An Ode To Coke

I could spend this time writing about missing the American Idol finale because cable was out. And then being glued to the idol on fox web page waiting for them to post the winner when the power went out. But instead...

My cousin (who I adore more than almost everybody on the face of this planet and vice versa, God love her!) lost 50 pounds. I hate her. No, I love her and I'm happy for her because this is something she really wanted to do for herself (and because she wants cool clothes and stuff), her health, her kids, etc. And she worked hard at it. She's the only person I know who actually stayed on the South Beach diet well over a year. I'm not sure that's even human. Personally, I think she's beautiful no matter how much she weighs, and it's not like she weighed all that much to begin with. After four kids, she was still 5' 9 and weighing...she'll kill me if I tell you...less than me (always!) and I thought she looked just fine. But then, I always see her beautiful insides first, I think. That's what makes the outsides look extra beautiful.

Anyway, I hate her.

I can't lose 50 pounds. Fifty pounds puts me at the weight I was in New York during my acting days when I ate one meal a day and used cigarettes in place of food. Granted, I looked good on camera, but come on, people! What's life without good food and plenty of it?!?!

But I gained quite a bit when I quit smoking - seven years now, thank you very much. Then I gained a bit more when I started actually cooking for my family. Then quite a bit more after the miscarriage. And, even though I've lost almost all of the weight I gained during my pregnancy, it's still about 30 pounds more than what I'm used to, feel comfortable with and look great at.

So I hate her. I tried the South Beach diet. I actually still use a lot of its principals. But I love fruits and veggies and you can't make me give those up! I also love meat. I am the omnivore/carnivore God made me - who am I to say he was wrong? But I've cut way back on sugar, processed grains. I love whole grain bread - mmmm, that peasant bread from the Depot dipped in a little EVOO? Yum-my! Sweet potatoes instead of russets? Sure. For me, at least. Don't expect my husband to eat anything except his 12 preferred foods - all with ketchup. I've increased my exercise, both at home and out and about - as anyone who has seen me in the big green ugly pushing the stroller on the beach can attest. I drink plenty of water, blah, blah, blah.

I know exactly what the big problem is. (Besides the southern fried cooking, but that's the later step, I think) Soda. Coke. Diet Coke. Stewart's Root Beer. But mostly Coke. Can't help myself. I am as addicted to Coke as some people are to sex, drugs and Rolling Rock. I start my day with a Coke. Faster and easier than brewing coffee. And since our power supply is so very iffy, setting the brew timer the night before no longer guarantees coffee when I wake up.

Oh, I love Coke. I love the syrupy sweet taste of it. The fizz on my tongue, the tiny little burn in the back of my throat if I gulp it. I love the way it goes with chocolate and bagels equally well. I love the pick me up of the caffeine and sugar...I love Coke. Love it, love it, love it. And yet, if I love myself more (and I'm not sure I've ever sung an ode to myself that can equal this affirmation of soda), I must give it up. I must say good-bye, never to see it again. Don't even think of suggesting moderation. That's like telling an alcoholic to just have a glass of wine with dinner. It is a sickness with me. I am powerless over the soda. I cannot control the soda. If it is in the house with me, I will drink it. If it is an option at the restaurant, I will order it. If it were a man, I'd marry it. In fact, just writing this makes me yearn for a Coke the same way I could taste that need for a cigarette the first two weeks after I quit smoking. You can taste it right there on your tongue. You can feel it rolling around your mouth. You can imagine your lungs expanding as you let the silky smoothness glide down your throat.

Anyway, I hate her.