So the last couple of months have been pretty stupid. When I injured my back while sneezing, it started a chain of events that kept me from doing any workouts of any kind and morphing into a breathing pile of dung. The Wife, on the other hand, in taking a second job, ditched the workouts AND the Weight Watchers, and has gotten out of shape as well. Stress levels have been through the roof and because of it so has the cholesterol. For me, football season happens and I singlehandedly keep Miller Lite in business every week. It's been a downward slide that has resulted in a ton of fast food, an appreciation of sweatpants, and the fear that while walking down the street, our torsos will one day show up on those news programs about fat people.
So we've decided to get back on the horse, the wagon, the cheerleader, anything you're supposed to "get on" that means to start doing right again. The last two weeks have been tough because with the refrigerator out, we haven't been able to do a lot of cooking because there's been no place to put leftovers. So that means a lot of Golden Corral where really, if you can't look at the clientele and say to yourself, "Jesus Christ", then you really have no chance of being motivated and you might as well hunker down at the trough with one spoon in the white gravy and the other in the brown.
Thank God for the hippie who came up with this pill-popping, crank-addicted superdog.
However, when one falls of the wagon and decides to get back on, you can't just "get back on". To reward yourself for all your glutony, you have to have one last big hurrah so you can do as much damage as you can do and feel better about going on the straight and narrow. There have been many times I've fallen off the wagon when it comes to diet and fitness. And the same thing happens, I look at myself in the mirror, say "Goddammit", and decide to do better....On Monday. Yes, it doesn't matter what day it is that this realization happens. If it's on Saturday, the change happens on Monday. If it's on Tuesday, then it's "Okay, this is the last week of this shit", and the change happens on Monday. If it's on Monday, then it's "You know what, this is bullshit. But the week has already started so starting next Monday, I'm good."
This is where the wife and I are at this point. Monday is the day. Which works fine for me since Sunday I get obliterated watching football and don't want to eat anything that day anyway. Well, we've ALSO already started, and started planning our last big hurrah so that come Monday we're so gorged out we welcome the blandness and boredom that the healthy diet provides. For example:
- Wednesday. The declaration happened. We realized things weren't good and needed to change. She came downstairs so we could watch Modern Family and Hell's Kitchen. I suggested that in honor of our new pact, we should celebrate with a pint of ice cream. She agreed (I wish I could say "reluctantly") and although it was after 9pm I threw on my flip-flops, ran to the store and got some Ben & Jerry's. (My God, they've got this Stephen Colbert flavor called "Americone Dream" with caramel and chocolate waffle cone pieces....OOOOH!!!) I literally haven't eaten a pint of ice cream in years. But when you've lost control, you've lost control. The woman at the register asked, "Did you find everything okay?" I said, "Unfortunately, yes."
- Thursday. We had spaghetti for dinner on Wednesday, and leftovers on Thursday. Again, since we're going out with a blast, I called The Wife as she was driving home and asked, "Um, do you want regular spaghetti or do you want me to fry it?" Before I could even finish the sentence she said, "FRY IT." O...k. It's something I invented where I take spaghetti, somehow bread it, fry it on both sides and holy shit. Take a look:
Between this and Katy Perry's breasts, I'm not sure what looks more appetizing.
And last night's version was JUST as delectable. We were both smacking our lips like we were at the Jenkins family BBQ. Man, was that racist. The point is, it was good...and fattening. Then, to top it off, I stopped on the way to our daughter's choir concert to get a bag of kettle chips to eat during the performance. I WAS ALREADY FULL from the spaghetti but for some reason bought chips. Full tailspin, my friends. The bag's in my sweatshirt and I'm reaching in slowly, sneaking each chip out like I'm an alcoholic and that bag is actually a flask. That was pretty sad.
-Friday. No clue but I'm sure it'll be bad. For one, I'm going to a tour of the local brewery. Heh. I've been wanting to go to this thing since I moved here and finally get to go. I'm sure there will be some tasting involved. My friend also said he may call and we'll go out before hand for a beer. And depending on how long it goes, if my wife leaves work and I'm not here yet. She won't stop to buy anything to make for dinner. She'll stop at somebody who's already making dinner and get dinner from there. That usually means McDonald's, Culver's, etc. This day won't go well. And if I come back and I'm buzzed, and there actually IS something healthy that she's miraculously cooked, I won't be in the mood and will be craving something greasy anyway. So today's shot, too.
-Weekend. Now see, our first plan was to start eating better on Thursday. The pint was supposed to signify the end of being bad and the next day the start of being good. We blew that by the fried spaghetti and sweater chips. So yesterday I saw a commercial, ran upstairs, and told The Wife that the new diet and way of living well would have to wait until Monday. She said, "What?" I said:
"PAPA JOHNS HAS A DOUBLE BACON, SIX CHEESE PIZZA."
She looked at me and could tell there was no budging from this stance. Then I said it was $11.99 and she was totally on-board. So we've got the pizza this weekend, the beer, and whatever else comes our way which we decide is a proper send off to our devilish way of living, eating and such. So, wish us luck. I'm just hoping that next Wednesday I'm not eating a stack of frozen White Castles saying, "Yeah, we'll start it up on Monday."
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