and wonder how she does it. I often question myself on how two meatballs and a salad can be a healthy meal. My daughter-in-law has also become an authority on fitness and good eating and has transformed her body to resemble Linda Hamiliton's in The Terminator. She lives on oats and fruit and vegetables and chocolate. Yes, chocolate. Big chunks in her oatmeal every day. My diet? One of deprivation. I spend a lot of my time wondering how Sophia Loren can claim she looks the way she does due to her diet of wine and pasta.

If only things were as simple as weight loss. I continued to read my new book only to learn that the two former models who wrote it are vegans. The pages contained graphic accounts of what I eat each day, from the poop in my meat to the toxic waste in my coffee. As I read, the OCD tendencies that I try to keep under control went wild. To make matters worse, Michael and I decided to watch a movie in the hotel. After The Departed finished, we were still wired so we watched Fast Food Nation. More poop in the meat, but even worse, graphic footage of the "killing floor" at a slaughterhouse. As tears rolled down my eyes, I ran to the bathroom and vomited.

For the next three days, I found myself only able to eat taro root pancakes with macadamian nuts and coconut syrup. This went on until we left Maui. With my supply of taro root pancakes cut off, I had to turn to organic fruit and vegetables, whole grain bread, and pasta. I was simply unable to eat anything else. My conscience felt good but I gained five pounds. Thanks to my daughter-in-law who talked me off the ledge (I tried talking to my vegan daughter but got the impression that she was enjoying this)
I am now eating only "safe" deep water and wild caught fish, organic fruits and vegetables, and whole grains. I gave up meat and commercially distributed dairy completely and I've lost the five pounds I gained.

I've been spending way too much time researching dairy products, going as far as to visit an open air market in Santa Monica and questioning every dairy vendor about their farm practices. Loved the pictures they displayed of their happy cows, but still learned that they milk their cows three times a day on machines. I did find a farm in Santa Barbara, Lily Farms, that grows organic chickens and eggs, chickens that they guarantee roam free (they offered to let me come visit and I may take them up on this) and Michael is looking into organic imported cheese from France and Italy that come from a farm where some little old man milks his cows and goats. (Michael might be making this up to make me feel good).

I have to say that I do agree with the authors of Skinny Bitch on one thing. Big business has destroyed everything. Greed enters into every part of life, from my husband's medical profession that is being taken over by HMO fuckers to the food I eat to the crap on my television to the bullshit news I read every morning on my Yahoo front page. And it pisses me off. As one gets older, the rebellion we once felt as teenagers resurfaces. I used to laugh at a scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen in his Alvie Singer character talks of aging. I was 20 at the time.

"Lately the strangest things have been going
through my mind, 'cause I turned forty, tsch,
and I guess I'm going through a
life crisis or something, I don't know.
I, uh ... and I'm not worried about aging.
I'm not one o' those characters, you know.
Although I'm balding slightly on top, that's
about the worst you can say about me.
I, uh, I think I'm gonna get better as I get
older, you know? I think I'm gonna be the-
the balding virile type, you know, as
opposed to say the, uh, distinguished
gray, for instance, you know? 'Less I'm
neither o' those two. Unless I'm one o'
those guys with saliva dribbling out of
his mouth who wanders into a cafeteria
with a shopping bag screaming about socialism.
(Sighing)