Sugar Shuffle

"What happened in here?" It was the question my very confused father posed after waking from his Sunday nap to discover my mother and me in the kitchen.

It began innocently. Because I have The Beetus, birthday cake is not a good thing for me to eat. But with my 27th birthday looming, I have been on the lookout for a diabetes-friendly cake recipe. I found a recipe for a soybean flour cake and decided to make a test cake at my parents' house on Sunday. The cake itself was fine...nothing award winning, but definitely edible if it had a little real frosting on top. I found a container of vanilla frosting in the cabinet, only to open it and discover that SOMEONE had been eating it with a spoon. Sigh.

My mom and I sat there staring at the almost empty frosting container and my naked little soybean cake. Since I cook MAYBE twice a year, the fact that I had used a blender and the oven all in one day was kind of a big deal. We could not let my efforts end in frostingless tragedy! So a mad dash began. We opened every cabinet in the kitchen looking for something we could use to top the cake. In our enthusiasm, we completely forgot about the fact that this was supposed to be a "healthy" cake. Mom was yelling things like, "Ugh! No whip cream!" and "I know we've got some powdered sugar around here somewhere!"In the end, our cake topping options came down to a bag of dark chocolate chocolate chips, a package of white chocolate almond bark, and a bottle of Sugar Free Hershey's Syrup. Mom decided the the almond bark was the way to go and broke off several bars to put in a bowl in the microwave. The good news? The soybean cake was DELICIOUS covered in melted white chocolate! The bad news? I'm pretty sure cake stops being diabetic-friendly when you pour two pounds of almond bark over it. 

Between the two of us, one slice at a time, we ate the ENTIRE CAKE (It was small! It was small!). So when my dad wandered into the kitchen after his nap, the scene he saw was:

The kitchen in a complete mess from our icing search/baking the cake.

An empty cake pan covered in crumbs.

A cabinet covered in the remnants of melted white chocolate.

Mom and me, holding our stomachs and groaning. Clearly two people suffering from eater's remorse. Eater's remorse is like buyer's remorse, but with food. Pretty much we looked like this kid:

The awkward part is that when people ask me how my soybean cake turned out I say "Delicious!" But I'm not really sure if the cake was actually good, or if the almond bark is what made it good. I'm pretty sure you could pour melted almond bark over stale bread and it would still be delicious. 

Eviction Notice

I love my porch. It has an old black rocking chair, a huge citronella candle for keeping bugs at bay, and a side table for holding my books, magazines, and iced tea. Everything I need to enjoy a lazy afternoon or spend an evening reading. Unfortunately, last fall my porch acquired something new, a family of birds. The birds built their nest on top of my porch late last fall. Before I knew it, my whole porch was covered in icky bird poo and I was banished indoors. I was going to destroy the nest, but it was quickly becoming winter and I hated the thought of leaving the birds homeless in the cold! After much internal debate, I made up my mind to let them stay for the winter and evict them as soon as spring came...

But when spring came, I worried that my porch inhabitants had babies in that nest. What if I knocked it down and killed their babies!? Or left them homeless with babies to feed!? No no, I could not live with myself if I was a baby bird murderer. So I decided to wait until I was certain there were no eggs or hungry little babies.

Now that time has come. My patience with the birds is OVER. The bird family is the most active family of birds EVER. Not only do they poop more than any bird family in history, they like to wake me up at 5am with incessant chirping EVERY MORNING.

So today was the day. Eviction Day. Wearing hot pink rubber kitchen gloves, rain boots, sunglasses, and a face mask (filched from our yard guys), I stepped onto the porch. Whilst humming the Ghost Busters theme song, I took a broom and knocked down the nest...which, blessedly, was empty. Then I used 2 entire bottles of Mr. Clean and scrubbed my porch top to bottom to get rid of any traces of poo.

Finally! My porch was mine again!

After all the deep cleaning, I made a glass of tea and sat in my rocker to enjoy a good book. A few pages in, I looked up and realized the bird family was sitting on the eve of my porch, watching my every move. As I reached for my tea, their angry eyes followed me. As I stood up they craned their necks down and continued to stare. Despite the fact that I think I should get some major props for not evicting them last fall, apparently the birds are very displeased with me and may possibly be plotting my death. Eventually I couldn't take their staring anymore and I started to feel really paranoid so I went inside. Since I came in they have all been sitting on my porch railing staring at the door...waiting.

Now I'm scared to use my porch because I keep having visions of myself being killed by birds a-la Alfred Hitchcock.

Pure Barre, Pure Hell

I consider myself to be "athletic." I did a decade of ballet, tap and jazz, followed by another decade and a half of gymnastics and cheerleading. So when it comes to trying new exercise classes, I usually feel very confident.

After a recent Groupon for Pure Barre classes, my BFF Hauren Luckabee* and I decided to try our first class tonight.

I showed up 20 minutes early and patted myself on the back for being so prepared, until I realized I had forgotten socks! Not to worry, they sell socks there...for SIXTEEN DOLLARS. Who has heard of a $16 pair of socks? Seriously. If I am paying that much for socks they'd better give me a foot massage or do my workout for me.

Ridiculously expensive new socks in hand, I made my way into the Barre room to prepare for class to start. After putting on my new socks, I realize that they don't just say "Pure Barre" on the bottom. Across the toe area of both socks in big bold letters they say "Bride To Be."

Is this my real life? Like at age 26 I don't already feel judged for not being married, but now even my SOCKS are judging me and pointing out the fact that I'm single. RUDE. Luckily, class began before anyone had a chance to ask me about my fiance or pending wedding plans.

Our teacher was very sweet, and very perky. She kept saying phrases like "You can do it!" and "Just ten more on this side, count with me!" and "Feel it getting tigher!" My arse muscles were on FIRE. I was shaking so badly it was embarrasing. I could not wait for this torture to be over. Then our teacher said, "Looking great guys! We are almost halfway through the warm up."

Is this some kind of horrible joke? Half way through the warm up? KILL ME NOW. Immediately I began plotting different ways to get out of class, but I didn't want to look like a total wimp. So obviously I did the only practical thing and started praying for an earthquake or a power outage.

Alas, there was no major electrical event. Class continued and the teacher kept coming over and correcting my form. To which I would simply roll my eyes. The music was too loud, or I would have just told her, "Look, I'm aware my form is incorrect. I'm just phoning this workout in okay? All I want to do is live through the next 60 minutes so I can crawl out of here with some tiny shred of dignity."

With each new exercise Hauren Luckabee and I would look at each other in despair. We were the only newbies in a class of women who do Pure Barre 5 times a week. To add insult to injury, one entire wall of the classroom is a giant mirror. So you can watch yourself struggle...and jiggle.

Needless to say, I was SO HAPPY when the teacher finally told us to give ourselves a round of applause. It was time to leave! I didn't clap, but I did crawl to the front door, remove my Bride to Be socks, and teeter out to my car on sore, wobbly legs.

I assure you that Pure Barre is all it is cracked up to be. Of course if you do it 5 times a week you will look like Gwyneth Paltrow. That said, I will never be going back. Ever. All I have to show for my first class is a $16 pair of socks I can't wear until I get engaged someday, a sore arse and a badly bruised ego. Workout fail.


*Name has been changed to protect privacy

Pink Makes Everything Pretty

I am not a Type 1 Diabetic. I am not a Type 2 Diabetic. I am a LADA (Latent Autoimmune Diabetes in Adulthood). It is completely different from the other 2 types and it is much more rare. The more I delve into the world of "The Beetus" the more educated/overwhelmed I become. Everything I read points a different direction! Instead of dipping my toe into the pool of diabetes information, I feel like I am being sprayed with a fire-hose...in the face...during a hurricane.

Today, I had more unsolicited advice from a non-diabetic. Someone found out I have just been diagnosed with The Beetus and said, "Doesn't cinnamon cure diabetes?" On the outside I did a polite smile, but on the inside I was like:

Someday there might be a cure for diabetes. Unfortunately, there is no cure for stupidity.

Now that I'm done ranting about that, it's time to focus on the positives of having The Beetus. You know you are a total girly-girl when you can't decide if you want a CGM (Continuous Glucose Monitor) until you discover it comes in PINK. Gasp! PIIIIIIINK! I'll pretty much carry any accessory that comes in pink. Throw in some glitter (and oh yeah, the fact that it can save my life or whatever) and I'm sold!

In other news, I have a new friend crush. She has her own Facebook page and YouTube channel. Her name is "Diabetic Danica" and I am obsessed with all of her videos. She is super cute and perky and I feel like we would be BFFs if we ever met in real life. We both have The Beetus and we both love pink. How much more does one friendship need!?

Death By Chocolate...no really!

Fact Number One: Reese's Cups are my favorite candy of all time. EVAAAA!
Fact Number Two: I am a stress-eater.

So ironically, when I got diagnosed as a diabetic I could not reach for my go-to comfort candy. Luckily, I discovered that Sugar Free Reese's exist! Naturally I bought out Wal-mart's supply and began tossing them back with reckless abandon in the car on the way home from the store. By the time I got home and had all of the groceries put away my tummy felt a bit rumbly...

Fast forward 30 minutes and I was face down on the living room floor on a heating pad, feeling like I was literally going to die. I could not imagine what was happening. Other than being thirsty and a little tired, I never had any other symptoms of diabetes. Was this some new horrible symptom I was going to have to deal with the rest of my life?!?

No, no. It turns out that most sugar free candy, including Sugar Free Reese's, is made with a chemical called Sorbitol. Sorbitol is the exact same drug hospitals use as a LAXATIVE. Most sugar free candy packages even include a warning (at the very bottom of the back of the package, in the world's smallest lettering) that consumption may cause digestive issues or a "laxative-like effect." What it actually means is that half an hour after consumption you feel like you have swallowed a fist full of firecrackers and thumbtacks that are now being punched in the gut by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.

COME ON CANDY COMPANIES! We are buying your sugar free candy because we are diabetic. Now we are diabetic with excruciating stomach cramps. Way to kick us while we are down! Don't feel like I'm just picking on you Reese's, I feel that Russel Stover and Hershey's owes us all an apology as well. ;D

Now if you will excuse me, I have a Jello Sugar Free Pudding calling my name. Unlike SOME snacks, Jello does not make me feel like I am dying.

Smokin' Hot Firefighters and Cold-Hearted Burglars

On a cold February morning in 2010 I was driving my Camaro to work as usual when it started bumping around. Assuming I had a flat tire, I pulled over on the side of the interstate. As I was getting out of my car to look for a flat a man in a Terminix truck pulled off the interstate behind me and started screaming, "MA'AM! GET AWAY FROM YOUR CAR! RUN!" As I turned to look back at my car I saw flames shooting out from beneath the back of my car pyrotechnics style. The Terminix guy grabbed the small fire extinguisher from his truck and tried to put the flames out, but (as we learned later) it was an oil fire, so the extinguisher did no good. My keys, phone, wallet, purse and laptop were all in the flaming car. So Mr. Terminix called 911 while I stood there watching my car slowly melt into the pavement. A few minutes later the Pulaski County Fire Department pulled up beside my car. As if a car on fire is not already a spectacle, the fire department blocked off an entire lane of the interstate with orange cones and left the siren blaring and the lights flashing on the fire truck as 5 firefighters in full gear jumped out of the truck and began spraying my car with fire extinguishers. After they put out the fire under the back of my car, they also sprayed the whole outside and even popped my hood and sprayed in there too, just for good measure I guess. So what the fire didn't damage, the spray got. This whole time I was just standing there on the side of the road watching all of the action happen as rubberneckers driving past shook their heads in awe. Traffic was backed up for 9 miles according to the radio. Whoopsie!

With the flames extinguished Mr. Terminix left me in the care of the fire department and left. I called my brother for a ride, but it was freezing cold outside so the kind firemen offered to let me wait in their fire truck until he arrived to pick me up. Despite the trauma of just having watched my car melt, getting to sit in the fire truck was AWESOME. The firefighters showed me around the truck and taught me what everything was for. I was busily texting my mom and friends with messages like, "My car is probably ruined. I'll tell you about that later. But I'm in a FIRE TRUCK right now!" Hello priorities! My brother finally arrived to collect me from the fire department and a tow-truck came to collect my poor Camaro. I got dropped off at my parents' house and thought the day's adventure was over.

...but I was SO wrong. Less than an hour after being dropped at my parents' house their phone rang. It was a neighbor from two doors down calling to tell me that she had just come home from work and caught a guy trying to get in to her house through the front door. She was calling the house to say that there were two more guys that were now at my parents' front door and that she had called the police. Sure enough, a quick peek through the window showed that there were indeed 2 guys hovering on the porch. A third was walking through the front yard. I quickly called for my dad, who had come home from work early due to the "Hey Dad, my car is on fire, but it's cool I'm hanging with the fire fighters" text messages. As he was stepping outside to confront the burglars the Police arrived. 2 of the would-be burglars took off running across the yard. I watched as a very spry cop tackled one of the burglars right there in the front yard and cuffed him. The other two burglars took off on foot and got away. In retrospect, texting my already concerned-about-the-car-fire mother with "A cop just tackled a guy in our front yard! Look I took a picture!" was probably not the best thing for her blood pressure. 

In the end, the Camaro was replaced with a Mustang convertible and the would-be burglar that got caught in our yard got deported. And I lived happily ever after.

"The Beetus"

March 13, 2013 I was diagnosed with diabetes. It was a shock to say the least! I workout every day but Sunday, I eat health food most people can't even pronounce (couscous, Quinoa, edamame...), I have a healthy weight and BMI, and all of my vitals are PERFECT...except for my blood glucose, which was literally off the charts when I was diagnosed. After a weekend spent at the hospital and several complete "Ugly Cry" style meltdowns, I have finally put on my big girl panties and come to terms with having "The Beetus." As a person of faith, I believe everything happens for a reason and that my diagnosis was no surprise to The Lord. That said, there are a few things you should know:

1. I didn't get diabetes from eating too much sugar. If you say, "I bet you wish you'd have eaten less sugar!" I will punch you in the throat.

2. Diabetics CAN eat sugar. So when you see me eating a banana or a some Starbursts, relax. We D's need sugar just like every other human. However, if you see me plowing through a box full of cupcakes feel free to slap the box out of my hands and tell me to pull myself together.

3. If your diabetes advice came from Google feel free to keep it to yourself. I too have Google.

4. DON'T tell me that story about your uncle who overdosed on his insulin and went into a coma and died. Or that story about your great-aunt who had diabetes and lost both legs and went blind. Diabetes knowledge and science has come a LONG way since your great-aunt's time. People can live long and healthy lives now without blindness, comas, and amputations. So please keep your creepy horror stories to yourself.

5. Kids with a mom with Type 1 have a 9% chance of getting Type 1. With a dad with Type 1 they have a 7% chance of getting Type 1. Kids with one parent with Type 2 have a 40% chance of getting Type 2. And kids with 2 parents with Type 2 have a 90% chance of getting Type 2.

6. Ask me anything. I am not afraid to answer your questions, show you my insulin needles, or talk to you about "The Beetus."

7. Pray for me. Pray that I am Type 2 (not insulin dependent). Pray that I can stay healthy and positive. Pray for a CURE. Being diagnosed a 26 sucks. And yet, so many kids are diagnosed at age 2 or 3 and literally live their whole lives with this disease.

8. Finally, it's okay to eat that candy bar in front of me. I am not going to burst into tears, or snatch it out of your hand and gobble it up and end up in a coma. Chill out. Eat your candy. It's all good. ;)