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Re-Post: Picky Eater

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Reposting as this is such a part of who I am.

You can find the original post and comments here:

https://imnotstalkingyou.com/2012/06/29/picky-eater/

I was out to eat with some ex-coworkers recently at a nice restaurant someone had spontaneously suggested. I had no chance to research the menu online ahead of time, as I normally would. It turned out it was a seafood place. The typical conversation ensued as I looked at the menu.

CO-WORKER: You should try the seafood blah-blah. It is really good.
ME: I don’t eat seafood.
CO-WORKER: Aren’t you a vegetarian?
ME: No, I don’t eat vegetables either.
CO-WORKER: Then what do you eat?…You’re a picky eater.

I should have ended this exchange with “Pop Tarts”. But I didn’t. I admit, it is a little paraphrased. But I know how the conversation goes. I have had it a ton of times over the course of my life. And “You’re a picky eater” is always said as an accusation. I wonder if it is the same way people react when they find out someone is gay.

Mmmmm…

I EAT:
well done steak
pizza (just cheese or with green pepper or onion or ham)
cherry poptarts (strawberry* and brown sugar are
acceptable, but not preferred)
corn
potatoes
carrots (cooked)
yogurt
mac & cheese
bacon
pork
chicken
turkey
chocolate
ice cream
cole slaw
lettuce (but it hurts my stomach)
hot dogs
well done hamburgers
white rice
white or wheat bread
banana
apple
pre-peeled oranges
strawberries
pre-cut melon
pop
lemon
lime
select kinds of cheese (NOT KRAFT)
honey mustard
honey
eggs (but not a big fan)
pancakes
waffles
oatmeal
raisins
grapes
nutella
celery (cooked)
ketchup
BBQ sauce

I DO NOT EAT:
pineapple
coconut
seafood
mushrooms
cottage cheese
American cheese (unless it is from McDonald’s)
salads
chives
mayonaise (unless in Deviled Eggs)
potato salad
macaroni salad
butter
coffee
all fruit and vegetables not listed in the “I EAT” column
sausage
brown rice
olives
tea
oreos
walnuts
beans (except jelly beans)
mustard
ranch
red onion
foreign food of any kind, except tacos and quesidillas

* delicious strawberry flavored death!

Now, I realize my “I EAT” column looks like it belongs to a toddler. But in truth, my toddler eats a more well-balanced diet than I do. But I have stayed alive all these years on this fine American processed food. And I grew another being while eating this food.

You have to realize, being a picky eater isn’t a choice. I was born this way. It is a curse. It is a burden I must bear. Some of the foods I don’t eat I have tried and hate, like pineapple and coconut. Some smell so bad, I would never want to put them in my mouth, like seafood and coffee. Some I have never even tried and have no desire to, such as tea.

Actual conversation outside Teavana at the Franklin Park Mall:
SALESMAN: Would you like to try a sample of blah-blah tea today?
ME: I don’t drink tea.
SALESMAN: Oh, then you should try blah-blah. It has a very un-tea-like taste.
ME (thinking): Um, if I don’t drink tea, then obviously I don’t know what it tastes like then, do I?

Think of all the social situations that food plays a part in. I always had packed lunch at school because I wouldn’t eat the school lunch. The entire four years I commuted to college, I never ate in the dining hall. (I used to get nachos from the snack bar occasionally, that was it.) At work, I rarely bought anything from the cafeteria. Potlucks are their own minefield. It is amazing how many dishes have hidden sausage or mayo or cream of mushroom soup.

Chicken nuggets, anyone? Yummers!

Recently, at a family event, I had the following exchange with an Aunt who is the most prim and proper person. She would believe she has excellent manners.

AUNT: (looking at my plate) Is that ALL you are going to eat?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: Are you a picky eater?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: You don’t want any this or that?
ME: I’m good. I found some things. Thanks.

Isn’t it bad manners to make a guest feel bad about what is on their plate?

Why no green pepper?  I can't ask.  Heart racing, breath quickening. Photo: mlive.com

Why no green pepper? I can’t ask. Heart racing, breath quickening.
Photo: mlive.com

Cici’s Pizza is a nightmare for a picky eater with anxiety issues. Cici’s is a pizza buffet. They put out like 20 kinds of pizza at a time. But, of course, nothing for a picky eater. You can ask for any kind of pizza and they will make it for you and add it to the buffet. Except you have to be able to get past your anxiety and open your mouth and ask for it and not fear the rejection you expect to come.

As a life-long picky eater, I worry the rest of the world wants to reform me. (I know, I worry too much.) That they want me to broaden my horizons. I feel like the world thinks if I am forced to eat something, I will like it and eat it forever and ever. It is another way I feel that I am different. That I am wired wrong. But I should stop thinking that way. Because everyone else has their issues.

Some people overeat. Some people undereat. Some people smoke. Or drink. Or do street drugs. Or prescription drugs. Or run marathons. I don’t judge those people. (Well, I do judge the ones who run marathons. I judge them to be crazy.) Being a picky eater is my thing. Hey, I know. Let’s start calling it “selective eating”. That sounds more politically correct.

Yes, I am not wired THAT much different than everyone else. I am just a selective eater. And addicted to caffeine. And I mis-match my socks. And I have issues with tissues.

If I was a character on a sitcom, I could write great jokes about myself. *sigh*

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PURCHASE as a Paperback or eBook on Amazon.com TODAY.

What I Learned This Week – 3/31/13 “Hoppy Easter!”

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Photo: WarmBodiesmovie.com

Absolutely LOVE this pic.   It is my current desktop on my puter.    Photo: WarmBodiesmovie.com

 

This week I learned that Jesus was a zombie.

That is the whole point of Easter, right?

Celebrating when Jesus rose up as his zombie self to prove their was undead life after death?

My family went to church this morning (Shhh, don’t tell my mother. She would highly disapprove.) We went because I found a super-cute Easter outfit for my son at Once Upon a Child. My mom always said “the only reason to get an Easter outfit is if you go to church.” So, if you look at it that way, it is kind of her fault.

We also went to see my asbestos friend and her family.

And because the church was having a potluck breakfast and Easter egg hunt. It would be my son’s first Easter egg hunt, in a relatively riot-free environment.

My husband didn’t realize they were going to have a regular service after. He ended up going in the nursery with my son and taking a nap (New job, screwed up schedule, remember?). I stayed to listen to the sermon for two reasons.

The first and biggest reason is that we usually attend the church events, but not Sunday service. And the few times a year we do attend Sunday services, the church either doesn’t collect an offering or collects it for some charity other than themselves. While that is nice, it doesn’t make good business sense. They need one of those drop boxes for donations. It would make them more susceptible to burglary, but I would give more often. So, I had to stay until they collected the offering.

The second is that it only seemed polite. Get breakfast and eggs and ditch? That didn’t seem nice. And my whole family came, it seemed like at least one of us should actually stay in the church area (I can’t remember what it is called) and listen to the sermon.

The pastor talked about how Jesus rose and stood right next to a chick he had known and she didn’t recognize him.

Um, maybe because he was a rotting re-animated corpse?

And, corpse or not, if he rose again, what happened to him then?

Did he just say “Hey dudes, I did it!” and disappear into colored vapor? Did someone have to exorcise him? Did they have to kill him again? Shoot him with a silver bullet? Cut off his head?

Inquiring minds want to know. My entire biblical education amounts to watching the Charlton Heston movie “The Ten Commandments.”

I tell you, my new enlightenment today on this old story makes it seem WAY more interesting and contemporary. Because, you know, the zombies are coming soon…

Photo: austinist.com

Photo: austinist.com

A Love Letter to Deviled Eggs

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There was a farewell potluck at the church for the Pastor’s family. I asked my asbestos friend what I should bring. Being that I live 20 minutes away, it is a pain to bring something warm and attempt to keep it warm and/or try not to spill it. My asbestos friend suggested I make deviled eggs. And that made me happy.

Work Station: 1.Peel 2.Cut 3.Yolk 4.Whites


I find making deviled eggs relaxing. I know, you are probably thinking I am crazy. How can peeling one (or two) dozen eggs be relaxing? If you use brand new eggs, I have to admit, they are almost impossible to peel and can cause endless frustration. But if you use eggs that have been in your fridge a week or two, they peel better when boiled. And standing at my kitchen counter doing endless manual labor gives my mind a break.

Another relaxing thing about deviled eggs is that I don’t need to use a recipe to make them. Maybe people have a lot of dishes they can make by heart. Deviled eggs would be my only one. I don’t measure ingredients either. I just feel how much should go into each batch with my soul.

Because I enjoy making deviled eggs, I often make them for large groups, like showers or family gatherings. I have two deviled egg storage containers, which hold 35 eggs total. (Whoever invented a deviled egg container which holds an odd number of eggs should be shot. Probably a man.) When my mom made deviled eggs, she used to smash up the yolks with a fork. But then again, she was only making eggs for three people. I have found the most useful tool to use when making a large quantity of deviled eggs is a pastry blender. It is meant to be used to cut (blend) shortening into dry ingredients. I would have no idea what it was if I hadn’t been told in middle school Home Ec class. It works very well to efficiently smash lots of yolks in no time flat. (Ha, flat!)

I am not going to give you my recipe, because it is my secret recipe. And pretty unimpressive. But I will say that I do not believe the school of thought that says bring your eggs to a boil, then turn them off and let them sit for 20 minutes. I believe in BOILING my eggs for 20 minutes. I am a big advocate of food safety. I don’t want to take any chances with my eggs.

Also, if I want to fancy them up, I can put the filling in a Ziploc bag, cut the corner, and fill the egg whites as you would take a pastry bag full of frosting to a cake. But I don’t often do that, as I feel you leave valuable yolk stuff stuck behind in the Ziploc bag. I always top with paprika, although I don’t really believe it has much taste.

Finished Product (I recently melted the blue try, so I had to buy a new one. Ya! No more odd numbered eggs!


And, that is pretty much all I have to say about deviled eggs. I like to make them. They make other people happy. Hey, is it wrong to take “DEVIL”ed eggs to a church function?

I’m not stalking you. is NOW ON FACEBOOK! “Like” that I’m not stalking you and get an update when there is a new post to read. (It is sort of like YOU are stalking ME.)

Picky Eater

Posted on

I was out to eat with some ex-coworkers recently at a nice restaurant someone had spontaneously suggested. I had no chance to research the menu online ahead of time, as I normally would. It turned out it was a seafood place. The typical conversation ensued as I looked at the menu.

CO-WORKER: You should try the seafood blah-blah. It is really good.
ME: I don’t eat seafood.
CO-WORKER: Aren’t you a vegetarian?
ME: No, I don’t eat vegetables either.
CO-WORKER: Then what do you eat?…You’re a picky eater.

I should have ended this exchange with “Pop Tarts”. But I didn’t. I admit, it is a little paraphrased. But I know how the conversation goes. I have had it a ton of times over the course of my life. And “You’re a picky eater” is always said as an accusation. I wonder if it is the same way people react when they find out someone is gay.

Mmmmm…

I EAT:
well done steak
pizza (just cheese or with green pepper or onion or ham)
cherry poptarts (strawberry* and brown sugar are
acceptable, but not preferred)
corn
potatoes
carrots (cooked)
yogurt
mac & cheese
bacon
pork
chicken
turkey
chocolate
ice cream
cole slaw
lettuce (but it hurts my stomach)
hot dogs
well done hamburgers
white rice
white or wheat bread
banana
apple
pre-peeled oranges
strawberries
pre-cut melon
pop
lemon
lime
select kinds of cheese (NOT KRAFT)
honey mustard
honey
eggs (but not a big fan)
pancakes
waffles
oatmeal
raisins
grapes
nutella
celery (cooked)
ketchup
BBQ sauce

I DO NOT EAT:
pineapple
coconut
seafood
mushrooms
cottage cheese
American cheese (unless it is from McDonald’s)
salads
chives
mayonaise (unless in Deviled Eggs)
potato salad
macaroni salad
butter
coffee
all fruit and vegetables not listed in the “I EAT” column
sausage
brown rice
olives
tea
oreos
walnuts
beans (except jelly beans)
mustard
ranch
red onion
foreign food of any kind, except tacos and quesidillas

* delicious strawberry flavored death!

Now, I realize my “I EAT” column looks like it belongs to a toddler. But in truth, my toddler eats a more well-balanced diet than I do. But I have stayed alive all these years on this fine American processed food. And I grew another being while eating this food.

You have to realize, being a picky eater isn’t a choice. I was born this way. It is a curse. It is a burden I must bear. Some of the foods I don’t eat I have tried and hate, like pineapple and coconut. Some smell so bad, I would never want to put them in my mouth, like seafood and coffee. Some I have never even tried and have no desire to, such as tea.

Actual conversation outside Teavana at the Franklin Park Mall:
SALESMAN: Would you like to try a sample of blah-blah tea today?
ME: I don’t drink tea.
SALESMAN: Oh, then you should try blah-blah. It has a very un-tea-like taste.
ME (thinking): Um, if I don’t drink tea, then obviously I don’t know what it tastes like then, do I?

Think of all the social situations that food plays a part in. I always had packed lunch at school because I wouldn’t eat the school lunch. The entire four years I commuted to college, I never ate in the dining hall. (I used to get nachos from the snack bar occasionally, that was it.) At work, I rarely bought anything from the cafeteria. Potlucks are their own minefield. It is amazing how many dishes have hidden sausage or mayo or cream of mushroom soup.

Chicken nuggets, anyone? Yummers!

Recently, at a family event, I had the following exchange with an Aunt who is the most prim and proper person. She would believe she has excellent manners.

AUNT: (looking at my plate) Is that ALL you are going to eat?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: Are you a picky eater?
ME: Yes.
AUNT: You don’t want any this or that?
ME: I’m good. I found some things. Thanks.

Isn’t it bad manners to make a guest feel bad about what is on their plate?

Why no green pepper?  I can't ask.  Heart racing, breath quickening. Photo: mlive.com

Why no green pepper? I can’t ask. Heart racing, breath quickening.
Photo: mlive.com

Cici’s Pizza is a nightmare for a picky eater with anxiety issues. Cici’s is a pizza buffet. They put out like 20 kinds of pizza at a time. But, of course, nothing for a picky eater. You can ask for any kind of pizza and they will make it for you and add it to the buffet. Except you have to be able to get past your anxiety and open your mouth and ask for it and not fear the rejection you expect to come.

As a life-long picky eater, I worry the rest of the world wants to reform me. (I know, I worry too much.) That they want me to broaden my horizons. I feel like the world thinks if I am forced to eat something, I will like it and eat it forever and ever. It is another way I feel that I am different. That I am wired wrong. But I should stop thinking that way. Because everyone else has their issues.

Some people overeat. Some people undereat. Some people smoke. Or drink. Or do street drugs. Or prescription drugs. Or run marathons. I don’t judge those people. (Well, I do judge the ones who run marathons. I judge them to be crazy.) Being a picky eater is my thing. Hey, I know. Let’s start calling it “selective eating”. That sounds more politically correct.

Yes, I am not wired THAT much different than everyone else. I am just a selective eater. And addicted to caffeine. And I mis-match my socks. And I have issues with tissues.

If I was a character on a sitcom, I could write great jokes about myself. *sigh*

I’m not stalking you. is NOW ON FACEBOOK! “Like” that I’m not stalking you and get an update when there is a new post to read. (It is sort of like YOU are stalking ME.)

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