Well, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.  Which, in this case, the "good thing" appears to be me fitting into any of my clothing.  I mean god god dammit dammit, I am seriously indulging myself in not only consuming things but also in my delusional self perception. 

Well no more.  Friday was a doozey and hopefully I enjoyed it because that glorious, delicious, opulent indulgence simply CANNOT be repeated.  Last week was a seriously exhausting gambit of exploding relationship grenades and extended family time.  Both of which (similar to baking soda/vinegar volcanoes) fizzed into a really remarkable black hole of cocktails, cooking and comfort (generously provided by Miss McCloud).

By the time Friday rolled around, both McCloud and I were perfectly ready to let go and unwind.  In order to accomplish this as efficiently as possible, we tromped down to a favorite hot spot where (thankfully) we seem to have secured a standing reservation at the bar in full view of the kitchen where we can banter cleverly with the staff and reassure ourselves that we aren't just being gluttonous, but rather "saying hi to friends."  (Yeah, right. just saying hi to friends who happen to create buttery smooth foie gras steaks and juicy braised short ribs). 

Basically what was justified as "small bites and glass of wine," turned into the (easily predictable) 8 course tasting menu with wine pairings...  Whatever, its not the first time I've blatantly lied to myself to justify an action.  Lord knows I've convinced myself that it's ok to date an asshole because "it's different with me" or that it's ok to buy that ridiculously pretty designer dress because "I won't go shopping again for 10 months."  If anything I've learned that I only have to lie to myself until I'm gratified by the eventual sin.  Rarely do I actually experience any serious regret, it's more that I just have to trick my far too rational, moral, upstanding brain into obliging.  :)

Anyway, after being plied with delicious bites and phenomenal wine (usually I try to avoid drinking anything older than I am..) we rolled off our bar stools and tottered home to sleep it off on the couch. Not the most sophisticated end to our indulgence, but anything involving more activity just wasn't realistic.

The rest of the weekend was recovery.  Sushi, Sashimi, water, water, water and a grocery store run which included lots of fiber one, veggies and lean protein. 

here goes nothing... 

ps- our receipt for the damage on Friday.  Thank god our lovely kitchen friends indulges our delusions of "small bites and only recorded our consumption as "hot wings and nachos" and not the culinary masterpieces that we mowed through... 

Moderation? Nope.

Remember your 21-run? How you most likely kicked it off as the clock struck midnight and your birthday began?

Well, let's just say Gingham and I "kicked-off" Thanksgiving at midnight on Wednesday with burgers, fries and milkshakes at the delicious Dick's Drive-in. Yes it's called Dicks, yes there are endless jokes: "your breath smells like Dicks", "All you want is Dicks", etc. These were all VERY funny while stoned in High School. Needless to say, on Wednesday we made a taxi smell like Dicks, lots of Dicks.

I managed to only put back french fries and a milkshake. I'm pretty sure that milkshake will NOT bring all the boys to the yard. When I woke up on Thursday I did notice the oddly sticky nature of my telephone screen, which I can only imagine means that my phone and my milkshake had a little make out session at some point on Wednesday night (I'm sure I was asleep).

Thursday was relatively moderate for me with the exception of one small item. You see, my little sister is living abroad and as an homage to her (and her love for trashy food items) We made cheese weenies wrapped in crescent rolls. Let's just say I ate enough for at least a trailer somewhere in Kentucky.

I'll leave Friday to Gingham. In a word: woof. In two words: fat camp.

Oh, and last night? I had a second Thanksgiving at my Aunts' house. Kudos me.

I hope my date won't think me weird if I fast tonight.

UnAcceptable

We have been a sorry lot of bloggers this week.

HOWEVER,

given A. a computer crash on Friday night that crept through mid-day Monday and an inability to focus at work (hey! look at that, people ARE right: you shouldn't shit where you eat. I can only imagine what sort of hell would ensue at work if one of my coworkers stumbled across my gchat conversation).
B. A bit of a relationship snafu.
and C. a trip to Costa Rica, which involves mega-yachting (Gingham explained to me that this means the yacht is OVER 100 feet: yes, please!) we have been slightly out of commission.

All I can say is that I just walked to work with my coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It's amazing the clarity that comes forth when you literally have two of your three vices in hand. Needless to say I must stop smoking: I miss smelling, but goddamn it goes well with coffee. So does Jameson for that matter, but 6:30 a.m. is a little early for that, even for me.

A recap of the week in regards to food and workout: I managed to squeeze in two workouts with the trainer over the past four days and I am still walking around like I have a stick up my ass from the 240 lunges on Sunday. TWOHUNDREDANDFORTY. Was he trying to kill me? Maybe.

Yesterday I had what I can only assume was a 5 lb burrito with wine around 2 p.m. followed by a tofu and broccoli scramble around 11 p.m. OH, and another glass of wine. In good news I can't even remember what I ate on Sunday and Monday. I'm sure it was mostly spinach and lean proteins and pomegranate seeds.

I am certain that tomorrow will be yet another day of gluttony, followed by regret and then more gluttony: The only situation in which I willingly slather mayo on anything is for a turkey sandwich made with those delicious little buttery rolls.

The holidays are upon us: Cheers to over indulgence and fantastically awkward family interactions!

It's beginning to look a lot like rehab...

Due to the generosity of a local radio station, McCloud and I ended up with tickets to one of the showings for Warren Miller's new film at McCaw Hall on Friday night. Now, I haven't seen a ski movie (let alone gone to one in public) since high school when I still pretended to be moderately interested in snow sports that don't involve whiskey and hot tubs. Not totally sure of what to expect, my only guess was that I should probably dress up and I should certainly have some delicious wine beforehand since the movie was showing at the big opera/ballet house.

After snatching McCloud off the street downtown, we headed straight for the preferred happy hour location near the City Center with a glimmer in our eyes and a slight growl in our tummies.
Perfect scene. Crisp fall day, blustery wind. Each of us in a charming seasonal outfit and fully accessorized- striding toward the certain salvation of wine and 1/2 price appetizers... until we found the doors to be locked.

what?? locked?! we pushed, we pulled.. the doors were definitely locked. I'm sure the abrupt end to our purposeful arrival was somewhat amusing the sizable crowd standing next door waiting for the bus...

Fortunate for us, it was 4:23pm, which meant that we only had 7 somewhat embarrassing, cold, windswept minutes to wait before we could realize our happy hour dreams.

Once inside we engaged in moderate gluttony. 3 glasses of vino each, and a conservative sharing of (life changing) beef tenderloin taco concoction and some decent mushroom risotto. DELIC.

Once sufficiently buzzed we tromped down the street to the pre-show aspect of the film. After procuring another glass of wine and a prime spot on the railing to people watch, it was extremely evident that we were the only ones NOT wearing fleece/soft shell/puffy vests so we downed our wine and headed for our seats. The movie was great - Ridiculous footage of gorgeous mountains and pretty people rocketing down them... Frankly it was almost enough to allow skiing to replace my currently preferred hobby of "apres ski" which, admittedly involves MUCH cuter boots.

Even with all of the inspiring athleticism, McCloud and I bailed at intermission and headed to a current hot spot/(fake) speakeasy closer to home. Three delicious frothy gin drinks later we rolled ourselves home at an extremely reasonable hour. (one perk of Daylight Savings is feeling like I've stayed out all night, when it is in fact only 10pm. Though that could also be a side effect of showing up at bars before they open..)

Dearest Bartender,

The other night I had aperitifs' at a lovely hole in the wall with my date. We decide it is time to mosey homeward. In a completely confusing girl move, I send my date packing (after having a sleepover on Saturday night: poor, poor boys). I grab my car from the garage. I'm moving it literally 5 blocks: is it a good idea to drive? In hindsight, no, no it is not. I dig through my purse to pay the parking attendant. No wallet. Hmmm. Pay with check? Check? Check.

I drive back to said hole in wall. Ask if wallet is around (look on floor, look on bar, etc), nope.

In a strange turn of events which at the time I interpret as general concern for a cute girl, the Bartender takes my keys, dashes out to my car (which is in a state of disarray, by the way), finds my wallet IN my car: on the floorboard no less. Weird, I do not remember putting it there. Bartender stashes keys next to the Bourbon and pours me water. Lots and LOTS of water. The next morning I felt fairly bashful regarding the events of the previous evening. As such, I wrote him a thank you note (as if this makes me classy). It goes something like this:

Dearest Bartender (okay, I'm fairly certain your name is Marcus),

1. Thank you for the delicious wine and generous pours.
2. Thank you for finding my wallet. Presumably in my car.
3. Thank you for taking my keys
4. Thank you for the copious amount of water
5. Thank you for eventually giving my keys back to me.

With Appreciation,

A Grateful Patron



The ever classy McCloud strikes again. Here is to eating more and drinking less.

Hmm. I can't quite figure out what the theme of the day is aside from falling short of good intentions.

despite the fact that my alarm has been set at "6:05am" for the last several months, it's been a while before I actually got myself up and to the gym at 6:05am instead of the wild arm slapping that comes with desperate repeated attempts to just hit snooze for the better part of an hour.

Yesterday I actually bounced out of bed on time and figured I'd make the bold step of attempting to work out. I clearly wasn't that committed to it when as I was driving through the dark morning drizzle I had already justified abandoning the gym if street parking wasn't IMMEDIATELY available.

But, as luck would have it parking was readily available which meant I was probably going to have to break a sweat after all.

You'd think I'd be more excited about gym adventures. Just this week I enthusiastically extended my contract for another two years (not because I love the gym, but they send me semi-weekly emails with ridiculous offers. free year of membership, free membership for a friend! free food! free towels! free ponies!!!! really?)

Anyway, this is a lot of lead up for almost NO workout. The good 'ol ankle totally crapped out in minute 12 of my LIGHT ellipticalling. What was more disappointing than my apparent total lack of physical fitness was the fact that The Today Show was doing all sorts of wildly stupid 'Twilight' crap, and I was actually enjoying the morning shot of pop culture.

Not a lot else happened (also sort of a fail) until I went home. In a FLURRY of motivation I attacked a corner of the condo that had been steadily collecting crap. Paperwork, files, notes, photos, dvds... all somewhat tidily shoved into a pile. I sat down, sorted, organized, trashed stuff, saved stuff and got my act together. This (small) accomplishment lead me to believe that I was capable of handling more.

SO, up I went, into the loft to extract the box spring from under my mattress. Why? because I've convinced myself that what's making my back hurt isn't my weird discount-off-brand-brooklyn mattress, OR my incredible lack of core strength, or EVEN my still broken post-volleyball body, but rather the "much" more likely issue of a crappy box spring. (don't ask, I'm rolling with it).

I concluded that right then was exactly when I needed to shove crap around and attempt to 'fix' the bed. ideally before the boy got home (just think how proud and surprised he would be!).

This was a bad idea. The loft doesn't have room for a box spring AND a mattress to be side by side (faaar too much other furniture and crap for that). And the lowered ceiling height means that all of the shoving and tugging has to happen in a hunched over position (which doesn't help the sore back situation much). Basically I ended up making a massive mess of of everything, and blocking my only exit with the weird-discount-off-brand-brooklyn mattress. dangit.

After 20 minutes of shoving and tugging the whole area looked like those little puzzles that kids play with where there's only one empty space and you slide all the tiles around trying to unscramble the picture? well as it turns out I'm TERRIBLE at those and just make them worse... not dissimilar to the mattress/box spring situation.

I'm not sure how long I was up there by the time the boy wandered through the door, but it was long enough to realize that a) I couldn't get down b) I didn't have my phone and c) I DEFINITELY didn't have any snacks.

I'll skip over the fact that the boy was able to solve the spatial dilemma in about 3 min and tidy everything back up. not an important part of the story.

The rest of the night included the third dinner straight of taco salad leftovers. Still delicious, but getting a little boring, some candy, 1/2 a bottle of wine (It felt deserved) and one lone packet of nutella that I scrounged up in the cupboards left over from a LONG gone party.

It was still delicious and yes I ate it with my finger. So.... no workout, re injured ankle, little work done, slight tidying followed by total home failure and gorging on refried beans, sour candy, wine and chocolatey condiments.

Cheers.

Jolly Rancher, the Gate Way Candy

I work at a place that produces food... therefore, I get fed sometimes, and it's high quality deliciousness. They also have picked up this moral boosting activity called CANDY FRIDAYS, where the receptionists have two full bowls of candy on the counter at all times.... Well, when you have a strategic alliance with the receptionist, you find out where the reserves are, bottom drawer, behind the Head Receptionist. Usually on my way back from lunch, I will pop in there to get a jolly rancher or two. Blue Raspberry or Grape, I never deviate from my standard course.

Given that the receptionist and I have a strange yet phenomenal bond, she has now started to sort my favorite treats for me and has them ready to go when I roll in. Sometimes, and I am embarrassed to admit this, she will stash an inventory just for me of purple and blue when she sees that we are running low. This is all fine and dandy, how bad can a few jolly ranchers possibly be for the waste line?

Remember in DARE class in 5th grade and learning about "gateway" drugs? Jolly ranchers are the equivalent in Candy. First it's 3 grapes and 2 blue raspberry's, next I am sneaking into the COO's office, grabbing handfuls of M&M's and ohhh that Reese's sure looks tasty too.

Around 5pm, I start to pack up my laptop and my file folders to bring home... and a GRAVEYARD of candy wrappers catches my eye in the trash... 5 jolly ranchers, led to 11 jolly ranchers, 3 fun size bags of M&M's, 1 mini snicker, and 2 reese's... so much for those squats this morning!

My only summaztion?
Jolly Ranchers are the gateway candy to the hard stuff... the stuff that can derail anyone from will power and self control. FML.