Showing posts with label Patsy the dietitian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Patsy the dietitian. Show all posts

Vomit, Nudity and Tequila

Patsy:  How are you doing without the booze?

Me:  Do you think I'm an alcoholic?  Because I most certainly am not.  If anyone MIGHT be an alchy it's Hubber.  That mofo drinks beer every day!  I only have a swig or two of vodka a few times a week.

Hubber: Hey, now.  I only drink beer daily because you make me!

Patsy:  She MAKES you?

Hubber: Yeah. She's collecting beer bottle caps. She told me I needed to drink at least a six-pack a day in order for her to have enough bottle caps to finish some stupid table thing she's crafting.  She did calculations and mapped it all out!

Me: Oh, yeah.  I forgot about that. I'm not really going to make a crafted, mosaic bottle-capped table.  I just like him when he gets tipsy and dances around the house in him skibbies while the dog howls.  It's quite entertaining.  And, seeing how we're broke all the time, I have to get my entertainment any way I can!

Patsy: No alcohol.

Me/Hubber:  Yes ma'am.

Which reminds me of the very first time I had to swear off of the booze.  That time, though, Pasty wasn't there to force me. I did it on my own.

I was 17-years-old and had just broken up with my boyfriend.  And by "broken up with", I mean "dumped by".  Back then I got dumped a lot.  I'm sure they did it because they were intimidated by my intelligence and beauty.  They figured I'd be famous some day and I'd end up breaking their hearts when I ran away with Johnny Depp... so they beat me to the punch and dumped my ass early on.  Back in those days I was a real drama queen (boy, how times have changed).  Usually, REVENGE was my cure for the blues.  What better way to avenge my broken heart than by crashing a house party with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a hot dude (who drove a Camero) in the other?

Turned out, the joke was on me that night.  The last thing I remember clearly is seeing my ex with some big-boobied floozie and deciding I'd spend the rest of the night taking tequila shots and swapping spit with the Camero Boy. After that, the night is a complete blur.  At one point, my legs gave out on me and I fell on my knees and I blanked out.  When I came to, I was in a strange bed, wearing a Depeche Mode concert shirt that was too tight and Camero Boy was cleaning someone's vomit up off the floor.  I picked up the phone near the bed and called one of my girlfriends to tell her that someone at the party had stolen my shirt.  Then, I blanked out again.  I woke up the next morning in my own bed with bloody knees wearing nothing but my panties.

That was when I swore off tequila.  I was married with children the next time I ever drank nearly that much alcohol in one sitting....but I'll save that story for another time.  Suffice it to say that it also involved vomit and nudity.   And not in a good way (unless you're Hubber).

My point here (if there really is one) is the fact that I can't have booze right now isn't necessarily a bad thing.  I'm probably performing a public service.

But, y'all better watch out!  When I get to hit the bottle again, I'm gonna hog wild!

I wonder what ever became of Camero boy..

I don't wanna be an anorexic fat girl!

I've spent three days detoxing from all the crap that is [quite literally] sitting inside me.  Patsy (our dietitian, who you will grow to know and love as much as I do) broke it to us without any sugarcoating, "There are probably 20 pounds of undigested fecal matter just sitting inside you waiting to fulfill their true destiny: to be flushed down the dang toilet!"  And, yes, she used the word "dang" instead of "fucking".  Patsy is just proper that way.

Her graphic bluntness, however, makes me want to puke.

That shit won't leave my brain.  It follows me around all day making everything I eat resemble a steaming pile of shit.  Now I can finally understand why anorexics can go without eating. All they have to do is think of all the gross, undigested red meat rotting away in their stomachs.  It's enough for me to want to overdose on laxatives and spend a few days reading trashy fiction and playing SongPop on the toilet.

Instead, I'll just go with the flow and follow the advice of professionals.  I like to eat.  Crapping all day is a waste of time.  Besides, all the science behind this shit is way over my head. Like: how in the hell does what you drink come out of your pee-hole and what you eat come out of your poop-hole? how does sugar seep into your blood stream?  why does drinking a shit load of water make your blood pressure go down? why the fuck do you have to get up and pee 3 times a night even after you peed like a race horse right before bed time? why the fuck does pork have to contain so much sodium? what's wrong with sodium?!

I could read a Dr. Oz book or wrack my brain for hours wondering how it all happens. Or, I could just say "fuck it" and let the next six months go by in a self-induced ignorance coma while I hold Hubber's hand and let Patsy lead the way.

Note to self: ask Patsy not to ever use the term "fecal matter" around me again.