How I Got the Beetus, part 3: My Caramel Coloring Addiction

Hello, my name is John... and I am a sodaholic. I have already talked about my love of cake and candy. Now it is time to talk about one of the biggest reasons I ended up with type 2 diabetes: soda. Carbornated beverages have always been my crack. They are cheap, easy to get, and terrible for me.

I believe, like most issues I have, my addiction is all my parents' fault. I am just kidding, of course, but let me explain why I even brought my parents into this. When I was young, my siblings and I were not allowed to have soda. We could drink it at parties and other special occasions, but not as an everyday beverage. My father drank soda like it was water (which it basically is -- just carbonated -- but I digress...) and I would watch him. It hardly seemed fair, while I guzzled glass after glass of milk, he partook of the sweet dark brown nectar known as soda. It was no wonder that once I grew up and got out on my own, soda became my beverage of choice.

As usual, I will sidetrack here. Before I get into a discussion about my unhealthy obsession with soda, let me tell you a little bit about my addictive personality. I have always been afraid that I was predisposed to addiction and have always avoided alcohol and drugs like the plague.

If anyone has ever watched the show Taxi, you will surely remember Christopher Lloyd's character, Reverend Jim Ignitowski. He was your basic lovable burnout that did waaaay too many drugs in his life. There was an episode where they showed Jim's life before he got into drugs: he was a preppy college student who didn't want anything to do with drugs, until a girl (his girlfriend?) pressured him to try a pot brownie. In this episode, he delivers this wonderful line, saying that it has been proven that some people have a highly addictive personality and you never know, he may be one of them. He takes a bite of the brownie and his face distorts, going back to the same facial expression the later, drug-addled Jim would possess. He tells the girl to run ahead and when he's alone he grabs a bunch more brownies.

I always thought that was something that could happen to me and thought the best way to combat it would to be to avoid drugs and alcohol. I can't even stop picking my nose--I can only imagine what would happen if I got hooked on something that was truly addictive. I still have never tried drugs, but I did break my rule on alcohol. Not that I drink, but I have sampled many, many different alcoholic drinks. Usually it was to humor someone who was convinced that you could not taste the alcohol in a particular drink. I always could. I never aquired a taste for alcohol, therefore never learned to like it.

That all being said, I truly believe I am addicted to soda. Maybe it is just that this is my primary source of caffeine, but whatever the reason, I am hooked. Well, I think I have isolated my addiction to caramel coloring, because I only drink the dark-colored sodas. Cola is my first choice and when it comes to it, I am not particular. I will drink Coke or Pepsi (I favor Pepsi, but that is primarily because that is the one that seems to go on sale the most around here). I usually drink Sam's Club (generic WalMart cola) because it is still only 84 cents (or is it 87?) for a 2-liter bottle, and with the amount I drink, cost is the most important factor.

I will drink Dr. Pepper and Root Beer, but tend to avoid the Sprites, Ginger Ales, Mountain Dews, Oranges and other non-dark brown carbonated beverages. I will drink them in a pinch but only if I have to. God forbid I should drink water! I also don't care what time of day it is -- I will drink Soda at breakfast, lunch or dinner, and often imbibe at all three times of day.

Food does have some effect on when I drink soda: if I am having pancakes or eggs, soda is okay, but if I am eating a bowl of cereal, absolutely not. Cola and milk do not mix--sorry Ms. Defazzio. There are some foods, like Pizza, that I have trouble eating without my favorite beverage. This seems to confirm that I do have an addiction, because you often hear stories of how certain activities, or places will make smokers want to smoke. As soon as I am in front of a pizza, I just have to have a nice tall glass of whatever cola is available.

Not to steal material from comedian Lewis Black, but has anyone ever gone to a restaurant and decided not to eat there because they served Pepsi and not Coke, or vice versa? Do people actually refuse to drink Pepsi if the restaurant doesn't serve Coke? Some people must be beverage-loyal, because why do waitresses always ask you if Coke is okay when you ask for Pepsi, or if Pepsi is okay when you ask for Coke? Anyway, I'm drifting away from my topic, once again.

Before my diagnosis, I would drink straight-up Cola. Do you have any idea how much sugar is in a 2-liter bottle of soda? I would often drink at least a bottle a day. Who am I kidding? I could drink a bottle at a single meal. I used to buy a 2-liter bottle from the local convenience store and drink it straight out of the bottle throughout the day at work--every day. I sometimes could make a 2-liter last for two days, but most of the time it was done by the end of the work day. What do you think I drank when I got home? Yep, more (sugar) soda. So after years and years of pouring sugar down my throat, it is no surprise that I have the beetus.

Well now that I am actually making an effort to slow the progress of my disease, I have made the transition to diet cola. I have greatly reduced the amount of cola I consume, and at work I drink mostly water, with a cup or two of tea to get the caffeine my body needs. When I am at home, however, soda is the beverage of choice. At some level I have just traded filling my body with sugar with filling it with chemicals that are probably going to do as much damage, but I seem unwilling or unable to stop.

I know I should give up the soda, or at least try to cut back even more, but until scientists come out and say that each 20-ounce bottle is taking 6 months off of my life or something similar, I will keep drinking it. To think, all those years ago, my parents weren't being stingy, they were just trying to help me from getting hooked, like them. If only I had listened!

On Kid-Wrangling and Pooping in the Woods

I tried to write my last post about something topical, and it did not go over very well, so I'm going back to telling embarrassing stories about myself. This one happened back in the dark days, when I was married to my ex-wife. The kids were very little and we were all out lawn-saling in Argyle. I believe it was the town-wide lawn sale because I remember that we had all been out in the car for a while.

Being veteran lawn-salers, we had established a basic plan for dealing with our kids while out. When we got to a lawn sale, one of the adults would get out and "scout" ahead; the other would stay in the car with the kids. If the scout saw something the other person would be interested in, then they would signal, and the car-bound adult would get the kids out of the car and bring them to the sale.

I like browsing, but it only takes me about 2 minutes to size up your average lawn sale, and figure out if there is anything I have interest in. It would have made more sense for me to be the scout, but 99% of the time it was my ex-wife. She would spend what seemed to be an eternity looking around, and I would sit in the car with the children. The kids would steadily get less happy about being strapped into their car seats, as one would expect. When the kids were very young, lawn saling was a lot easier, because they would usually just snooze in the car. While they slept, I had time to draw, write or read. As the kids got older, however, they became interested in the items they saw at the lawn sale and began begging to get out of the car. I obliged them more often than not.

My role at that point became, not a fellow lawn sale customer, as one would expect, but a kid-wrangler. My job was basically to manage the children and make sure that they did not destroy things at the lawn sale we were visiting. Kid-wrangling is not a fun job, especially when you have kids with ADHD. Let me tell you, everyone always knew the names of my kids, because I was constantly "yelling" at them to put stuff down, not to touch fragile items and to watch out for other lawn-salers, etc.

Kid-wrangling was not just my role at lawn sales -- it was one of my major roles in my marriage. Whenever we went out in public, it was what I did. I kid-wrangled at parties, grocery stores and anywhere there was a potential for unattended kids to cause major property damage. I should hire myself out, since I am pretty good at it. I remember going to a lot of parties at my ex-wife's family's homes, and all I did was chase the kids around. I barely seemed to get a chance to just sit, relax and visit. Anytime I tried to chill, I would eventually hear my ex-wife say something about how the kids were running amok, which was my cue to get up and deal with it. There were many times I just took the kids outside and sat alone with my plate of food and let the kids run crazy. I wasn't being anti-social; it was just the easiest way to wrangle the kids without having to hear my ex complain, after the party, about how she didn't get to talk to her family because she had to chase the kids all day (which is just one of a thousand reasons why we split up.)

Okay, lets get back to the story. One this particular day, we stopped at a promising lawn sale on the outskirts of town and my ex-wife hopped out and started looking around. I figured she would be a while because this sale had a lot of clothes for sale, and so I was just settling in for a long wait. The kids were comfortably chilling in their car seats, and all was fine.

Well, not quite everything.

I had been slowly feeling the build up of a pretty nasty bowel movement. I had mentioned to my ex-wife that we should probably stop somewhere soon, and we had decided we would find a place I could take care of business after the lawn sale we had just stopped at. Apparently, we forgot to consult my excretory system about our plan, because after sitting there for about 5 minutes I realized, after some pretty violent cramps, that the poop was coming very, very soon. Whether I was ready for it, or not.

It turned into one of those rare moments when you start having very dark debates with yourself. We were basically in the middle of nowhere -- well, nowhere with an easy access public toilet, anyway. We were also pretty far away from our home (at least 30 minutes). Even if there was a public toilet nearby, I would probably have soiled myself long before I unbuckled the kids and got them into the store or restaurant. Besides, trying to handle multiple children while I went to the bathroom was something that would have proved awkward as well. I began thinking about whether I should just let it go in my pants or not. It seemed like the easiest/most likely solution. I hadn't intentionally pooped my pants since I was in diapers and was not relishing the idea at all.

Just to add more complications, the car was some distance from the lawn sale itself so I would have had to yell to get my ex-wife's attention. I did not feel like calling across the yard, "Hey, I have got to take a massive dump, right now! Get in the car before I fill my pants!" The lawn's owner and the other two or three patrons may not have appreciated that bit of TMI. So it was time to get creative. Either that, or I would have a long squishy, stinky ride home.

I was quite familiar with the area nearby the lawn sale, as this was a road I drove on almost everyday to go to high school. It was not a very busy road, being surrouneded by woods on both sides. An idea struck me like a lightning bolt and the spark of hope became a conflagration. (Just wanted to use conflagration in a sentence, sorry!) The solution came to me. Does a bear shit in the woods? That I can neither confirm, nor deny, but I decided at that moment that I would.

I fired up the car and quickly sped away. My ex gave me a quizzical look and I tried to use some sort of sign language/ hand-signaling to indicate that I would be right back. She seemed to get the message because she appeared to go back to shopping. I couldn't tell exactly, because I was focused on getting to a place to do what I had to do and clenching my butt cheeks as tightly as possible. If I had a piece of coal, I would have shoved it between my cheeks and probably would have made a diamond.

I drove up the road about half a mile and pulled to the side of the road. The place I selected had woods on both sides, pretty close to the road and fairly thick. There was also enough room for me to pull the car completely off the road. Now this is where I might get accused of endangering the welfare of my children, depending on how rigid you follow the rules: I made a quick check of the kids to make sure they were all comfortable and settled in (they were). Carefully exiting the car (making sure not to bend, because I was sure that if I did, I would have lost control of my sphincter), I grabbed the keys, saw the baby's diaper bag, grabbed it and dashed madly into the woods. I was close enough where I could see the car and get to it in a second or two, but far enough so I wouldn't be squatting and waving to cars as they drove by.

I dug a quick hole with the heel of my shoe and dug the baby wipes out of the diaper bag. I was very proud of myself that despite the fact that all of my brain was devoted to preventing a messy accident, that I had the wherewithal to think about the post-poop clean up. I can just imagine trying to wipe with gathered leaves. It would have been more eco-friendly, for sure, but not that smooth on my butt. I gave one quick look to make sure there were no cars coming, or people wandering in the woods, dropped my pants and did the squat and drop. Sweet heaven! Sweet release!

I quickly got all the poop out, well maybe not all of it, but enough so that I could make it to a proper restroom and finish properly. I wiped, threw the used baby wipes into the hole and kicked the dirt back over my mess. I just have to say, for the record, I wish I could wipe with baby wipes all the time! You feel soooo clean afterwards. I quickly made my way back to the car and checked on the kids. They were all fine. No tears were shed. They just patiently waited for me to return. I turned the car around and headed back to the lawn sale to get my ex-wife and explain what I had done. For some strange reason she was neither shocked, nor surprised by my action.

This is a bit of a cautionary tale. When lawn-saling, make sure you have an established pooping strategy. When you are out there in the field (hopefully not literally), toilets are not always handy. Make sure you know where the public bathrooms are and the quickest route to them. Also, listen to your body. My bowels gave me plenty of warning, yet I kept ignoring them. The stomach cramps would rise and then subside making me think I could ride them out. I tempted fate, and fate almost won (a pair of pants and my dignity). Lastly, you should always carry baby wipes, even if you don't have a baby. They are to cleaning as duct tape is to home repairs. You never know where you may find yourself pooping, so be prepared!