Finished eating for now

I've chewed my way through an appalling amount of food today. I didn't do the clean the bathrooms thing because, well, really, who wants to clean the bathrooms if they don't have to? I did try to stem the tide of bad choices though by eating my way 2/3 through a vegetable tray. And this was no measly little tray either. It was the full on party-sized platter. While eating this much of it was not a proud moment, the fact that I put the dip in the fridge without even opening it was a small victory. I had a few other things too, mostly healthy but the less said about them, the better!

In my pantry and fridge scavenging, I discovered things that shouldn't be at my house because I can't be trusted around them. Eggnog, even the "lite" variety, is horrifyingly awful for you. Granola bars with chocolate chips in them might taste better than your average bear but they aren't a smart choice either. And anything chocolate should always be kept in the freezer so as to threaten expensive dental work if eaten without timely forethought. Crackers and chips should only be bought in snack-sized pouches so that there's no shame in the temptation to eat the whole bag. Reading all these fabulous dieting (lifestyle change) tips, I'm boggled by my inability to actually lose the weight. Oh wait, you actually have to follow the advice? Huh! How about that.

Exercise

I thought exercise was supposed to help negate the obscene amount of eating I did over the holidays, not exacerbate the problem! Somewhere I read an exact number of pounds that the average American gains over the holidays. I don't remember the number but do know it was in the ballpark of 5 lbs. from November to January. Because I am an overachiever in all that I do, I gained that 5 in November alone. And since it's unseasonably cold (D. actually felt compelled to call and tell me that this was the coldest November on record here in the sunny south--and he suspects it's our weather curse at work again), I didn't want to go for a run this morning. Actually, the brutal wind was what convinced me today that running was only necessary for fur-covered creatures caught in the middle of the road with a car barreling down on them and even then, it might be warmer to huddle up and pray. And while I can indeed grow an impressive pelt on my legs if I quit shaving, the rest of me doesn't grow fur very well (thank heaven!!!). So without nature's own insulation (not counting the winter blubber layer I've socked in around my middle), I headed to the pool. Because wet hair in cold, windy weather is a better option. :-P It took all my get up and go to get up and go too. But I went, put in my yardage (hint to all those who automatically choose the "fast" lane at the pool: by default, being male doesn't make you fast and it probably won't kill you to be in the "slow" lane while your puddling around in my lane while I'm trying to put in an actual workout with intervals and such might just stress me out beyond all that's rational), and headed to the grocery store. And I used up every last ounce of willpower I owned while at the grocery store to avoid buying peanut butter pretzel sandwiches dipped in milk chocolate. Damn you Snyder's of Hanover folks for creating such a tempting (and mighty delicious--you don't really think the willpower works every time now, do you?) snack that you then strategically place on end caps where I cannot avoid seeing their deliciousness taunting me as I make my way up and down the aisles. Well, I made it out of there without the tasty yummies masquerading as something marginally okay to nosh on by claiming pretzelhood, but as mentioned before, I used the last of the willpower to swerve out of reach of said goodies. And now I'm home and eating like a hoover vaccuum. I can only rationalize about one small snack's worth when I consider the amount of exercise I actually did. ::sigh:: I may never lose this holiday weight (never mind the moving weight I also added over the past few months). My only solution will be to go and live at the Y, although that is within walking distance of Dunkin Donuts and that's not a good option either. Off to try J.'s stop eating trick of cleaning a bathroom. After all, who wants to eat when their hands smell like Clorox and have been near a toilet?

Are you a stress eater?

I was standing in line at the grocery store and saw a cover blurb on some really high class woman's magazine (ha!) asking potential readers if they are stress eaters. Looking into my grocery cart, I glanced at the Mike and Ike's I had grabbed after cruising the candy aisle and thought about what inspired their not even very tasty, chemical-loaded purchase. I mean, why not overdose on sugar when your 9, almost 10 year old daughter cries and tells you that she doesn't want to dance at the studio she chose anymore? Should this have driven me to eat? Before answering, consider that I'd just written a more than $500 non-refundable check to the studio the week prior. Am I a stress eater? Puh-lease! If people actually have to take a quiz to figure that out, the answer is no and they should quit pretending to the world that they understand the whole stress eating phenomenon. For the rest of us, well, we know what we are and are in training for the stress eating Olympics.

(Oh, and because I am also a charter member of mean mothers, I told her she was obligated to dance for the studio this year but I could give a rip less about next year--as long as she decides before I write any checks.)