Well, nuts.

It sometimes goes from bad...

And then there are the down days.

Today my older son sat in a Denver high school, laughing with friends, talking about music, the usual teenage fare, wondering if songs, played backwards, was a myth, or whether it really said anything at all.

Thursday, today, sunny day, and all were in a good mood. John and Terry, Sue, Leslie and Mark were waiting for the class bell to sound, ready for lunch, where they’d see other friends, and discuss weekend plans over pizza and nachos.

They said their goodbyes and embarked down cement stairs to the loud, echoing sounds of hungry teenagers moving towards the same location.

Terry never made it to lunch.

Screams were heard through the hallways, as Ann was stabbed brutally in the “a” corridor. Moments later, police apprehended the suspect. It was Terry.

John now says he’s bothered by the fact that he saw the scissors sticking from the pocket of his friend. “I didn’t think anything of it, “he said, “This was Terry we’re talking about.” Terry, who was always on an even-keel. Terry, who was well-liked. Terry, who was the nicest guy he knew.

Terry, who stabbed a young woman in a school hallway with a pair of scissors while others were in class.

John is not so sure what bothers him most now, as he plays the day back in his mind, over and over. He wishes he could have stopped what he never even knew was about to happen.

If he could have played the day backwards, would it have mattered? Not unlike that myth about music, would it really have said anything at all?

...to worse.

Craigslist tip #4693.3

Never let your spouse buy a vehicle from craigslist when the person selling it claims they lost the title.

The Driver's Guide to Not Walking: Keep your bus pass handy

Dear son;

You stand before me, at the tender age of 15, with your new driver's permit not so much as creased in your hand, I see you eagerly hoping for my keys as you bend down on one knee. "Oh mother," you rhapsodize gallantly, "Wouldst thou take me driving such that I might-unworthy as I am-become a better citizen of the road?" With artifice you kiss my hand, offer to empty the trash, and grin with that twinkling-star smile made famous in those tooth-whitening commercials and the Bullwinkle show (the chime sound effects were a nice touch, by the way).

I say unto you, oh sweet young man, student of artless Colorado Driver's Education books, you have absorbed what could be offered by those wearied instructors pointing out myriad signs, what to do in case of blinker outages (which most of Dallas, TX, must succumb to, seeing as none use theirs), not to engage in distracting conversation or blare the radio, to keep your eyes in motion, minding those pedestrians, those pets, and those buildings.

I am thus before you today, dear sir, to impart upon you the nuances of driving which are little mentioned in classes. They are the rules learned from experience, whose trappings in no way outweigh the state rules and regulations, but which, for the sake of argument, will keep you in car keys for some time to come and will-- with any luck-- prevent me from appearing before a judge to explain why you found it a lark to scare little old ladies by throwing your arms across your face in abject horror every time one was trying to cross the street. (Mrs. Bindle was never quite the same.)

These rules are as follows:

Don't spit out of the car window. The laws of physics be hanged. That phlegm you liberated from your throat (I'm going to rattle) will hit the back window and the entire left side of the vehicle. If some sap in the back seat happens to have the window down, you're cleaning the upholstery. And your brother.

Ditto to urinating.

Thou shalt not head bang to Def Leppard. Yes, you look like synchronized head-bangers as you travel down the road, and the entire Pinto rocks as it did most righteously on Wayne's World, but we're talking a goose egg when your forehead makes contact with the steering wheel or when you pass out and become mentally indigent due to excess brain rattling. Shaken rocker syndrome is very real. Look at Ozzy.

There will be no country music in my vehicle. I don't need my wife to run away, the dog to die and my truck to stop. I also don't want to turn on the radio and hear Conway Twitty. It's not natural.

Do not take your pants off while driving.

Ditto to putting on pants while driving.

We've all seen the sign and found its irony to be humorous; nonetheless, when you see, "No Shoulder Driving," avoid the temptation to yell, "Look at me!" while you struggle to remain on the proper side of the road and steering with your clavicle.

Ditto to driving with your knees. It's all fun and games until someone's sock is stuck in the cigarette lighter.

Eating a chalupa, while driving, is not recommended. I've seen how you eat at home. With cutlery, napkins, a squeegee and a carpet cleaner, it's still not a pretty sight.

The coins gleaming with promise in the glove box are not for chalupas. Change is for toll roads.

Finally, there will be no kissing girls in my vehicle. Those wiles of pretty young things have a way of impeding upon a male's capacity for coherent speech, let alone driving. Let it be known that if any lip-wrestling takes place in my vehicle, said lips will be removed and thrown under a bus (the same bus you'll be taking for the rest of the year).

That said, it's also well-known that a good cowboy only ever kisses his trusty horse.

Son, you're lucky to have someone as wise as me sharing these important bits of knowledge with you. It is with great dismay that I inform you that my father (your grandfather) -- may his soul rest in peace-failed to pass such pearls of wisdom on to me.

That station wagon smelled like burnt socks and chalupas for at least a week.

The Devaluation of the Wampum Buck

(A true, short story based on a myth, based on true fact.)

Throughout history, it is pretty widely known that paper money has generally been destroyed due to inflation. Find any ancient society that went to paper money without gold backing that made the grade, and I'll give you some of their money. It just doesn't exist.

Educationally, you would think that the very institution which wizens the economists of the future would know this by now, and especially when it creates its own monetary system.

Now, what follows is a story which really happened. You'll know this because the mascot of our school was the Warriors, something we know was phased out due to political correctness. Our alma mater is now known as the frightening pink bunnies, something which offends no one, because they simply don't exist.

Each teacher in the school was allocated a limited supply of paper money known as the wampum buck. Whenever a student was caught doing a good deed (or their work, which, sometimes, was good enough), they were awarded one of these precious promissory notes. These wampum bucks could then be turned in to the school store for candy or pencils or other such sundries that excited the young mind.

Now, my buddy Joe and I had longed to get our hands on wampum bucks. How we pined for that glorious pretend cash! The problem rested in the incredibly short supply. You see, back in those days copiers were expensive and took a spot in any school roughly the size an Edsel. As such, the stellar student had probably three wampum bucks. The average student may have had one if he was lucky or if his Aunt Edna died and solicited extra sympathy money by crying at the right moments in the classroom and by beginning any strategically important sentence with, "My Dearly Departed Aunt Edna..."

Even though the 'good kids' had most of the money to buy sugary treats at the school store with their earned wampum, to the struggling students without any money, there was an upside: everyone knew that giving sugar to the good students brought everyone down to the same level, and this tended to save the grading curve.

Joe and I usually had no wampum.

Still, while I question the event to this day, it just so happened that one day Joe got his hands on a wampum buck. Instead of spending that newly-acquired monopoly mad money in a school goods make-shift shop, Joe-- who probably didn't score one by being the good citizenship honoree-- went to his dad's place of business which had one of the handful of copiers in town. Over the next few hours, he proceeded to mass-produce wampum bucks by the hundreds, copying them and then cutting them apart as cleanly as he could, considering he was only 10. That afternoon, vast piles of monetary promises issued forth from the Xerox 2, whirling like capitalist lips kissing his third grade cheek.

In fact, so many wampum bucks were manufactured in Joe's impromptu mint that he had to carry them to school in two, overflowing, size 10 EEE Buster Brown boxes. Good thing dad had big feet.

Now, at school, every morning, it could be counted upon that there was always one period called a 15-minute passing period. Originally designed for kids who had clubs to meet for a quick recap, it allowed kids in glee club to discuss things regarding hand bells and still get to class on time. For many others, it was an opportunity to stuff kids into their lockers and make quick visits to the school store with their wampum or loose change.

Joe chose this time to reinforce his knowledge of late night PBS history. More specifically, he had seen that Hitler concocted an idea to bring down the British economy by bombing London with Pound notes. Joe climbed to the top of the immense, 3-story stairway in that cavernous old school, leaned over the edge of the wrought iron railing, and he then proceeded to empty both Buster Brown boxes of wampum bucks down the yawning precipice onto the many unsuspecting heads of the young below.
Chaos immediately ensued. Death, mayhem and maiming commenced. Glee club scattered. The school bully bulldozed kids out of the way to grab money with his fat fists. At the end of the veritable brouhaha, he must have had 50 all to himself (wampum, not fists). Not being the brightest color in the intellectual rainbow of thought, he ambled right away to the school store to cash them in.

When the attendee manning the school store booth saw Bart with dozens of wampum bucks spilling from his pudgy arms rolling towards her with the understatedness of a boulder coming down a precipice, she knew something was suddenly awry. Bart was known neither for his grades nor for his citizenship skills, and everyone knew he had no Aunt named Edna. He probably ate her. Oh, he could have possibly been granted a wampum in a good will gesture for good citizenship or grades -that is, if you count diplomacy on 5 fingers made into a fist and spelled it diplomasee, or considered scholarly aptitude as coloring inside the lines on occasion.

No sooner did Bart make a panting and concerted dive for the school store clerk when the slow-moving mass of excited and sugar-hungry children stampeded. The run was on! The doors were immediately barred shut, the scene eerily resembling the run on the banks of November in 1930, complete with Mrs. Reevy bracing her feet against the door and her back against the wall behind her, hair bun in a muss.

The school called an emergency meeting. Wampum bucks were immediately declared more worthless than Mr. Collins' Corvair.
Sweet Susie Jean, who had labored to save up her wampum bucks over months, cried. Bart kicked Sweet Susie Jean. A hand bell flew 20 feet across the hall way and smacked a cheer club member in the forehead. The majority of us average students who never got any wampum bucks quietly cheered-- mostly because everyone was equal once again, even if the grading curve was about to take a greater flight than the hand bell just did after it successfully connected with Bart's ample foot.

All in all, in the end it's too bad that the school administration missed a stellar educational opportunity to teach the student population about the properties of economic inflation, and how it is dangerous to have a monetary system that is largely unbacked or even how the devaluation could be used as a military tool to overthrow a government.

Or how, when allowed to run rampant, students show what could happen in our own 'grown-up' economy should the same event ever plague our monetary system, and that the time for change to prevent such issues is probably now. It was a tried and true teaching moment, ready to be plucked from the vine of enlightenment.

Instead, in a move which showed about the kind of response one would come to expect from any institution which buckles under its own weight due to a lack of forethought, the administration handled the situation in a way they would towards any young buck who ever challenged the system and did everyone a favor in the process handled it: they paddled Bart.

Joe and I went home to watch more PBS.

Savory Chowder

(top picture: the finished product, a small scattering of shredded Tillamook cheese); middle: An example of how savory this recipe is, seen through use of spices; bottom: the crock pot/slow cooker is an excellent means of preparing this dish)

I had found some half-and-half in the fridge recently and couldn't remember why the heck I bought it (but, then, sometimes I find things in my bra that I didn't remember putting there). I checked my bookmarks, the recipe forums, and my paper files and found absolutely nothing which proved that I purchased the dairy product for a reason.

That said, I decided to make something hearty and savory for lunch, and, adapting an old, high-carb recipe for clam chowder from the Betty Crocker cook book, I came up with something that is delicious, hearty, and is lower in carbs.

I'd even argue that this is the best chowder I've ever had.


Savory Chowder Recipe

Can be prepared in a crock pot or on the stove.


Ingredients:

1 pint half-and-half
1 cup organic chicken broth
1-16 ounce bag of frozen cauliflower
1/4 cup chopped red onion (if using crockpot, you need not pre-cook onions to soften. On-stove cooks need to soften the onions on the stove by cooking in broth prior to adding other ingredients)
2 slices cooked bacon, broken into bits
1 tbsp thicknthin/not starch
1 tsp salt
2 tsp parsley
1/4 tsp thyme
1/8 tsp pepper
1 clove garlic

**1 can of clams/juice optional


Prepare cauliflower according to package instructions. Drain. Cube when possible, leaving smaller chunks, but chunks nonetheless.

For crock pot users: In a crockpot, add all ingredients. Cook in a 2 qt bowl on a medium setting for 2-4 hours, or until onion is softened.

For stove-top preparation: In a saucepan on medium heat, soften onion in chicken broth until transparent. Add thicknthin/not starch. Stir. Add half-and-half and spices. Stir until half-and-half comes to a near boil, stirring constantly. Add bacon and cauliflower, and stir, reducing the heat to low/simmer. Keep an eye on dairy in the pan, to keep scorch from occurring.


For both recipes, serve warm.

**If clams are added, add juice to the chicken broth, and add diced clams with the cauliflower.

Makes six, one-cup servings at 5.3 carbs per cup and 300 calories per serving.

carbs: 5.3 per cup serving
calories: 300

No more pitular serenades

My teenage son broke the news to me yesterday: he found a hair in his armpit.

"Is it yours?" I quipped?

"Yeah," he sighed.

"So what's wrong with that?" I asked, smiling warmly. It's great! You're turning into quite the young man!

"I won't be able to make armpit noises anymore," he countered with the gravity of someone wearing cement shoes.

You might as well have told Tom Brady he lost his antiperspirant endorsement.



TOPS is not "pineapple cake" spelled backwards

I weigh in today after not being able to check in last week due to snow (which you'll remember from the last installment of my TOPS news in a former entry).

I don't know what the overall comments are going to be, but I know the last time I went in with a 5-pound loss, the second-fastest loser there smiled wanly and told me to try a recipe for a pineapple cake, and told me to write down the ingredients and instructions.

A pineapple cake! That's not even really acceptable fare on TOPS. I looked at her, smiled and then dutifully copied the recipe, (and then proceeded to toss the paper into the recycling bin as I walked in the door at home).

I see how this is going to play out now.

There are folks out there who might be trying to sabotage my losses. I can see it now. This is playing for keeps! We're talking about people slipping chocolate in your egg mcmooffin. I see a miniseries forming now: "Death by scale... fat lady walking".

Oopsie roll progress

I am now making 2-3 batches of oopsie rolls every week for people who want to try them.

At my own house, I'd forgotten about hamburger buns, and my husband wanted burgers for lunch. I cooked up the burgers and then, because we didn't have buns, I popped his onto oopsie rolls at his request. He loved them!

He's now an oopsie fan, and he was so full from lunch that he had a difficult time eating dinner (nice when you don't have 600 calories of processed sugars streaming through your system as a vehicle for meat).

That's the beauty of the oopsie rolls. Like a french mime, you don't really notice they're there: well, unless oopsies sprout arms and pretend they are trapped in a box... wiley mime buns...


How am I doing?

I'm down 29 pounds, as of the first of January.

Twenty nine pounds in 28 days. Not half bad for a girl who likes her Baconators, Red Robin Burgers, Sonic egg, sausage and cheese toasters, and $6 Carls Jr burgers!

My husband has a defective Ding Dong

So one day my husband called me from work.

The man loves to eat Hostess products, and the Ding Dongs are his favorite. That chocolaty confection wrapping itself so generously around its white, frothy middle is just more than he can handle. During one such Ding Dong store run, he just so happened to purchase a package where one of the Ding Dongs was smaller than the other one, so, being the mature man of the community that he is, he contacted me immediately.

Him: "Guess what? My Ding Dong is defective."

Me: "Yeah. And you just found that out."

Him: "No really! I just looked and when I took it out of the wrapper and one's smaller than the other."

Men.

Don't they ever do the urinal peek? One's always smaller than the other.

(Maybe if they took their ding dongs out of the wrapper more often they'd figure it out.)

The man even called the Hostess company. Why? Because he had to tell them about his defective Ding Dong. He was surprised when they hung up on him.

What did he expect? Everyone's Ding Dongs are defective at some point. It's the law of averages. I told him to try Cialis.

For a WEEK he milked his Ding Dong issues. He showed it to everyone, even after exposure to the cold air caused it to shrivel.

So entered the influx of Ding Dong jokes:

"This might be why your Ding Dong is defective..."
"Here. Maybe this will help your Ding Dong...."
"Aw. It's ok. Go ahead and eat your Ding Dong..."
"Have your wife eat your Ding Dong..."

OK. Great. Real class over here. So now we have an entire male population laughing about my husband's under-functioning Hostess product.

Lesson? Never underestimate the power of humor in the defective Ding Dong.

Still, things being what they are, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to hide the Sno Balls.

Chix' Boneless Buffy Wings

Are you interested in knowing what I had for dinner tonight, true low-carb believers?

I had boneless buffalo wings. In fact, my entire family devoured the chicken wings.

These savory skinless, boneless chicken wings, are not only simple; they're savory and incredibly easy to make-- which is good. If you have teens and fans of chicken wings in the house, you're going to need to make a lot of these!

A good friend of mine, named Kimberly (A fellow Buffy the Vampire Fan) gave me her recipe. It is so delicious, I named the recipe after her. Very similar to the coating for the mozzarella sticks, she shares her technique for making the best chicken wings you've ever had! And it's totally Atkins friendly!

I told Kimberly two things: 1. I hate pork rinds; and 2. David Boreanaz (Angel) is much better-looking than Spike (James Marsters).

She told me to quit being a big baby and try the recipe already. (And then she told me that Spike beats Boreanaz with an ugly stick).

Even if her taste in Whedon's undead is less than tasteful, there's nothing more tasty than these wings! If you don't believe me, try them for yourself!

Chix' Boneless Buffy Wings

canola oil
chicken breast, cut into smaller pieces
pork rinds
Mrs Dash (garlic and herb)
egg
sauces (listed below)
ranch dressing (optional)

Heat a skillet with canola oil. While the skillet is preheating:

mix an egg in a bowl. Set aside.

In a ziplock bag, crush pork rinds to very fine texture using a rolling pin. Add Mrs Dash to the bag, and mix well.

On a cutting board, slice breasts in half, the long way, and then cut across to make 8-10 bite-sized pieces (your number of pieces will vary according to the size of the breast).

Dip the bits of breast in the egg bath and then plop into the bag of rind/spice mix. Coat by shaking the bag.

Once the pan and oil are heated, add the coated pieces to the oil. Cook on both sides, until the chicken is lightly-to-medium brown (5-9 minutes, depending on the oil temperature and size of the chicken pieces).

Remove chicken pieces to a plate lined with a paper towel to absorb excess oil.

Place drained chicken tenders on a plate and coat with sauces of your choice.

** addition from my friend Chix: "One suggestion... the way I make mine "buffalo wing style" is to melt some butter and mix it with Frank's Red Hot sauce. (I don't know the carb count, but it's lower than BBQ sauce.) I put it in a Gladware container with a lid, throw in the chicken and then shake them all around to coat them. That's the way they do it at Buffalo Wild Wings, so I thought I'd give it a try."

For plain Buffy: While we know there's nothing ever plain about Buffy, these served up without any sauce come in very well within induction levels, at approximately 0 carbs. I mean, chicken, pork rinds, oil and a little seasoning? Bwah! Take that, induction! I can eat these and be absolutely safe!

For zesty Buffy: I used Bulls-Eye original Barbecue Sauce. This is NOT low-carb, coming in at 13 carbs per 2 Tbsp. If you can find something "cheaper" in carbs that has the same delicious twang, do it! (If you have a low-carb recommendation, please let me know).

For spicy Buffy: I used Texas Pete Buffalo Style Chicken Wing Barbecue Sauce. It'll rip your lips right off of your face, but it's darned good stuff. And at only 3 carbs per 2 Tbsp, it's a might bit "cheaper" than the Bulls-Eye.


***another addition by Chix: I've also mixed my boneless wings in a salad with ranch dressing, and even put them on a low carb flatbread w/ ranch dressing as the "sauce" and some mozzerella cheese and baked it to make a pizza." ***


As I said earlier, my family ate these faster than I could cook them and slather them with delicious sauces. And the taste? Well, how about a little bit of Heaven? These taste just like standard chicken wings from Pizza Hut and other restaurants, but because you made them at home, you know exactly what you're getting!

With celery and ranch for extra dipping, this is the perfect buffet dish to take. No one will ever know they're low-carb!

Mozzarella Cheese Sticks

And guess what-- these are good for induction! (Well, the tomato sauce isn't, but if you make your own marinara, it would be!)

Now, before you lick the screen, let me tell you, these taste even better than they look. I was desperate for mozzarella sticks, and I needed something to use for breading, so I tried this! With the savory herb blend, it tastes awesome!

And let me tell you, if anyone hates pork rinds, she would be ME.

That said, trust, and don't hate me when you see what is used for the breading...


Mozzarella Cheese Sticks

For the updated recipe with nutritional information, visit this link!

Volunteer: A local repairman needs you

***This is another piece I wrote last August regarding my general success with volunteering as an administrative assistant for a local school. I'm continuing to consolidate pieces to this blog.

These days, many have a fancy name for what were once considered standard (if not mundane) jobs. Secretaries are now "Administrative assistants". Stewardesses are addressed as "Flight Attendants". Janitors? "Sanitation Engineers." Even the worldly-sounding "Service Associates" and "Customer Satisfaction" purveyors ask joyfully if you would like the Super Squelchy Meal with barbecue or honey mustard sauce.

I am what you might call a volunteer copy mom. Oh, I've tried euphemisms like "Maker of Copy Magic", "Workroom Technician" and "Zelda". After 7 years, mine is really the simple way of saying that I make lamination and copy fanciness on a weekly basis at a local school. Plus it's easier to fill out on the sticky nametag.

I like volunteering. Aside from providing helpful services to the employees of the school district, it also afforded me a weekly teacher conference.

"Homework turned in?"

"Yep."

"Behaving in class."

"Absolutely."

"How's the breath?"

"We're working on it."

Mini-meetings aside, becoming adept at the ways of high tech hocus pocus in the form of copy room machinery wasn't all peaches and happy bunnies. Laminators are innocent-looking, hot, and eats people's things, only to return them out the back side in a plastic sleeve. Now, if only I could teach my dog to do that.

Maybe it was because I found that they might have neglected to technically school me in the finer points of use of the machine, save for the general bit of cursory information the secretary gives before she runs back to the front desk to continue her usual work. I'd seen her playing solitaire while filing her nails simultaneously. I can attest that this is hard work, as I often fall off of the treadmill if I'm not holding on while trying to file my nails. I made my first workroom mistake when I leaned over the laminator to make sure the pages were feeding through as they were supposed to. Unfortunately, the machine decided my badge looked tasty and began to pull me through its wide teeth.

Being strangled by the Laminator2000, lamentably, wasn't in my scheduled plans for the day. I had a hair appointment and I needed quaff maintenance. With this in mind, and against the traction of the lami-beast, I pulled for all I was worth. Unfortunately, it didn't matter. This thing wanted to eat me, bad hair and all. I snapped the switch to "off" and tugged in the opposite direction.

In defiance, the laminator inched towards me with each ineffective attempt for plastic-sheet freedom. I propped my left foot on the table next to the laminator and half-sat on the copy machine with my right cheek. I figured if the physics doesn't work if I pull down, by golly, I'd go for the logical choice and create force in the opposing direction.

I was not going to let this technology defeat me! Besides, they told me at the front office that I wouldn't get my car keys back unless I returned the badge. I couldn't live at the school. I'd seen their lunches.

It was at that moment I found that the shredder had begun to make linguini out of the bottom of my shirt and was stuck fast to the front of the machine as well. There were now three points of contact, and two weren't letting me go.

Mr. Romeapple, the 8th science teacher came in, picked up his copies from the machine's side shelf and waved hello. He looked at his copies, still warm from the machine, and paused. Turning the pages sideways he said, "I wonder if this moon is waxing or waning." He tilted his head to the side. "Looks like it needs waxing."

Then, waving them, he added, "Could you collate these for me?"

Now working to wrest my hair from the nearby automatic stapler, I chirped, "You bet! Collating is my specialty!"

Mr. Romeapple vacated, and presently the school secretary hurried into the room to check my progress. It was pretty obvious that the machines were going to be out of service indefinitely as a result of this very inconvenient episode. Her jaw went slack, and she proceeded to unleash her tongue upon me for the next 30 seconds. Storming out of the workroom she threw her hands up in the air. I guess that's what I get for referring to her as the "secretary."

The motion sensing power saving lights sensing my paralyzed predicament dimmed and dismally doused themselves fully out. Confounded energy-saving measures.

There I stood in a contorted and glorified closet embraced by three machines, their whirring and blinking lights the only thing currently working, even if it was on me. And now I could faintly smell something burning. This reminded me that I would probably be eating school lunch. Again.

It's always about this time, every week, that I hope the senior custodial engineering administrator will show up. He always appears right as I'm about to leave and mumbles aloud that the machines need so much maintenance.

I know. Those machines are darned unreliable.

My Best Ever Revoloopsie Cream Puffs

Just when you thought you'd seen every use for these revoloopsie rolls, another idea comes along for a dessert favorite that is generally incredibly high-carb and verboten with regards to a low-carb lifestyle.

Fear not, Friends, Romans, and Countrymen (and women)! For I have some great news, yo!

Check out that picture. It's every bit as delicious as it looks, and all for--are you ready for this--only 8 net grams of carbs per serving! These are the best cream puffs I've ever had, and I make them from scratch (even the high carb ones).



Revoloopsie Cream Puffs

You'll need:

2 revolooopsie rolls
Sugar-Free/ Fat free Cook and Serve Jell-o pudding
High-fat milk
Whipping cream
2 packets Splenda

Make the pudding according to box instructions, using full-fat milk in place of the fat-free milk. Next, mix the whipping cream with Splenda until stiff peaks form. Place both in the refrigerator until the pudding sets up just enough to where it is still warm, but solid.

On a plate, place a Revoloopsie roll. Place a dollop of chocolate (or other flavor) on the roll. Top with a second roll, and place a dollop of whipped cream on top of this. If desired, garnish with sliced strawberries.

Net carbs is 8 grams for slightly less than a quarter cup of pudding, less if you use less.


This recipe is not induction-friendly, unless whipping cream is the only item used, and even then, make sure amounts fall within acceptable induction limits.

The Many Faces of the Oopsie Roll

Hello, true low carb believers!

In one of our last episodes, I was telling you how the revoloopsie rolls I accidentally concocted in my kitchen have been a favorite among many folks. I am very humbled and lucky that, for once, something I did in the kitchen is worth mention.

Having great hair and a winning smile only gets you so far in life.

That said, I have some more delicious things-- in addition to these gyro pitas-- I've made with the oopsies, just to show how very versatile these are.

In the top picture, you'll notice the "OMGBLT". This is a BLT with an oopsie, cheddar, and the B, the L, and the T. The G stands for "Gi-licious", but mostly because I didn't have anything to use with the "G".

Moving on, I spiked the top with an olive, because that's how I roll. That's right, I'm a cheeky little monkey with toothpicks, and I'm not afraid to use them.

The second picture is of the oopsie pizza. Ignore the fact that the one on the left looks like Mr Bill. Sluggo eventually ate him in episode 22, but he was delicious.



The oopsie pizza

You'll need an oopsie roll
cheese and toppings


On a pan, place a roll (or two). Spread a very thin layer of tomato of alfredo sauce. On top of that spread the cheese. Next, add your toppings.

Under the "high" broiler setting, bake these for 2-3 minutes. Remove. Sprinkle with spicy red pepper (in the spice aisle).

Enjoy.




So, there you have it! Two more uses for the beloved oopsie roll, and both induction-friendly.

You can thank me later. Now, let's go eat!

VLCDs like Kimkins makes 'heroes' out of few

My husband and I were watching Season Two episodes of "Heroes" last night.
Season 2 is downloadable through the internet, and, being the uber-awesome computer technogeek that he is, he was able to make our television into a slave monitor for our computer. This is incredibly cool, especially since watching tv from a computer monitor isn't exactly easy for a long stint of time.



*******Spoiler Alert! If you haven't seen Season Two, you might want to read the bottom portion at another time*******






As you'll know by now, if you're a "Heroes" fan, Sylar is alive and lounging on a tranquil beach in what appears to be Mexico (Chapter 26, Kindred). He awakens to the beautiful form of a woman named Candice who tells him of his near-demise at the end of the first season, and how she had saved him.

Forcing Candice to tell him what is really happening, the backgrounds fade, and Sylar soon realizes that not only is he not in Mexico, but that he is in a top-secret, hidden facilities with an open wound in his chest, strapped to an operating table. He howls in anger and physical pain.

He attempts to use his powers. None come.

As he becomes intensely aggravated with his inability to use any of his afore-garnered abilities, Candice shows herself as one who can shift reality to make his life better. She appears to him as a gorgeous woman in a flattering red top, flipping her hair, very sexily assuring an agitated Sylar that she's his guide. That she's her answer.

That he needs her.

She serves him eggs.

Now furious with rage at his situation (if not his breakfast), she attempts to appease him through shape-shifting her form (he's the penultimate baddy), changing flawlessly to twin cheerleaders, to a buxom brunette, to a visage of himself. She can be anything he wants her to be, so long as he brings her along for the ride.

He answers her smugness with a coffee mug upside her head, and she dies (Chinese coffee mugs! Killing bad guys since 2007).

The camera pans and re-situates on the currently-lifeless form of a now obese woman lying on the floor with a red top.

Sylar says something to the effect of, "You never were real. You should have been yourself."

And... scene! (I'll be in my trailer. Bring hair and makeup).

Even in her so-called "true form" Candice showed herself as thin and incredibly pretty to Sylar. Now Sylar wasn't even sure what her name was.

My husband turned to me and said, "Oh! That's like the Kimmer woman. She shifted her form and lied to people, too."

Ironically, she wore red, and served eggs to someone who wanted real answers.

Kimkins is a very low calorie diet (VLCD) plan which seeks to remove carbohydrates as well as fat, with at least one plan requiring a maximum level of 500 calories per day, plus exercise (Boot Camp). This plan is so lacking in nutrients and medical reality that many have succumbed to various medical maladies as a direct result, from hair loss, to heart palpitations, to hospitalization due to blacking out.

Ironically, like Candice, the diet's founder was found to be morbidly obese, only after a private detective was hired to investigate her.

This particular episode of "Heroes" dangerously mimics life and its lessons.

Don't believe everything you see, especially when people can change form and do sometimes lie to convince you that you need them.

Unlike Heroes, however, no one wishes Heidi Diaz (the founder of an extremely medically questionable very low calorie diet) dead. Far from it. Sylar, being a bad dude, is going to kill folks. We know that's his MO. That's what he does to drain the powers from others.

That is where the likeness between fiction and reality ends.

But Kimmer/Diaz? She's a shape shifter, a loner who wills people into her reality and sells them the soylent green promises of health and weight loss. She tells people they need her, and she promises to be whatever they need, so long as they'll eat her eggs. Sometimes we haven't even known her true name. The aliases change with the likenesses.

Is that her "power"? Is that her "ability"?

If so, it certainly makes her no "Hero."

No hero at all.

Snowy with a chance of vitamins, no weigh-ins and partial Baconators

Darn Dr Atkins and his Stinky Diet

I was starving on Saturday. I mean hongry. I'm talking about starvin' Marvin. Horse-eating, stomach-growling, hugging the Cheetos display hungry.

After making it through a shopping trip at the local Sooperdoopers and only asking my husband if he wasn't sure he needed snack cakes (I wanted to sniff his Ding Dongs when we got home) (see this entry for more), he treated me to a linner (or dunch) at Wendy's. I rode home inhaling my Wendy's Baconator the entire time. I always order the Caesar salad as the side, and I sipped my (hide your eyes 2big) Diet Coke to keep the stomach rumblies at bay.

I ran in the door, plunked down that bag, pulled out my oopsie hamburger buns and had a Baconator in my fists faster than you can say Bob's your father's affinal avunculocal relation.

I was finished eating not 3 minutes later.

Due to stomach shrinkage from Atkins and its self-limiting nature, I could only get through 1/2 of the darned burger! I could barely get through half of the salad as it were.

I used to be able to plow through a Gourmet Red Robin burger with oopsies in about 10 minutes. Now I'm a burger lightweight. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I gave the other half to my husband, who ate the delicious meaty square of patty happiness like a football player downs his first Gatorade after the half.

At least one of us enjoyed the second half.


No TOPS for you!


I received a call this morning, and, due to the white fluffy stuff, my weight loss group was canceled today. Booo! Fie on you, evil flakes of dandruff from the gods!

Still, I understand that it's hard for a lot of folk to get out in the snow and travel to a meeting.

Lucille said, "You got a reprieve this week!"

I said, "Aw man! I've worked hard this week and wanted to weigh in."

How sad is that? The fat girl WANTS to weigh in! There was silence on the other end of the phone. I have a feeling that they're not much used to hearing disappointment at not having to face the scale.

Lucille told me-- as a proper leader should-- that just because there is no meeting, I didn't have a license to over eat.

le existential sigh

Ex-squeeze me? Overeat?

"Oh. No worries there, my friend! I can't even make it through a Wendy's Baconator in one sitting anymore!" and then the little voice in my head reminded me that high-carb eaters are fat-phobic.

Silence on the other end of the phone.

No crashes of serving plates. I'm good.

"Remember, next week we're discussing vitamins, so bring in whatever it is you take."

"All of the bottles?" I looked at the bin of healthy goodness that sat full of hope at being ingested in the cabinet, in their myriad plastic bottles.

"We'll see you next week then bye." Click. And Lucille was gone, just like that.


Packers! How could use lose to the Giants?

Admittedly, I slept through the game.

I think this is really why they lost.


Monday Weigh-In

Admittedly, a bit of a slow-down after the rousing induction numbers, but I'm experiencing some water weight retention.

Don't cringe, male readers. Women deal with this stuff. It's part of what makes us so feminine in our wiles. *scratching a stretch mark*


I'm down two more pounds this week.

Are you nuts? Seedy? An ounce of extended induction

Nuts and seeds are two things I really miss.

Last night I was contemplating the early move to OWL, despite the amount I still have left to lose. My good friend 2big counseled me as I was ready to make for a half of a cup of mashed yams as a side to the lamb gyros I made for dinner.

She told me to re-read Chapters 11-13. I did.

You know what else she told me that I never realized before, even though I thought I knew that book?

Hold onto your bloomers, folks:

You can have an ounce of nuts or seeds in extended induction!

Holy hot ding dang on a pogo stick! An ounce of nuts or seeds! Here I thought I had to wait for the nut/seed rung, and now I feel I can stick to extended induction for a long time now without cravings.

Granted, if you have mold issues or if your blood sugar is as unstable as Naomi Campbell with a cell phone, use this opportunity to try rotating nuts in very slowly. Make note of resulting cravings, hunger, or bloating.

We don't want you turning into the blueberry chick on Willy Wonka.

The moral of the story? Read the book, and look for those little caveats. I'd never have known had one of my favorite Atkineers ever told me to check chapter 11 again.

Chapter 13 told me I wasn't ready to move on yet. So, to any of you out there in extended induction, if you have a lot of weight left to go and are not sure what step to take next, read Chapters 11-13.

You might as well be fully informed!

Unlike the time you were waving to the vice principal and then walked face-first into the flag pole.


Not that that ever happened to me.

If vegetables make you want to curl into a ball...

Are salads required for good health on Atkins?

Oh heck no.

If salads were requisite, I would have burned my Atkins book years ago.

Make my smack yo mama Tex-Mex omelet and embrace its full-bodied flavor, and you may never need to look at another salad.

If you like spicy Tex-Mex, this is so you good you could slap your momma (but you shouldn't, because she can still take you down)!


Cleochatra's smack yo mama Tex-Mex scramble

5 eggs
2 Tbsp water
1/8 cup chopped green pepper
1/8 cup chopped red onion
2 cherry tomatoes, diced
1/2 cup frozen spinach, thawed and drained
5 jalapeno pepper slices, chopped
1 slice pepper jack cheese (or cheddar)
2 Tbsp Pace Salsa

Mix ingredients together and pour into an oiled pan over medium heat, and cook until eggs are to your desired consistancy.

Just before eggs are ready to remove, turn heat off and add pepper jack cheese to the top. Cover with a lid or a plate or a pan and let sit for 5 minutes.

To serve, add 2 Tbsp salsa over top and serve immediately.

Tips:

This dish also stores VERY well with saran wrap and heats up in the microwave with no trouble. If you plan to save half of the dish for later, do not add the 1Tbsp salsa to the half you will re-heat until after heating.

You can also add sliced black olives, guacamole, sour cream, and chopped lettuce (make certain to account for the carb count change).

Serves: 2
Total carb per serving: 7.5
Net carbs: 5.5
Calories: 513
Fiber: 4 grams
Protein: 40 grams
Fat: 33 grams

Let Them Sniff Cake

Science has shown that VNOs in the nostrils subconsciously, and on a very chemical level, perform many tasks which help us regulate certain body maintenance functions and to help us locate mates through pheromone senses.

But holy crap, it's Friday and that's boring!

Instead, I'm going to drink my beverage and talk about the more obvious role of the nose and our sense of smell in weight loss. (Because if you're out there smelling armpits this early in the morning, I have a therapist for you).

Science has shown (don't fall asleep yet) through various studies that people weren't as interested in food when they didn't have their sense of smell intact.

Moving beyond this, look at the multi-million dollar aromatherapy market. Candles, hand lotions, bath salts, soaps, and potpourris have been smellifying our lives for awhile now. With the ability to send calm, snazzy feelings to the brain and enhance our chemical feelings of well-being, it shouldn't be any surprise that I use this tenet in order to make my life of low-carb living one in which I sniff stuff.

Hello. My name is Jamie and I sniff stuff.

And quite openly, I might add. (Closet sniffers tend to smell mothballs or cedar)

Wasn't a famous poet known to once have said, "Take the time to smell a rose?" Well, my rose tends to be in the form of a chocolate donut. Or Little Caesar's Crazy Bread. Or Doritoes. Or cake. Or Halloween candy.

Just one deep sniff, horked into my inner lungs of happiness, and I'm in 7th heaven of deliciousness. I've experimented with sniffing and with eating, and, believe it or not, the sniffing is better. The chemicals foods are injected with to trick the brain into thinking its delicious become pretty apparent when you've cut all of that stuff out of your foods.

If you want to try something different o experimenters of fate, sniff a box of graham crackers (open the box first, you goit) and sniff. Nothing. A box of Cheerios. Nothing. Granola bars. Nothing. Not everything smells like anything. It actually puts me off a bit to think that the things I used to eat en masse don't smell any different than the box-- and that's a bit of a tip-off, isn't it? The package is probably healthier. I mean the front of the box even reads, "8 essential vitamins and iron". Who am I to argue with cardboard nutrients?

Sniffing stuff gets me through major holidays, like Halloween, when, planted on my back on the bed at the end of a stressful day, you'll find me with a Snickers bag over my face, unopened, as I'm inhaling its delicious chocolately aroma deeply. My husband just walks into the bedroom, sighs, and retreats.

He knows. It's Snickers time.

I sniff things and it brings me comfort.

I am the nose vampire.

I bought my daughter a Snickers bar at the store one day, and MAN, did it smell awesome! I was driving home afterwards, and, after she'd inhaled the choco-confection, she offered the wrapper (o daughter! O blood of my blood!). I inhaled deeply. I was happy. I drove home in a complete mist of scented nougat goodness. Did I remember the wrapper was stuck to my nose? Oh-ho!

Do oxygen patients remember they have a mask stuck to theirs?

Heck no! Behold my Snickers wrapper, for it was stuck to my nose! I waved to my neighbor. I waved to the concerned passing motorist. Awkward social moment, or opportunity for a life lesson in nose pirating?

This is life and Life is smelling!

Well, not smelling like, "Ooh, one word: RightGuard".

Smelling is life!

So go ahead, my friend! Sniff that pizza! Smell that donut! Inhale that vat of chocolate pudding.

Just don't fall in. It is difficult to doggy paddle in chocolate.

The flu, killer squirrels, West Nile, BWAHHH, etc

*in an effort to consolidate some blogs and reorganize, I'm going to be moving some pieces to this blog occasionally and then will be deleting another blog or two. Don't live under a ruse that I'm organized, however. I'm the person who loses my keys in the ignition, carrots in my bra, and my glasses on my head.*

I woke up this morning to a blaring alarm beacon of annoyment and a son who was laying rather decidedly sprawled out on the living room floor. I didn’t see police tape, so I figured he was there for a reason which didn’t include morbidity. Just in case, however, I nudged him with my foot.

“You. There. Why are you on the floor?” I prodded.

“On… floor?” was the groggy, half-unintelligible reply from the 6 foot lumbering teenager now trying to focus on my intrusive toe. I helped him up with a clumsy tug. He responded and held his blanket to his chest; only there was no blanket. I helped him down to his room and put him to bed. As he moved his feet sluggishly along the berber, he showed me dozens mosquito bites marking him from head to foot like a connect the dot of a very large constellation. He tiredly slurred that he’d worn lotion, but the mosquitoes liked it so much, it may have well have been barbecue sauce. “West … Nile… dying…” he sputtered.

“Well, let’s go die from malaria in the bedroom. I’ll call school for you.” I tucked him in, gave him a kiss on the forehead, stepped on his Rubik’s cube and hopped upstairs.

As I arrived up said stairs, I heard a retching sound echoing from the bathroom. My heart sank, as I readied myself for the truth: My champion projectile vomiter was in my restroom (why is it always my restroom?) throwing up whatever she’d eaten the night before. She vomited so much, at one point I was sure I saw her foot come out of her mouth. I finally had to move to another location while the stomach seizures worked their crafty magic on my porcelain.

Eventually, she dragged herself from the bathroom and muttered, “… flu… am… dying…”

I walked her crooked and stomach-hugging form carefully to the couch after saying a quick furniture protection prayer and giving her a garbage can for good measure. “…I cleaned up the mess…” she finished, pointing back to the bathroom. I shuddered, and tucked her in. Think happy thoughts. Think scrubbing bubbles thoughts.

Amid the jumbled cacophony of flailing bodies excreting liquids, I managed to get the other grade schooler out of the door for a day of learning after packing her lunch and making sure she wasn’t planning a surprise sick attack on her school instructor with a uvula thrust of stomach acids. Her clothes didn’t match, but she wasn’t throwing up on anyone today, by gum! Quite pleased, I settled down to home school my other son, who, thankfully, also didn’t appear to need to vomit on his instructor.

It wasn’t much later, while discussing the Plains Indians and their matrilineal society that I heard a garbled shriek. Teen-boy-who-scream-like-woman appeared in his underwear with a crazed look in his eye. “They’re going to kill me! Squirrels! The posters on my walls! They’re alive! ALIVE!”
I sighed, placed my hand gently on my younger son’s hand; he had armed himself with a #2 pencil against any attackers. The tip was duller than the eraser, but it was a thought, anyway. As young son stared, mouth open, I excused myself and walked the hallucinating flu-kid slowly back to bed, and gently assured him that the stuffed animals were not going to attack him. “…dying… kill me…” he pointed. I placed the stuffed penguin in the drawer.

It never fails that when I am somewhere remote and loaded down with responsibility to save the world from killer squirrels, the phone begins to ring. It was my husband calling from Dallas. He travels sometimes for work.

I always complain that he doesn’t have a girlfriend and that he’s always away for business; this is because it is well known that men who cheat on their spouses give fantastic guilt gifts. Here I sat, alone in a house of wretching zombies being attacked by flesh-eating-west-nile-attack posters of Mario and Luigi, and stuffed animals. All I really wanted was granite countertops.

“You won’t believe the DAY I’ve had—“started my husband. Meetings all day long…” I looked around, as I watched daughter throw up in the garbage pail with a loud, “BWAHHH!” I sighed. He finished “… your day?”

“Oh, I said, “Oh you know—“ I began.

“—Go away! Die squirrels! Go away!—“

“--BWAHHHHH!”

“You sound busy”, he continued. Then, undaunted, “You know, I had to turn the rental car back in. There was no trunk! Can you believe it?!”

“—Go away bad man! You won’t kill me today! Haaahahahaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!”

“BWAHHHH!” 2 points.

“You should, “I said, slightly louder over the din, “have told the man that you needed a trunk to store the bodies—“

“Bodies?! Where! No, squirrels! Baaad squirrels!”

“Is everything ok over there?” he asked. Then he added, “I did tell them that--“.

“You told them what?! That you needed a trunk for the bodies?!”

“You bet! I said to the college kid, ‘I need a trunk. When I don’t have a trunk I have to break their legs and I’d rather have a place for the bodies.”

“BWAAAHHHHH.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be dating anyone, would you?” I asked, hopefully, looking at the floor and seeing my daughter had missed her mark. “That is, when you’re not breaking legs and storing the bodies in your rental cars?”

“Wha--? No! Wha? Why?”

“Guilt gifts,” I muttered. “Though, forget the granite countertops. I’d prefer engineered wood floors.” Preferably something that withstands stomach acid and bad aim.

Trying not to scare anyone

I went to a weight loss support group yesterday.

I knew the loss was going to be huge, but I didn't want to go in there with a 8 pound loss the very first time I weighed in. I mean, it's not easy to claim you lost a Butterball turkey in water weight in just one week. So, before the meeting, I drank water. And I ate bacon, hoping to retain more water. Then I drank more soda. Then I ate more bacon. I had to use the restroom something fierce when I waddled into the waiting room where folks are in line to be weighed.

Now, there are good advantages to having a large group of folks in a weight loss group and bad advantages.

Good advantage: A lot of folks for support and a good time.

Bad advantage: A lot of folks in front of you in line to be weighed and you now have to wee.

It just never occurred to me before that point that so many of the folks would use canes and walkers, and especially not when they're in line in front of me, and I'm there with a bladder pulsing like a quasar. There goes Mahetabel: Step. Step. Readjust. Step. Step. Readjust. I was ready to scoop up the feeble woman in my arms and race her to the scale, weigh her myself, write, "Woohoo" in her weight loss book (numbers? There are numbers on the scale?) and jump in line after her.

Unfortunately, as I'm kicking my shoes off, one lady waved her cane in the air yelling, "I'm in line next! I just went to the restroom. Hang on a minute!" By this time, June is shuffling across the floor and I'm biting onto the nearby piano.

Finally, in what seemed 33 people later, some armed with shoe horns, I waddled to the scale and sucked in as much air as I thought would keep me from being insanely low in the numbers.

I exhaled when she read, "Five and three quarters pounds."

Yes! I did it! I managed to drink almost three pounds of water! The ladies were still flummoxed, however. "Five pounds. Isn't that a lot?" I shifted from leg to leg, because we all know that's where you store the extra water.

I answered, "Not really. It's just water weight!" and with that, I grabbed my weight recording book and ran for the bathroom. I got there, too-- just in time to see the door close behind Mahetabel.

Do you neet a crash diet to lose weight?

Let me tell you! (OK, now I sound like my grandma. She used to knit Pabst beer can panels into hats)

Over the last two weeks I've enjoyed:

Red Robin gourmet burgers on home-made buns,
Wendy's Baconators on home-made buns,
carnitas fajitas,
Sonic egg toasters on home-made buns,
Little Caesar pizza toppings,
lamb gyro with tzatziki,
taco salads
mini pizzas
-- you name it.

I haven't starved myself or depleted myself in any way whatsoever.

I ate fat.

*wafting epsom salts under the nostrils of a low-fat dieter who just passed out*

I exercised, I drank fluids. I suffered the induction flu, and came out feeling fantastic. I have more energy than ever.

And, oh!

By the way, true low-carb believers, I've lost 24 pounds in 2 weeks.


You don't need crash diets or austere eating plans to lose weight. You don't have to exercise 24 hours a day. Follow Atkins as he wrote the plan, and stick to it. It works for a reason. The first few days are enough to make you levitate from the ceiling and speak in languages you've never heard before, but heck on a ham hock-- isn't it worth it in the end?

It took me three months to lose that much weight on Weight Watchers, and while it is a GREAT company with very sound advice, it just didn't offer the fat. I was hungry all of the time. So 3 months to lose that weight, or two weeks of low-carb sustenance living on Atkins.

How do you explain a loss like that to your local TOPS group?

We'll find out.

My buns are spreading across Denver

You knew I had big buns. Now the news is spreading--like my buns.

Denver Post and Rocky Mountain News subscribers in this area have received, this week, a copy of an article referring to the low-carb buns I made by accident when I was cooking one day.

Noe people across the Metroplex can try this recipe and visit their local Wendy's or Red Robin restaurants, and try something bready!

I don't know about you, but I've never been a fan of eating a hamburger with a knife and fork. As the descendant of some indigenous peoples, or cavemen or just really hungry people, I need to hold my food in my hands. It's part of the entire eating experience. Touching stuff makes it more real. And when you wrap your fingers around a Red Robin Guacamole Bacon Burger with the Revoloopsie rolls hugging its sweet sweet form, you know you've got something pretty special.

You don't have to be without "bread" any more, low-carbing burger fans!

Now Denver knows that, too. The feedback so far from a sampling of folks across the mtetroplex has been very positive. Some folks want me to buy them burgers now.

My response? You supply the burgers, and I'll let you touch my buns.

Lamb Gyro and Tzatziki

Top picture: Low glycemic load gyro dinner using Mission Low-Carb tortillas. Bottom picture: My revoloopsie rolls make a good pita bread replacement
















This recipe is delicious and easy. Traditional recipes call for ground lamb and ground beef mixed, but I do my thang. This recipe is so good that my kids scarfed down the entire thing in one sitting (even the generally picky ones).


Lamb Gyro


1 pound lamb stew meat, sliced/chopped into smaller bites (got mine at King Soopers)
1 tsp onion powder
3 cloves crushed garlic
1 tsp salt
1 tsp marjoram
1 tsp rosemary
1/2 tsp black pepper

In a covered baking dish, mix meat with the ingredients. Let sit for a 2-3 hours in the refrigerator.

In a 325 degree oven, cook covered for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally until meat is brown and cooked. (If you're not used to cooking lamb, pull a piece out at 30 minutes and cut in half to check for doneness).

Serve with Tzatziki sauce, lettuce, tomato and a gyro or low-carb wrap.



Tzatziki Sauce

1, 8 ounce cup of full-fat, plain yogurt
1 medium cucumber, peeled and seeded
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp lemon juice
1/2 Tbsp dill
2 cloves garlic, peeled
salt and pepper, to taste

In a blender, mix all ingredients until liquid and blended. Store in the refrigerator for at least an hour before serving. Keep refrigerated.

Can also be used as a salad dressing.

WawawaWednesday

Remember Chachi? He always said Wahwahwah. I just wanted to throw that out there for no particular reason.

Snickering with friends

A friend at lowcarbfriends.com has an interesting dilemma.

It's after the holidays, and you are a cozy sight, wrapped in a shroud of classical music and tasteful slippers, your ascot just so. You are sitting by the fire, a la 'masterpiece theatre', speaking in classy high-English British accent, smiling on cue, looking coy when camera one pans in, and feeling rather glib and understandably proud, because in your well-adorned library, you are surrounded by success: the success of a clean New Year.

Then it happens.

A Snickers Bar falls out of the book case next to the book labeled "Dial C for Chocolate". You don't want to do that, dear friend. Throw that Snickers Bar into those amber flames.

Or, if you're more inclined, try one of these ten things to do with that found candy bar.*

1. You could smoosh it up and leave it on your annoying neighbor's doorstep.

2. Toss it in a public urinal.

3. Microwave it in the wrapper and see what happens.

4. Drop it in the Blockbuster movie return slot (still wrapped of course).

5. Slip it in your coat and then when a little kid walks by, fling your coat open and say, "Want to buy some candy, kid?"

6. Put it in your pants and look like Tom Jones.

7. Put it on someone's seat.

8. Stick a bunch of pencils into it for a makeshift pencil holder.

9. Glue it to the floor of the mall and laugh when people try to pick it up.

10. Leave it outside the door of a Weight Watchers meeting.


*note. Don't try these at home. These are only hypothetical. Thank you.

-Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Girl.


TOPS is TOPS

The TOPS meeting was an amazing success. Everyone was extremely friendly, and the dues were very reasonable! Not-for-profit weight loss support groups are extremely nice, especially if you're either on a fixed budget, ot would rather spend money you would have had to otherwise pay in to other groups asking for more. With your leftover cash from TOPS, you could buy some of those organic vegetables you were eyeing up in Yummy Mart.

This is how a TOPS meeting generally runs:

1. You arrive at the meeting early for weigh-in. This is demoralize you for the rest of the meeting (kidding!). The weigh-in is really important and sometimes time-consuming, but two wonderful ladies usually take your weight in privacy and mark it into what is known as your 'bank book', and on a roster.

2. The meeting begins. The meetings begin with a weight loss pledge, and then move to roll call. At this time, people stand up and proclaim a loss or a gain for the week. Usually, if there is a loss, you'll state what that was. People clap. If you gained (and this is what I like about TOPS), the overwhelming response is, "We're glad you're here," --and they are.

This bit always cracks me up, though: If you gain weight, the one thing you do is to 'pay the kitty'. A dime for every fraction of weight you've gained goes into a usually gaudy ceramic bank or a tin of some kind. It can add up, especially if you became close friends with a chalupa or 7, so keep some change, and stick to your plan.

3. There are usually announcements, and then the program is presented. The program is usually motivational or discusses weight loss, exercise, diet tools, or the diet itself. This usually lasts for 20-40 minutes, depending on how much folks talk during that time.

The fun stuff: There is friendly competition, contests, trophies, prizes, and, if you lose a lot of weight, you can even qualify as a "Chapter Queen"!

I really like TOPS. Yes, their plan for weight loss is higher-carb, but they don't care what plan you follow so long as you follow their basic tenet and name: Taking Off Pounds Sensibly (TOPS). How can you beat that?


I LOST my fat on some dumb island

I don't much care for exercise. On a scale from one to 10, I'd stick it in my pocket and hope for gastric indigestion.

Unfortunately, or not, exercise is an important part of a weight loss plan.

My dad first encountered Atkins while on bed rest due to a broken back through a military training accident. It was in Germany in the early 80's when a German doctor preached the Gospel of Atkins, and lo, my father first heard word of ketosis.

Six months, and 80 pounds later, he was a convert.

We know Atkins works, even for those who cannot exercise due to injury; but we also know that whenever possible, it is important to exercise. Since the laws of physics state that My butt at rests tends to stay at rest (Newton, Fig), it's important for me to get off of my colossal keister and walk on my treadmill.

My favorite thing to do (translating into the least painful exercise routine) is to walk on the treadmill while watching Netflix. Right now I'm watching "Lost", and I'll tell you what! There's nothing like immersing yourself in a pretty darned good tootin' show to get your mind off of the fact you'd rather be not exercising!

No commercials or hassles, and you can even splurge if you feel the need to watch an extra episode. (Don't worry: I won't tell anyone.)

So put on that exercise gear and make it a habit. You won't regret it.

Like to weigh daily?

I always weigh on Mondays.

In fact, while I'm a daily weigher, I only mark the weight on my calendar for Mondays.

I do this is because the daily fluctuations might be frustrating, but the weekly numbers serve as better data points over the long term. Since weight loss isn't linear, especially with the water weight changes from day to day, the longer the space between 'official' weighings, the more practical for informational purposes.

So, that said, while I started last Tuesday, the 1st, I am weighing in officially this morning with a 16 pound loss!

Thank you, Dr Atkins!

Taking off Pounds Sensibly

TOPS is a national, not for profit weight loss support group that meets weekly in many areas around the world. I'd been a member for 10 years and let my membership lapse when our move to Colorado came to fruition. I'm headed back today for the added accountability of weighing in every week.

I'll let you know how it goes!

Oopsie Rolls go to Red Robin

Good news on other fronts: The Oopsie rolls (the recipe is the blog entry prior to this one) made it to Red Robin last night to tackle their huge and delicious Bacon Guacamole Burger.

The burger came to the table, and I pulled my buns out of my purse (I was smuggling in low-carb bun contraband) and replaced their bun. (Tip: order the steamed vegetables as the side, and take half home. The veg is on the one-cup per day restriction in induction)I rewrapped my burger with the paper (they're so big they can fall apart, even with the bun), and was it ever amazingly delicious! I smack-talked everyone at my table with "My burger is better bthan your burger." Or, "Want a bite? Oh NO you di'unt!" And then I'd hug my burger and smile. I never spiked my burger on the table in true football fashion, but I broke out with an end zone dance in the parking lot.

The Sailor Scouts make my Revol-oopsie rolls!

Now with no Splenda. You don't need it. If you find you need a more savory roll, experiment with adding dry mustard and dill. It's better than you think!

The recipe at Examiner.com

This recipe goes with this blog entry.

Oopsie Rolls (Gluten-Free Buns)


3 large eggs
pinch of cream of tartar (1/8 tsp)
3 ounces cream cheese (Do not soften)

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F.

Separate the eggs and add cream cheese to the yolks. Use a mixer to combine the ingredients together. In a separate bowl, whip egg whites and cream of tartar until stiff (if you're using the same mixer, mix the whites first and then the yolk mixture). Using a spatula, gradually fold the egg yolk mixture into the white mixture, being careful not to break down the whites. Spray a cookie sheet with non-stick spray and spoon the mixture onto the sheet, making 6 mounds. Flatten each mound slightly.

Bake about 30 minutes (You want them slightly softer, not crumbly). Let cool on the sheet for a few minutes, and then remove to a rack and allow them to cool. Store in a loosely open sack and allow to rest on the counter before use (otherwise they might be too moist). Can be frozen.

Notes: If you are making these to be savory (for burgers) you can add dry mustard and dill or other seasonings to the yolk mixture. If you want a more sweet roll, add a very small amount of stevia natural sweetener to the yolk mixture.


Makes 6@ about 85 calories a piece, >1 carb per
Induction Friendly, Gluten-Free


New~! Oopsie Q&A

New! Red Robin with Oopsies


Here is a picture of a Wendy's burger on a Revoloopsie roll! It's as good as it looks!

Happy New Rear!

Welcome to 2008!

As usual, I'm behind in things. I thought I blogged just like a week ago, and it's already 2-3 weeks ago. This shows how incredibly lame I am. Painfully lame. But with good taste in footwear.

I stepped on the scale on New Year's Eve. I laughed. I weighed again. I was still laughing. I weighed in one more time on January 1, 2008. I stopped laughing and started shaking my fist at the scale while speaking in pirate talk.

It's usually at this point that I start throwing clothes on the floor. I take off the snow boots. I inhale air in. I exhale air out. I make my loved ones test the scale. I check the batteries. I weigh again.

It's at this point that it becomes obvious that aliens must have abducted my scale and replaced it with gravitational pull akin to what is seen on Jupiter. I don't really weigh that much?

Or do I?

Do I?

Weight aside, I'd been feeling not so hunky dory. A constant, stuffy nose, feeling very tired, out of sorts, forgetful to the point of missing appointments, emotionally volatile, acne, depression, dry skin, brittle nails, swollen feet, open sores which just never seemed to heal, palpitations, anxiety, IBS, acid reflux, constant attention to food, skin thinning to the point of rupturing, yeast problems, excess hair growth, tingling in extremities due to size, extreme discomfort in arms due to weight during sleep, waking up a lot, needing a nap most days, unable to walk up a flight of stairs without being fully winded, etc.

I realized how sequestered I'd become in my house, running necessary tasks, but realizing that I always had someone with me to help me, whether it was carrying laundry, or carrying groceries. When there were times I had to leave the house for a function or and event, my anxiety skyrocketed. I knew I wasn't going to be able to fit in a theater seat, or climb to the top of the bleachers to cheer my daughter on during events. It was becoming more apparent that life was becoming smaller and smaller, and the sphere of experience I was living was growing larger and looming.

So, while I am not a fan of New Year's Resolutions, I was still resolved, on the first of January, to start all over again, one last time. This isn't for reasons of vanity, or to wear a size 6. Right now, I just want to be alive.

I originally lost 115 pounds when, on August 20, 2004, I decided that if I wasn't going to lose the weight on my own, I would probably have to risk my life with weight loss surgery. I lost this weight in little over 6 months. Unfortunately, with the extremely quick weight loss, I made a lot of wrong choices: I didn't exercise regularly. I didn't eat practically or in such a way as to follow this plan for life. I stayed on induction for entirely too long. I made weight loss the end-all, be-all, rather than just something which needs to take place.

Now, although I've suffered very real set-backs in weight loss, I know this is where I needed to be in order to make the right choices for the right reasons. Now, with kids who have their own dietary issues and food intolerances, this isn't simply a lone venture by a bored housewife. This is a training: for my kids for the rest of their lives. For me, for the rest of mine. Heck, even my husband likes a lot of the foods I am making these days!

No longer simply omelets for 3 meals a day, vegetables have become a daily staple, and we, as a family unit, have really found a great amount of enjoyment in the changes taking place. My kids are choosing high-protein-high-fat snacks and eschewing sugary treats and crackers. Mashed cauliflower has taken the place of mashed potatoes. Spaghetti squash is slowly replacing spaghetti as a staple meal in my house. Ice cream now takes a back seat to sugar-free jell-o fluff/mousse. Bottled water in my home is now more important than either milk, kool-aid or sodas.

Changes take time, and the right choices take experience.

I look very much forward to sharing with you the journey I'm undertaking this year. The pictures, the progress, the recipes I'm using, and the positive changes.

Are you ready to lose the weight with me?

Forgetting the New Year as a trite cliche in making promises we never intend to keep, can you look to making each and every day a learning experience?

I look forward to our successes together as we move forward into 2008.

My goal: I will lose 150 pounds this year.

And, by the way, after only 2 days on induction, I've already lost 14 pounds.


Thanks, Dr Atkins.