Sep
13
2010
Dear Diary,
What happens to Billy Goats when they’re released from their pens?
This little goat-y went to the…wait, that’s the wrong farm animal.
This goat left her 9 to 5 feeding frenzy thinking she would return to normal faster than you can say “baaaa.” Not so. Visions of pickles and Twinkies and bacon and fried egg sandwiches with bacon and mayo and cheddar and cherry pie (different versions, of course) haunted and taunted her—would she ever find the right combination of salty and sweet and sour and cheesy on the outside? Or would she try to stick to the straight-and-narrow, eating smaller portions only a few times a day?
The road to “normal” has been as steep and craggy as The Cliffs of Insanity. My first hurdle: craft services. The first few weeks of my freelance food styling career brought me face to face with tables laden with pretzels, granola bars, cookies, and the rest of their accomplices. The second, and probably more challenging obstacle: being on the road. I’ll be driving around town, shopping and prepping for a job, when Dr. Bruce Banner-like symptoms overcome me. At least inwardly—I don’t really turn green and beastly. My vision is spotty, common phrases turn into tongue-twisters, and don’t you even dare look at me because you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’. Problem three: To soothe The Rage, I eat whatever is in sight.
Today is a good example—I Hulked and wound up eating:
- hot dog and potato chips at Ikea
- leftover steak and rice
- 2 bites leftover mushroom-sage risotto
- glass of OJ
- 2 slices Wonder bread toast with strawberry preserves, butter, and Colby cheese
- swig of 2% milk
- ***Contemplated a cinnamon bun and/or soft-serve on the day’s second visit to Ikea, but resisted!
- coffee
- 4 whole wheat crackers with peanut butter and strawberry preserves
- handful of tortilla chips
If you’d spotted me last week in New York, you would’ve witnessed me committing horrors—multiple visits to 7 Eleven, Starbucks, the snack aisle (the one that’s next to the register), the shady corner pizza place, and Duane Reade.
You can take the goat out of the rodeo…
