Nothing Tastes as Good as Thin Feels?!?

In Texas we say “That’s some bullshit, y’all!” because I can personally think of a TON of culinary options that actually do taste better than being thin...which is 100% why I’ve struggled my entire life to be thin. I adore food so much that when I hear that particular phrase, I gotta call that shit out. Not only do I plan my next meal while eating my current meal, I’ve even deliberated what my VERY last meal might be. You know how prisoners on Death Row get to request their final meal? Don’t you think that’s a pretty big ask? I have spent an embarrassingly large amount of time reasoning what I would select. The thing is – I don’t know that I could narrow it down. Like, what are the parameters within the request? Can I have more than one main course? Is it just the entree or can I have dessert too? Are noshes included? What about alcohol? Do you see what I mean? It’s extremely hard to filter with so many fantastic options. BUT, if I HAD to choose, these would be just a few of the tasty treats from which I would consider potential final eating options. May I present to you my…

Death Row List:
– Frozen pomegranate margarita at Rosa Mexicano in NYC
– Mississippi pot roast
– Savva’s homemade spaghetti sauce
– Any cheese/charcuterie board (preferably my husband’s…ifykyk)
– My grandma’s sausage and cheese biscuits on the drive back from Mississippi to Texas
– Nutella and peanut butter on a Rice Krispy Treat (trust me)
– Tableside guacamole (preferably with sun dried tomatoes and bacon)
– Banana pudding
– Big fat blueberry muffins sprinkled with that crumbly stuff, but as in Seinfeld – just the top
– Literally anything greasy ordered from a swim up bar in Mexico, Caymans, or Belize
– Crispy (important to note that) chips and queso
– Belgian waffles with whipped cream and syrup – and I mean syrup in EVERY square
– Bacon. REAL bacon with the fat on it, not that turkey crap
– A frozen Chi Chi on a beach
– My mom’s fried chicken
– Frito Pie
– Ice cream sandwiches (duh…refer to pic)
– Filet Mignon (medium rare) with melted garlic butter
– Chili’s chicken crispers
– Ice cream sitting on top of a warm brownie
– Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich, aka, Fluffer Nutter
– A really really good messy taco
– authentic campfire s’more at La Cantera Resort in San Antonio
– Warm bread with soft butter
– Mommo’s lemon bundt cake with extra lemon icing
– Pasta (all the pasta) with yummy sauce
– Fried pickles with ranch
– Mom’s sweet potato casserole with candied crushed pecan goodness on top
– The last bite of an ice cream cone that’s half ice cream/half soggy cone
– Sour cream chicken enchiladas with the side rice swirled around in extra sour cream sauce
– Reece’s peanut butter cups, eggs, Christmas tree, double stuffed, pieces…you get the idea
– Cheeseburger, medium rare, with all the things
– Banana Moon Pie (shut up, it’s my list not yours)
– Fries: curly (Arby’s), wedge (Red Robin), waffle (Chick-fil-A) with ketchup/ranch/horseradish sauce
– Baked potato loaded with butter, sour cream, bacon bits, chives (and yes, I eat the skin too)
– Costco hotdog (Y’all!!! I’m serious. It’s only $1.50 AND you get a drink!!!)
– Fresh baked cookies but seriously straight from the oven
– And finally, no matter if you have the exact same ingredients but make it yourself, it’s never ever ever as good as a sandwich your mom makes you.

Now just for fun, I’m including a few additional items that are only, and I stress ONLY, allowed during your college years or early twenties…meaning, when you broke (or hungover for that matter). Let’s face it, that’s a whole other level of things tasting good. When you broke – food one hundred hits differently. Can I get an Amen?!!
– Cici’s pizza
– Taco Bell Dollar Menu
– Hot dog from any vendor on Elm Street in Deep Ellum after a long night of shots
– Pop-tarts but not the crust, just the part with the filling (I said broke edition people, focus)
– Spray cheese on Ritz crackers
– Literally any item from Denny’s menu
– Your roommate’s Funyuns
– Stadium nachos with runny cheese(ish) that came out of an industrial sized can
– Anything … A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G that’s free

So with that, I wish everyone a WoNdErFuL ThAnKsGiViNg filled with ALL the food that makes you happy!
Feel free to add your own favorites or broke favorites in the comments!

Now go make a happy plate! Let’s eat!

The Last Shield

Almost 100% of my blog posts have been sarcastic, tongue in cheek, self-deprecating. It’s kind of my thing. 

This will not be one of those posts. 

My former hallway.

Like most of the nation I’m almost paralyzed watching the news unfold about the Uvalde shooting. Several friends are posting memes, starting threads in parent groups, texting each other, reaching out in anyway. We are all in shock, yet … not in shock. Because here we are again

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Don’t Sweat It!

Yep. We’re going there.

Image recreated and exaggerated for pure fun effect. Lol!

Y’all please. I have no words. Actually, I do. I have words. Lots of words.

Here’s what I KNOW about peri/post menopause from personal experience:

  1. Hot flashes
  2. Cold flashes immediately following hot flashes
  3. Not being able to go to sleep
  4. Not being able to sleep through the night
  5. What the hell is sleep anymore
  6. Saggy face skin that hangs like it’s melting
  7. Chin hair
  8. Rogue eyebrows
  9. An ass that disappeared yet is bigger than it used to be
  10. Ironic thinning of head hair despite the abundance of #7 and #8
  11. Insanely irregular periods that resemble crime scenes
  12. Fat hovering around my midsection like a child’s pool floaty
  13. Irritability (to be fair, I’ve always had this)
  14. Forgetting things
  15. And something else…what was it. Shit! I forgot. 
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A Bad Ass, Not A Fat Ass

During my morning run today, as I effortlessly cruised up a shaded hill singing out loud to one of my favorite running songs (The White Stripes Seven Nation Army), I hit an unmistakeable smell that caused me to come to a crashing halt. This smell immediately brought back a flood of painful memories. This happens when I run every spring and it is single handedly, at least to me, the worst smell in the entire world.

Fresh cut grass.

I unapologetically LOATHE the smell of freshly cut grass. To be clearer, the scent alone makes me want to crawl into the fetal position and rock myself in a corner. Makes me get a searing knot in the pit of my stomach alluding to an ill-timed bowel movement. Makes me nervously sweat in all the awkward places. The fact that you can even buy sh*t scented as fresh cut grass?? I. DIE.
Not me.
I’d rather have a box of pears.

Why this irrational hatred?

Because the smell of freshly cut grass symbolizes everything I hated about being a fat kid in elementary school.

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Weight a Freaking Minute! Not AGAIN!?!?!

All about making changes!

Well, here the hell I go again! I’ve been a member of Weight Watchers for over 30 years. I went in to update my ‘starting weight’ for 2020….because after all: “New Year, New You.” Right? That phrase makes me want to vomit. Let’s be REAL clear…..I don’t just start a diet on January 1st. I start diets ALL the time. Other than the obligatory diet start date of a January 1st – my only other rule when beginning one throughout the year – it has to be on a Monday. Nobody is going to start on a Friday or Saturday. That’s absurd. Those days are for margaritas and queso. Or any other day of the week if you are in my current state of wheels off. Sunday feels like the last day of the weekend – so I’m not going to put down the Fritos and bean dip then. Who starts ANYTHING on a random Tuesday. You see where I’m going with this? Is it throwing me off a tad to start over [AGAIN] on a Wednesday? A little bit, sure. But I’ll give it a go because I’m not a quitter! As mentioned – member of WW for 30+ years and haven’t quit yet. 🙌 I will say, however, when I did type my weight in this morning and this message popped up “Are you sure you mean to track this weight?” it stung a little. You too, Weight Watchers? Just cash your $16.88 for the month and table the judgement.

Assholes. My mother didn’t believe me. Sadly, here is the proof.

It feels as if I’ve been watching my weight since birth. This endless seesaw of being fat versus being thin hasn’t always been pretty or healthy. The obsession over my appearance started about 46 years ago when I noticed that I was constantly being compared to my brother Andy. Why? Because we are twins. Before I go any farther – let’s start with a visual…

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Dreaming of a White Christmas

One of my favorite movies to watch during the holidays is Christmas Vacation. It’s one of those movies that is so entertaining to me, I am immediately sucked in no matter the scene. Yet one particular scene that resonates in my head these days is when Clark (Chevy Chase) finds himself stuck in his attic. He stumbles upon some old home movies and since he is trapped and has nothing else to do, ends up watching them. The heartfelt nostalgia of happy memories brings him to the point of bittersweet tears.

This is where I am right now – but not because of what you might be thinking. It’s because of my white jeans. They have temporarily been removed from my outfit rotation. When I see old pictures of me sporting them blissfully happy yet oblivious to the impending separation…the tears start to well.  

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Only in New York

I know that New York City isn’t for everybody. You either love it or hate it. I fall deeply into the “love it” camp. My adoration of this place brings me here often. The clear advantage, in addition to all my accrued American Airline miles, is that it feels like my second home – especially since I’m past the point of all the touristy stuff. I literally can’t do the Statue of Liberty again, no offense to her at all. She is delightful, beautiful, iconic … but I’m so done.
Although we’ve respectively broken up, I wish her well. So with this seasoned status as non-tourist tourist, I get to just exist when here and pretend I’m a local… like sitting at the adult table when you aren’t really an adult. I feel pretty well versed in the day to day decisions of where to go, what to do, what line to take, what cab is gypsy, what puddle isn’t water, what avenue to avoid, what street purse is real… (FYI – None. You will never find a real Gucci in the back of someone’s van off Canal Street. And no, that’s not Chanel. Look closely, it’s ‘Channel’. Keep walking.)

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Red Ribbon Week: AKA – Some Sort of Fresh Hell

Red Ribbon Week, for those of you not in ‘the know’, is a week in October designed and dedicated to encourage kids not to use alcohol, tobacco, and other drugs. During this event every day of this week has a cutesy little catch phrase partnered with a dress-up challenge. For example, one day might be “Say Peace Out to Drugs!” and students would be encouraged to dress in peace symbols and tie dye. It’s a creative way to highlight a serious topic. When my kids were in elementary school – they participated because, Hello! When you’re a kid, you like to dress up. So I was that mom – I got the crazy socks, the camo shirt, the neon hair dye, the mismatched outfits, the detective costume, the team jersey, the Hawaiian lei. It was nothing short of an endless errand running madness sandwiched between all my other mom duties – but I did it because you do this sh*t for your kids! This has been going on for SEVEN YEARS.

Even though my kids are now in Intermediate and Middle school, I felt like I still had to at least ask them if they wanted to participate. Secretly, the idea of putting together outfits AGAIN made me want to lay down on a Kindermat and suck my thumb. I pretty much knew how my 8th grader would respond when I threw it out to her. I received the classic eye roll at the mere suggestion of doing something ‘participate-y’ coupled with the exact phrase “Are you freaking kidding me?”

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Sorry. Not My Kind of Bar!

There are many teaching milestones that we hit as parents. Potty training. Brushing teeth. Riding a bike. Fixing mommy a martini. You teach your littles how to do basic things so that when they leave your nest they can fly. Right?

This past weekend I realized that I had failed one of my baby birds in the oddest, unknowing way possible.

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Don’t Even Get Me Started

This is a ‘common house spider.’ It’s COMMON. In HOUSES! Kill me. Kill me now.

There are few things in life that truly terrify me. An empty wine fridge? Totally. Trying on bathing suits? 100%. My reflection when someone FaceTimes me? For sure. But nothing puts me in a rocking fetal position with thumb in mouth faster than spiders. With Halloween season upon us, I see them everywhere. Jewelry. Friends’ front porches. Pottery Barn. EVERYWHERE. I understand they aren’t real spiders – just decorations. Y’all, please. My brain knows that – but it can’t process it effectively enough. My own husband even participates in this mean spirited celebration of what haunts my deepest nightmares by putting a giant spider on our banister (as seen below). I KNOW it’s there and every morning on my way to get coffee it startles me…and makes me question the meaning of unconditional love.

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