So, the whole Weight Watchers thing? Has not been going so well. As in, I've abandoned journaling and point-counting in favor of Bits-N-Pieces milkshakes and frozen cheesecake goodness, with only occasional trips to the gym. Lately I've been coming home from work hungrier than YOUR MOM (ba dum bum ching) (sorry, the cheap shots are out of my control now) and eating whatever I can get my grubby little hands on, usually pretzel ties and Fig Newtons, even though dinner's just forty-five minutes away. Each day I recommit myself to an attitude of self-control, and each day all efforts crumble the moment I pull into my parking spot, approximately the same time my brain starts taking inventory of what little nourishment remains in the fridge.
However, after sorting through all the literature I accumulated from my weight-watching days, I decided there was one dish I owed it to my budding cooking skills and my cholesterol to tackle: the program's famous garden vegetable soup, known for its tasty, made-from-scratch, zero-points-per-serving, guilt-free attributes. I made it for the first time last week and it went swimmingly, except I forgot to buy the zucchini, and my carrots remained hard as nails even after sautéing them in chopped-up pieces of garlic and onion. Tonight I used the remaining ingredients to make a second batch and strayed from the recipe a little in regards to serving size, opting instead to just start throwing random amounts of shit into the pot--extra carrots, extra cabbage, extra broth, resulting in a soup abundant in carrots, cabbage, and broth, but with slightly less zing, as I only minced the two garlic cloves and half-cup of onion originally called for. It still rocked harder than your mom, though (I really am sorry), and in between hurling vegetables at my stove I even managed to fit in a side of Pillsberry dinner rolls, thus creating the illusion of a thought-out, well-balanced meal. For someone whose idea of gourmet is microwaving the leftover chicken Parmesan pasta from last week's hurrah at TGI Friday's, this is revolutionary. Today, soup; tomorrow, the world.
Anyway, all that extra's about to come in handy, because Luke is abandoning me for a business trip that begins tomorrow morning and ends Friday night, which means I'm on my own in the kitchen for the next three days. I've already purchased the necessary components for my best spinach dip yet, which I promise to share with you, and made a list of the ways I plan to utilize my alone time:
1) Pass out in a bowl of spinach dip.
2) Recover from the gaseous side effects of said spinach dip.
3) Finally tear into the first season of Murder, She Wrote on DVD.
4) Sweat my tushie off for Pam the Vietnam Vet Aerobics Instructor, who actually seeks me out to make sure I'm attending the regular Wednesday step session, which I always totally do, even though last week I saw a beetle crawling in the vicinity of my floor mat.
5) Decide whether or not to continue watching the catastrophe that is Celebrity Duets, the latest reality train wreck slash American Idol knock-off to debut on FOX. On one hand, this program assumes the fuzzy memories you have of jamming to Michael Bolton in fifth grade because rap was forbidden in your house, thereby FORCING you to memorize all the lyrics to "Time, Love, and Tenderness" against your will, is enough to peak your interest in the awkward pairing of B-list personalities with has-been A-list performers without any backstory on the pop-culture significance and/or hopes and dreams of its participants.
On the other hand, "Time, Love, and Tenderness" was a damn catchy album, and Michael Bolton's golden tresses saw me through some tough times. Plus, Little Richard's on the judge's panel, and based on several of tonight's comments, I'm convinced he's channeling the spirit of an inebriated Paula Abdul:
"Boy, you got to pull out the mustard and catch up!"
"You just made my big toe shoot up in my boot!"
"He's got what it takes and it takes what he got!"
"Woo woo! Umm, ah. Oh!"
6) Catch up on phone calls.
7) Revel in the glory of saving fifteen percent on my car insurance. (I really did!)
8) Pine.
Before I go: I know I've done something like this before, but seeing as I'm about to have oodles of nothing on my hands and Silly Hily's results have been so much fun, I'm asking anyone with deep, burning, personal questions about me (not your mom) to bring 'em on. All I ask is to keep in mind my husband's parents read this blog, and if it's all the same to you, I'd appreciate being able to look them in the eye at my mother-in-law's family reunion this Saturday. That being said, I've touched on religion, birth control, and my fat ass with little to no embarassment, so really, anything goes. Also in my favor, I've got the whole Labor Day weekend before Luke can decide to divorce me.
Edited to add: I now regret turning on the computer again at one o'clock in the morning to add the above disclaimer, as I'm afraid it'll scare you away from asking questions inappropriate for children under thirteen. What's a little thought-provoking discussion among friends, is my new attitude, and anyway, my in-laws are way cool, so now I'm begging you to send me to that reunion with a paper bag over my head. Really. I dare you.