In Which She Goes Against Her Grain

I need to learn mindful eating. As opposed to mindless binging on crisps.

I am eliciting help from the folks at RealAge, who have incidentally estimated my real age to be 56. Or was it 58? Either way, it was the T.V’s fault.

RealAge experts offer the following spiritual pearl, in all likelihood nicked from a tome-like buddhist treatise entitled The Zen of the Raisin.

To teach yourself how to eat mindfully, start with a raisin. Take a deep, relaxing breath as you pick it up. Look at it for a few seconds. Smell it. Place it in your mouth and roll it around on your tongue. Feel the wrinkles. Now bite. Note the chewy, gritty texture — the sweet, fruity, astringent taste. Extract all the flavor before you swallow. That’s kind of the idea with mindful eating — to savor the look, smell, texture, and taste of every bite. And it works! It had a huge impact on curbing chronic binge eating in a recent study.

Sweet! Thank you RealAge. After an intimate sexual encounter with the solitary raisin, I’ve gone and scarfed the entire box.

My utter lack of food spirituality is killing me. There is no hope..

Pedometer, Bite Me

You exist to make me feel awful. Was the sun overshadowed by evil forces when I decided to strap you on today?

I was hopeful today, you awful piece of junk. And hope is fragile. But what would you know?

You inform me that I have walked 500 steps today. 500? You must be broken.

Oprah needs me to do 10,000. We have a pact, you heartless device.

I knew those extended tea breaks would kill the game. That and the blogging.

How will my world continue to spin on its axis if I’ve disappointed Oprah? 

Answer that, pedometer. Measure my heartache.