The Cupcake Incident: Flasback Friday

For Flashback Friday, I thought I’d share one of the first posts I wrote when I first started this blog. I think it got a measly two likes. It’s pretty much terrible, but it’s so incredibly accurate when it comes to my best friend, Cupcake and I. 

The back story behind this little exchange is that I was attempting to diet, and I was in the I’m-so-starving-I’d-lick-the-remnants-from-a-chocolate-wrapper-found-in-the-garbage-yeah-I’m-serious-so-fuck-you-and-your-judgy-eyes stage. 

I’d asked my teacher friend and classroom neighbor to help me resist the myriad treat situations that occur constantly at our school (really, any school, anywhere)

She was also “dieting”. 

Two weakling, enablers trying to help each other diet. 

It was comical. 

Also, she had no idea the extent of my gluttony, or that I could sniff out a cupcake from three miles away. 

Without further ado: The Cupcake Incident

Sitting at desk. The whiff of cupcake starts wafting in from room next door.

Phone call is urgent, sweaty palms.

Child: “This is Ms. S’s room. How may I help you?”

Me: “Well, aren’t you just the most professional-sounding 3rd grader I’ve ever heard. May I speak with Ms. S?”

No response. Phone is dropped on table. 

Ms. S: “This is Ms. S…”

Me: (whisper voice, barely audible) “Cupcake? I smell.”

Ms. Silver: “Uh, this is Ms. S. Hello?”

Me: (slightly more audible) “Birthday cupcake? Cupcake?”

Ms. S: “I don’t know who this is. I don’t have cupcakes. You are mistaken. Good day.”

Me: (yelling voice) “You know who this is, and I want CUPCAKE!”

Click 

Running for the door just as a darling child delivers very roughed-up cupcake. 

Cupcake nonetheless. 

Drool is now escaping. 

Ms. S appears at door, tries to intercept, unsuccessfully. 

Cupcake frosting already entering mouth. 

Ms. S (the bitch) tries to swat frosting out of mouth. 

Instead of cupcake, the smell of revenge is now pungent. 

Ms. S is more elderly, thus, escape successful. 

Entire cupcake is lodged in mouth.

Delicious. 

Exchange ends with both Ms. S and culprit crouching over frosting remnants on tray, greedily licking fingers. Animals. 
*It is necessary to note that no child was injured in cupcake incident. Nor were children present during bloody exchange. They were outside getting exercise, like civilized human beings.

Flashback Friday: Be Cool, Alright?

I’m re-blogging this post for #fbf, because I almost wrecked my diet the other day with Boston Market Cinnamon Apples and mashed potatoes. Like, it was so.close. Too close. As in, I circled the whole of Boston Market five times, drooling, staring, frothing at the mouth. I can never be seen there again. So, I’ll just live vicariously through my past foodscapades. Is it bad that this post doesn’t make me feel shameful, but hungry for macaroni and cheese, and nostalgic for my bacon grease sweats? 

Dear Boston Market Yeller, 

My boyfriend and I visited your establishment this past Saturday, around 6:00 PM. You greeted us by yelling, “Welcome to Boston Market. What can I help you with?” from behind the counter, at least 15 feet away, before we were even in the door. While the gesture was, thoughtful, semi-courteous, it was a little overwhelming, as every single individual in the restaurant turned to watch us come in. I’m sure realizing it wasn’t the Queen of England entering, but a couple in their fat pants, was quite disappointing. Had I known I would have been welcomed so warmly, I would have worn a more supportive bra and my fancy sweats, the ones without paint and bacon grease stains. 

I want to say I appreciate your tenacity, but it just came off as abrasive. My boyfriend and I ordered the meal for 3, and we really didn’t appreciate your need to repeat this fact no less than 10 times to your coworkers and what appeared to be the lady behind us. Yes, we were two people ordering the meal designed for three people. We had on elastic pants, was that not evidence enough that we were planning on eating heartily? Also, I would like to point out that it was highly probable that we had an adult or two waiting at home. We could have been being thrifty and mindful of our diets. This could have easily been the case. It wasn’t, but it could have been. 

Furthermore, we were taken aback by your method of checking customers out. Instead of doing it yourself, you yelled our order, repeatedly, across the entire kitchen to the young man, who must have been hard of hearing, because Sparks heard what we had for dinner, while he didn’t. After the 3rd time this young man had to ask you to repeat yourself, perhaps it was time to just take over. I’m so glad that our choices, the most fattening sides possible, were repeated for all to hear. Just for future reference, when two people come in, in oversized sweatshirts and they don’t take off their sunglasses, they would like their poor life choices kept between you and them, not shared with the entire restaurant. 

I am only writing this letter to you because you have potential. The passion you have for your product is evident, but I would suggest you work on your voice level and tact. You have zero tact. None. I would like to assume that most people visiting a Boston Market have serious plans of wrecking their diets. These people are already low, don’t assist them with their impending demise. Do you want to be an accessory for death by cookie dough? I don’t think so. Just be cool, alright? Sheesh. 

Signed, 
The Couple Who Bought a Meal For Three, and Ate It ALLLLLL 

***As an aside…

If hearing…
“Mashed with gravy, Mac and cheese, and cinnamon apples for THREE!”

“How many?” 

“THREE!”

“You said, mashed, apples, and spinach?” 

NO, mashed potatoes, gravy, MACARONI AND CHEESE, and cinnamon apples!” 

OK, I think I got it. And that was the meal for three?”

YES, the meal for three”

….doesn’t make you want to reevaluate your life, I don’t know what will. It’s time for a change. My “last resort” pants are tight and I’m certain my fat is trying to suffocate me in my sleep. Help. 

WTF Wednesdays #8

How in the crap have I been doing WTFWs for eight weeks already?! It feels like just yesterday that I chose to make my bitching a weekly, written thing (I had to distinguish written from spoken, because I vocalize my rants hourly).

Time flies when you’re being a bitch.

Today, my post is going to contain a lot of choice words. Brace yourself. Delicate flowers, you might want to go watch a cat video. 

Today is about the “Realization”. You know, when you finally realize you really can have too many cupcakes. 

Sometimes, it takes a lot. Sometimes, it takes getting into your car, in a pair of work pants that you haven’t worn in eons, and, as you squeeze into your seat, the button barely holding your pants closed, pops off and pings and ricochets off of every hard surface in your car, before it hits you in the eye, and finally, comes to rest in your fat crotch. 

Yes, this actually happened. Except, not to me (my Realization came in the form of a student being concerned about me falling on my belly, because, naturally, it’s got a baby growing in it. That’s why it looks the way it does. FML). It happened to my naturally thin, kick-boxing-obsessed boyfriend after we both gained our happy-to-not-be-in-the-dating-scene-anymore-weight. 

After he almost lost an eye to a Dockers Relaxed Comfort button, he thought about losing some weight. And, I shit you not, that’s all it took for him to go back to his Glory Days weight (watch for this to be a WTF Wednesdays rant. Men, the fuckers). 

Since I’m not a man, and my body hasn’t magically become a specimen of superhuman genetics, all of my cupcake eating has resulted in some added cushion. 

I’ve resorted to, again, getting on the Weight Watchers bandwagon. 

Years ago, I was super successful with WW, and lost damn near 50 pounds. I kept it off for close to four years doing the program off and on, and being somewhat resonable with food. 

Lately, all semblance of reason has gone out the window. Like, thrown out the window with my good arm. 

Thus, why I found myself on Saturday night, paying for three months of WW, while crying into a large Dairy Queen Reese’s Extreme Blizzard (just typing that, I’m fucking salivating and in heat). 

This first week I’m treating as a weaning period. Also, I just need some practice not eating everything in sight and I need fair warning for how much I’m going to be starving and dreaming of cake. 

The reason I loved Weight Watchers before was that I never felt truly deprived. Yes, my better-part-of-a-half-gallon-of-ice-cream-binges had to stop, but I still got to enjoy the occasional thimble-full of my favorite frozen treat. 

I’ve heard that “the fatties are in an uproar” over the new Weight Watchers points system, because it’s very restrictive. 

It’s only Tuesday, and I can confidently say, this Fatty is not happy. I’ll be positively starving on the new SmartPoints plan. It’s as restrictive as my no-longer-elastic bra strap. 

Here’s what sucks so far:

1. 12 tortilla chips are now five points, instead of three. Salsa and chips are now dead to me. 

2. TWO FUCKING TABLESPOONS of my favorite coconut cream creamer are three points. Now, I definitely can’t put my usual half cup into my English Breakfast. My mornings are ruined. 

3. This is SEVEN SHITTY POINTS:


These taste like fruit strudel. And, there’s frosting on top. But, these are no good to me anymore. I won’t be wasting seven whole points on a tiny fruit bar that I can down in two bites. R.I.P. 

4. The cream cheese chicken chili we are planning for dinner tomorrow will probably be 567 points, without the tortilla chips (I’m too scared to calculate it, so that’s just a rough estimate). 

5. And, this:


I.can’t.even. That’s practically half of the points I’m allowed in an entire day. 

I might as well just each dirt, or kale, they both taste the fucking same. 

Fuck.it.all. 

Food Baby

Ya’ll…

I don’t even know where to start. 

I think there’s no hope for me. 

I try to be good. 

No. 

No. That’s a boldface lie. I’ll be real. I don’t try. Not at all. 

My “trying” is remembering to ask for nonfat milk in my venti salted caramel mocha. 

This past week it’s been fall break for us teachers over in my neck of the woods. Because I had no solid, established plans to go somewhere cool, I knew I’d be making the rounds at my favorite eating establishments. 

Because it isn’t fall break unless I eat my weight in carbs and almost slip into a diabetic coma. 

So, I thought I’d share with you some of the ridiculousness I put into my fat gob this past week. It’s like a really pathetic travel picture slideshow, but instead of pictures of me in front of the Grand Canyon, you get to see exactly why I’m struggling to button my new stretchy jeans. 

How fun! 

But, first, I have to share with you just how much of a lost cause I am. It’s been a minute since I’ve shared a diet woe or food foible, so it was bound to happen that I’d find myself knee deep in embarrassment or ridiculousness.

On Saturday, I attended a family member’s baby shower. I was super excited to go, because I heard that they were ordering bundtinis from Nothing Bundt Cakes. Their cakes are just ungodly good. They must use a metric ton of sugar, butter, and unicorn blood in just one cake. That has to be why they’re so good. 

I also heard that if you didn’t RSVP and you just showed up, you wouldn’t get a bundtini, because they were ordering just enough for the attendees and no extra. 

I made sure I RSVP’d by phone, email, snail mail, and telegram. 

It was so hard waiting for cupcake o’clock. Pure hell.

When the time finally came to have our bundtinis, it was utter agony to choose just one

I could have eaten one entire cupcake tier and still had room for a steak dinner.

Eventually, I settled on red velvet.

It was delectable, but quite small. I really needed another bundtini, or 7… 

There were still, at least, 15 little morsels of heaven left. I reported this interesting discovery to my mom. I told her I was most definitely going to eat another one. 

She said, “Well, what if some people haven’t gotten theirs yet?” 

To this, I responded:

“Ya snooze, ya lose, ladies!”

Cupcakes, just sitting out in the open, after a good 20 minutes, are fair game in my book. 

Still, it made me question the possibility of just grabbing one and eating it right in front of God and everybody.

So, I scoped the cupcake spot out for a good 10 minutes until the coast was clear. Once there was no one in sight, I snatched one, and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Yes, I felt the need to have more than my fair share of cupcakes, and in utter disgrace, I scarfed down someone else’s designated cupcake as I hid in.the.bathroom.


The fact that my gut is resting ever so elegantly on the counter is evidence that I didn’t even need ONE cupcake. 

#whenyourfoodbabyisbiggerthanthemothertobesbump

This short aside ended up being a little more long-winded than I had first intended. So, I’ll share my gluttonous menu from this past week in a separate post. 


Just sitting in line to get gas, taking pics of my food baby. 

*Mother-to-be: If you read this, know you positively glowed with happiness and impending motherhood. I, in no way, wanted to upstage you with my food baby belly. This was unplanned, unintended, and rather uncomfortable. Please accept my sincerest apologies. 

Glutton’s Paradise AKA Apple Hill

It’s been fall break over in my neck of the woods. Us educators call this time, “Thank Baby Jesus We Made it to October”. I swear these breaks aren’t really for the kids, they’re for the teachers, for our sanity. 

Every fall, since I can remember, we have gone to Apple Hill. Nestled between South Lake Tahoe and Sacramento, Apple Hill is a labyrinth of orchards, pumpkin patches, wineries, and family-owned farms, open to the public. 

 

How gorgeous is Apple Hill?
  
 

Apple Hill has always meant eat all the apple treats, drink all the cider, and buy all the crafts to me. You can’t bring enough money, because saying ‘no’ to your tenth caramel apple and a bunch of overpriced, homemade crap is impossible. 

Since I’ve been a destitute teacher, I only buy the best of the best; no more hand-painted pumpkins and doilies for me. What is worth my money is this sign that I had to buy for my bathroom. I mean, there was no question. 

  

I also wanted to buy every single candle from B&B Candles. Not only are they the most delicious, long-lasting candles I’ve ever purchased, the older gentlemen who sells them for his wife is the cutest. #supportgrandmaandgrandpa

 
OK, let’s get down to it, I know you’re waiting to hear. Exactly how naughty and gluttonous was I? If success is becoming a diabetic on vacation, I went for the gold. It was bad, but so damn good. 

  Not even an hour in, and I found myself a cherry apple empanada. Delicioso! 

  

 Photo op tip: Always stand behind the other people in the photo. Instant diet! Wearing black will optimize your results! 
  This was lunch. They were called “Hog Fries”. How apropos. 

 “Cyser”: hard cider, mead, and honey. I had two. They were that good (I’m also a serious lightweight, and these bad boys were like 13%. You do the math). I didn’t capture my Chinese dinner, because I was drunk. What I did do was have a snorting, laughing fit in the Peking Duck, because apparently egg rolls are hilarious when you’re on a drunken, sugar-high binge. 

 Morning in Apple Hill means freshly-fried hot apple pie donuts and hot coffee! Look at those fat, hungry fingers! 

  Warmed Dutch apple sour cream pie for second breakfast. Yes, really. 

  Of course, I had to take a selfie! Come to mama! 

  This is an apple cider float. It was at this point that I began feeling my two days of absolute gluttony. When I bent over to tie my shoes, my apple treats and regret almost came up. My last words before my coma: “And…I now have diabetes.” 

The whole ride home was spent trying not to throw up. 

I went hog wild because Monday starts a new chapter. When people take pictures of the fat girl taking a selfie of herself eating baked goods, it’s time. Back on the wagon I go. 

I’ll let you know how God-awful Monday after a break, on a diet, goes. 

Shameless 

I have been a pretty shameless glutton most of my summer break. Weekends are hard for me to stay on track, let alone an entire school break. Give me almost 2 months of freedom, and endless hours to meet friends and family for breakfast, brunch, elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, linner, dinner, cocktails, and late night binge-fests, and you pretty much have a recipe for disaster with a chocolate ganache and cherry on top. 

I fully plan on getting my act together when school, and a regular schedule commences. Until then, I’m trying not to be too bad. I got a half sandwich, instead of feeling satisfied at Greatful Gardens the other day. Last night, I ate only one bag of kettlecorn popcorn. Most astonishingly, I imbibed in one, count em’: one Moscow Mule at The Depot yesterday. 

After lunch, I usually want something sweet. Yesterday, I was craving some frozen yogurt with cookie dough and marshmallow topping something fierce. I told myself, “No, Fat Katie!”, and went home and ate a Popsicle instead (I’m also quickly running out of money-summer break, and being a fatty is EXPENSIVE). 

Additionally, I am working hard at not drinking my calories (I mean, unless it’s alcohol. Because alcohol). I’m also trying to drink green tea a couple times a day. I know it’s not a miracle fix, but it has been shown to boost metabolism. Disclaimer: I am, by no means, against “quick fixes”. I will, usually, buy in to any weight loss fad that requires absolutely zero effort. 

Another reason I’ve decided to not end my summer break in “Super Glutton” mode is: I spent $160 on It Works products. I purchased a month’s supply of wraps and fat inhibitors, hair, skin, and nails vitamins, and firming gel. My hard-earned credit card purchase just can’t be in vain. It doesn’t seem right to wash fat inhibitors down with a donut. Well, maybe it does, but I don’t want the donut to cancel out the hard work the supplement is doing. I’m not simply trying to maintain. Oh no. This lard has got to go. 

  My Fat Fighting Box of Shame 

  These are some real horse pills. And they taste like horse sweat. 

  Because ain’t nobody want to see my front butt. Here is another area that has got to get with the program and tighten up. I’m sick of my swinging arm flab. 

  Totally unedited and deelicious! 

  At least I remembered to shave my armpits for ya’ll. 

I know firming gel and supplements are not the only answer. I’m doing yoga, too. Remember? I bet you forgot, as I haven’t posted any embarrassing yoga pics lately. Stay tuned. 

*The little red mark on my arm is from my very first boyfriend, Karl Martin. We were having a pinching contest (we were 12). He won. 

The Struggle Continues 

The other night, my boyfriend and I loafed on the couch, watched 5 episodes of Naked and Afraid, and ate an entire pineapple. Let me tell you something about pineapple…that tasty, deceptive shit expands in your stomach. After it expands and bloats your stomach to the point where you look like you’re carrying twins, it gives you horrific acid reflux. All night long, I really regretted not just eating a stupid candy bar, because candy bars just give me the shits. 

I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, I will give you a run for your money on Trivia Crack, and I know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re. Yet, I cannot seem to learn that eating an entire pint of Chunky Monkey will make me feel like dog poop for 3 days. I seriously never learn. 

I do know some things. I know that I can’t be trusted with anything remotely tasty in my house. Like a crack addict, if it’s around, it’s going down in a big way. When I go to my parents’ house, I riffle around in the cabinets looking for what I know is always there. I usually end up eating a couple Little Debbie’s and a Tasty Kake, if I’m lucky. I try not to frequent my parents’ house. For shame…

This is why, at any time, I have a can of garbanzo beans and some stale tortilla chips in my cupboard. That’s it. I know I won’t be desperate enough to crack open an 8 year-old can of beans, so…

Last night, I was pinning healthy recipe after healthy recipe on my “Healthy Yummies” board on my Pinterest. I don’t know why I spend my time pinning healthy crap, I almost never make any of it…Well, I found one that looked so good, and super easy. It consisted of skim milk, light cool whip, ice and…one Oreo. 

It sounded so light, and not too gluttonous. I felt an immense longing for a “diet” Oreo shake. Then, a depressing realization set in. These healthy shakes, will never, ever remain ‘healthy’ so long as I have to buy an entire package of Oreos to make them. The recipe calls for just one Oreo, but I know a couple more will fall into the blender, accidentally. Then, I know for a fact that the rest of those Oreos will last maybe a day in my house. I will have to eat them all in one, shameful, sweaty sitting, because I can’t just have Oreos laying around to tempt me. 

Unless it’s acceptable to knock on your neighbor’s door for one Oreo, I won’t be making these fabulous sounding “diet” shakes. 

The struggle is real, folks. 

58 Saturdays

I mentioned in my last post that I have 58 Saturdays ahead of me (well, 56 now). This is completely a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing because if I want to binge-watch Friends for 6 solid hours, there is not one thing stopping me. It’s a curse, because if I watch Netflix all day, I’m going to want to binge, not only on old sitcoms, but on Cheetos, Tillamook sharp cheddar (I can totally just eat right off the brick, no shame), an entire pan of Nutella brownies, and some watermelon (gotta get my fruit in). I am, in no way, embellishing. 

With no routine, all semblance of order and control goes out the window. A quesadilla at 2:00 AM sounds like a fine idea when you don’t have to get up for work the next day. Also, if I’m on the couch, it’s Mindless Eating Time, and that’s all there is to it. There is a lot of couch sitting on school breaks. I’ve ocassionally wondered if I were to purchase an immensely uncomfortable seating implement, if it would help. Like, two wooden rocking chairs, with no cushions, or just a body ball, one for me and one for my boyfriend. We would have to balance ourselves and our dinner every night. There would be zero lounging, and my posture would greatly improve. It’s an idea.

So, because I know that I have so much working against me, I’ve decided to go back to my tried and true Weight Watchers eating plan. I’ve decided that it’s the best kind of food plan for me. My problem is portion control. If you say, “On Paleo, you can eat all the veggies you want”, I will consider it a challenge, and you will find me polishing off a horse-sized bag of carrots. 

With WW, you have a certain allotment of points you can eat in a day. If you’re happy with iceberg lettuce for dinner, sure, have that S’mores Frappuccino, just as long as you stay within your points allowance. I’ve had those days before, and it didn’t take long to find that I better balance my meals better than that. With WW, you have to portion, weigh, and consider everything you put into your mouth. It’s a lot of work, but the control I feel counting my points makes me feel empowered. 

I’ve tried Atkins, Paleo, no-sugar, and I’ve tried Slim Fast (that lasted exactly one day) and yet, I keep going back to WW. The extreme diets where you are disallowed a single carb is completely unrealistic to me. There are going to be those days when you need a cookie. A REAL cookie, and shouldn’t that be OK? Why I give up on those diets is because they are too rigid and strict. I don’t respond well to the words, “can’t” and “no”.

Control is really what it’s all about. Because I have none of that, like at all, I thrive on counting my points and operating with some sense of control over what and how much I eat. I plan out my day, and count the points I can eat, and it’s usually so that I can “afford” my Skinny Cow salted pretzel ice cream bar after dinner. It’s not a crime, because I ate salad and chicken breast, and passed on the sugar-laden coffee drink at Starbucks. So, there! 

It’s all about finding a balance (aren’t I annoying, with my diet-know-it-all-ness?). I firmly believe that if you want to change your eating, and find a food plan option that you can stick to, it’s one in which you are allowed to cheat once in awhile. We are only human, and dammit if cake is not the best thing ever! I can’t live without cake, and the blessed Weight Watchers lets me have it (you get a 1 inch square for 12 points, but hey!) 

I am not just assuming that WW will work for me, as I’ve lost 40 pounds before on the program, and it was the easiest 40 pounds to lose, ever! I gained it all back when I became a teacher. The stress either drives you to drink or eat. Eating it was. 

  

The thinnest I will ever look on film, all thanks to Weight Watchers

Bad Cupcakes! 

Yesterday was the last day of school (Schools…out…for…SUMMER). I have exactly 58 Saturday’s ahead of me (more about that blessed dilemma later). I started my summer vacation off in a very positive, good-Samaritan way. Let me explain. 

Naturally, one of my students brought cupcakes to celebrate the last day of school (I’m not only known as a cupcake-lover on my blog). As it was the last day, my students were leaving early left and right. When we finally had our room cleaned up, things packed, and I finally participated in a Just Dance video for my students’ amusement (more on that later, too…), it was Cupcake Time. The 24 cupcakes were more than enough, there were 8 left. Of course, the student who brought them was fully planning on taking them home. I would like to make it amply clear that I would never stoop so low as to beg a nine-year-old for their leftover cupcakes. I’m not that far gone. 

The mad rush to collect all of their precious end-of-year goodies and give me hug after hug, coupled with their desire to get the hell out of school, made for a whirlwind ‘goodbye’ with my students. Yearbooks were left. Data folders, that they would have trashed anyways, were left. Their had-to-have, homemade letters from their friends were left. And, the cupcakes. They were left. Two, almost empty, boxes of vanilla cupcakes were left. I figured she would be back. I waited a few, anxious minutes. Guilt-ridden, I went outside, hopefully, albeit reluctantly, to try to find her. 3 minutes after the bell had rung, and it was a ghost town outside. “Lost” report cards, confetti, and papers littered the ground. All was still, but for a tumbleweed that blew across in the breeze. She was gone. They were mine. 

I felt a sudden internal glee that only fat people, who have an unhealthy love for baked goods, ever feel. I knew it was bad news that I now possessed 8 entire cupcakes, cupcakes topped with the sweetest confection of sugar ever created, but my unhealthy addiction and glee overwhelmed my sense of good judgement. 

If anyone saw me leaving school with all of my treasures, they surely videotaped it and uploaded it onto YouTube with the heading, “Watch Fatty Teacher Leave School and Almost Drop Two Boxes of Cupcakes Exactly 32 Times”. I can just see the comment section now: “Damn, she dropped her phone, purse, bag of whatever, and her keys, but she didn’t drop the cupcakes-no words”. That would have been the nicest thing said. 

When I finally got home, lugged in all of my shit, along with my prize, I felt victorious. I made it home, and not one cupcake was injured. 

My boyfriend was aghast that I brought two boxes of cupcakes home, as he shares my love (and obvious addiction) of anything remotely sweet. He, too, envisioned us sitting on the couch, in our fat pants, devouring them all. All he had to say was, “Babe…” and it all became clear. I have serious problems. We did NOT need 8 cupcakes, like at all. The cherry on top: my boyfriend then asked me, “Why didn’t you put them all in one box?” Good God. Not only am I fat, I’m a fucking genius too. 

So, to address how I began my summer vacation in a Good Samaritan way, I put all 8 cupcakes (in two boxes) out by the dumpsters in the alley, for the bums. Almost daily, we have homeless people digging in the dumpsters. All they ever find is moldy spaghetti leftovers and black bananas. Last night, one lucky vagrant came upon a gold mine. I’m such a saint. You’re welcome. 

Here is the proof:

  
And, the proof that our local homeless people have more smarts than a teacher. Whomever took the cupcakes likely transferred them all to one box. Doh! 

  
So, there you have it. I have started off my summer on a positive, healthy note (I won’t mention that I attended our school’s happy hour, devoured a food truck Philly cheesesteak, and ended the night with a Double Caramel Magnum-I can only give up so much!) 

Diet Schmiet

Am I the only one whose diet goes out the window the second a change in schedule happens? The other day was Field Day, and lunch was provided, lunch which consisted of sandwiches, chips, and cookies. I think there was watermelon, but I saw a mound of cookies, and nothing else mattered. Normally, the germaphobe in me would have hesitated before reaching for random cookies. Who made them? Did they wash their hands? Did their child help, with their booger germs? After carting around hot, smelly, tired, and cranky 3rd graders from activity to activity all morning, I took, and inhaled 3 cookies. I still can’t recall the flavor of these cookies, but at the moment, they could have been poop cookies for all I cared. When I’m tired and stressed, and my schedule is all out of whack, carbs and processed sugar are all my body will accept. Cabbage salad? Nope. Won’t.Open.Mouth.Can’t. 

A day after Field Day, I am still tired and stressed (I think this has nothing to do with the hot-as-balls Field Day, but more to do with end-of-year tasks that seem to never end) and I’m still making poor choices. Today, my excuse was I had to sit outside and watch a soccer game, and it was horribly humid. I also had to tell my students 387 times to stop pulling out the grass and watch the game. So, naturally I had to eat an entire avocado with my tacos (it’s the GOOD kind of fat, alright!) and half a bag of tortilla chips. I think I also ate a vanilla Tasty Kake. 

*Sigh*…I’m really sighing over here, guys. I’m feeling the reality that I will be suffering from “Thigh-Rubbage-Rash” AGAIN this summer. No thigh gap in sight with this chick. I also still have arm-flappage in a major way. I guess I can use them as fans. So…that’s a positive. 

Tomorrow is a new day, but everyone knows diets can’t start on Thursdays, so I’ll have to eat poorly until Monday (official diet start day). Besides, the end-of-year happy hour will be happening after the last day on Friday, and you know an immense amount of liquid calories will be consumed. 

Maybe I’ll sweat out all of my poor choices at hot yoga tomorrow? Maybe!