Always Be My Brownie

Well, it’s Dress Thursday, and I am in a big ol’ long hippie skirt, but you will just have to take my word for it because there is no photographic evidence. I am having a bad hair day. No pictures. Thus I spake.

Of course, it took me about three hours to actually get dressed this morning, so I was a little slow on the Dress Thursday-ing, because I had every intention to go for a jog, but I stuck my little toe out the door and oh! it was quite too chilly, what with all the FUCKING SNOW on the ground.

So I loitered about in my jogging gear, unsure of how to get my heart rate up in the comfortable warmth of my itty-bitty home. Then I remembered that the other day The Funasaurus randomly came home with a jump rope. Apparently he thought we were in need of another dust collector for our garage.

I meandered out to our garage, and decided to see what I could do. Within the first *WHAP* on the dusty cement, repressed memories of failed middle school double-dutch competitions came flooding back over me, and I tripped on my shoelaces (no shit) and quickly surmised that this was not the sport for me. Though not before a) strangling myself with said rope b) giving myself rug burn with said rope, because it was too long so I had the brilliant idea of wraping it around my wrist once to shorten it, not realizing it’d continue to twist as I swung it in huge circles and c) tripped again.

I have come to terms with the fact that my condition will be less than svelte for the honeymoon. And I’m o.k. with that.

Then I had brownies for breakfast.

I have also come to the realization that the best way to gain weight is to tell yourself you are going to go on a diet. I have never really dieted before (and apparently never will) but yesterday I was feeling not-so-hungry after a decent breakfast, and so I decided I wouldn’t be hungry for the next week or so and refrain from eating fried things and bread and refined sugar so that I could slip into my bathing suit a little easier. That lasted until about lunchtime. With the best of intentions, I went to order a salad. But it was cold, so I ordered a tuna melt. With extra cheese. On the very large cibatta bun. With fries. They were so good.

Then I got home and could not stop craving chocolate, but I had no chocolate, and didn’t feel like going out to get some. (See: FUCKING SNOW above.) So I scrounged around in the cupboards and found brownie mix HALLELUJAH! except I am pretty sure I bought that mix when we lived somewhere else, and it made the move to this house with us… and… well, I think that was, like, five-year-old brownie mix. PSA: brownie mix doesn’t go bad, folks! I bribed my unsuspecting neighbor over, mentioning brownies and American Idol, and hey, they were both good. (What? No, I don’t like American Idol. Yeesh.
…
But if I did, I would totally be crushing on David Cook right now. Also, if I was that girl [which I’m not (*cough*)] I would have downloaded his version of “Always Be My Baby”)

So, surprisingly, there were just a couple brownies left over this morning (I consider that a WEAK performance by us, last night) and so I reminded myself of my resolve to not eat refined sugar, and promptly devoured what was left.

Maybe I will eat better when I get to the all-inclusive resort.

I crack myself up.