Don't cry for me; I'm already dead

Once, way back when, I was a fairly normal guy when it came to eating food.  I would chow down a hot dog, have some french fries, and drink a buttload of diet coke to wash it all down.  I had frosted flakes for breakfast, a burger for lunch, and chips before I went to bed.  My big idea of eating "healthy" would be those rare occasions when I got a fruit smoothee or something - because, hey, it had a strawberry in it!

Yes, it was a wonderful feeling, being a member of the stereotypical guy club.  I burped with gusto, ate with relish, and used an expanding gut as a barometer of my success.  Life was good.  I was a happy camper pretty much all the time - except when required to go up stairs or steep inclines, run down a bus, or get up off the couch. 

As I've aged (some would say like a fine wine... others would point towards vinegar - the cheeky bastards that they are), my card-carrying stereotypical guy status has kind of faded.  I was aware of the trend a year or more ago, but I didn't realize I had left the club behind me until today... when I started putting away my grocery load.  Check it out:

• Bulk granola (!), almonds, and cranberries
• some white chocolate (for baking... you know, like a girl!)
• a dozen fruit leathers
• yogurt (with more cranberries!)
• organic green pepper and onion (and yes, I'm aware that all veggies are by definition "organic", so shut up)
• organic applewood cheddar cheese and some canadian provolone, as well as light cream cheese
• fresh spinach
• brown bread and whole wheat panini bread
• organic vegetarian chili
• freshly sliced deli turkey breast

In short, mostly healthy, responsible eating choices.  Even the cheese is responsible in my case - as a diabetic that burns fat incredibly quickly, the heavy amount of fat in the cheese is a god send.  Gah!

After looking at my super healthy pile of food, I shook my head in wonder.  I mean, how bad have I become?  No longer am I a card-carrying member of the stereotypical male club.  I'm more like a member of that "self-righteous indie hippy guy" club.  Expect me to start telling you about kafka and indie films any day now.

It's awful - I have energy in the morning these days, as opposed to a sour disposition.  I smile and laugh with my friends, and do not feel the slightest urge to "fist-bump".  And when I see a guy get clobbered during a hockey game, I don't cheer like a maniac - I say "oh, I hope he's not hurt". 

Don't cry for me, ladies and gents.  Because I'm already dead.