*Finishes Pizza* "Do I Need Ice Cream?" & Other Chunky Thoughts

One of my 2017 macguffolutions is to be healthier – in fact, I proposed that I was going to get physical. In a previous post, I outlined wanting to incorporate a strict regimen of exercise and healthier eating habits. No, I am not writing to tell you about another failed attempt by yours truly to push away the cake. I think we all agree it’s getting a little sad to continue reading about my inability to control myself around such formidable foes as cheese. 

So, no, that’s not what this post is about. Rather, I am writing to tell a success story.

Craig and I both agree we need and want to be healthier people. You see, during our first year of dating, Craig and I revealed something about ourselves, and in turn learned something about each other (redundancy is fun, isn’t it?), that would change our lives and the way we saw each other forever: above all else, we love food. And I don’t mean in the pretentious, Julia-Roberts-Taking-a-Nibble-Out-Of-Pizza-In-Italy-on-Eat-Pray-Love love food. I mean, we each eat a large pizza and wonder, “Do I need some ice cream?” love food. That’s probably more an “us” problem than a how Julia Roberts eats pizza problem, but if I can’t criticize how Julia Roberts eats pizza with her stupid perfect teeth, then this isn’t the America our forefathers envisioned.

It was 2012, and it was the first of many travel adventures we would take together. We spent the weekend going to Six Flags with another couple, and finished it out by going to The Lion King and staying at the Four Seasons. Yes, I’m aware of how positively ostentatious I sound (it probably helped my case to use a word like ostentatious - I am ~sOoOoOoOo~ in touch), but listen – truly pompous people don’t go to the Four Seasons and order Domino’s. And even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t order multiple stuffed cheesy breads, two gluten free pizzas (for Craig’s gluten-aversive tummy and health), and another large regular ole gluten filled pizza. But that’s what happened.Before then, I would order a small pizza and eat two slices and be like, "Oh I'm so full!"

But now! Oh, now. Now we could and we would eat. And that’s how Craig and I found out we both loved food in the I’ll-put-a-hit-on-my-own-mother-for-a-Little-Debbie-Swiss-cake-roll way.

So, yes, we both love food and could stand to be healthier. Craig tends to have better self-control than I do (see: Pad Thai Meltdown, Yankee Candle, Books, Pizza – above all else, Pizza), and so these little competitions and ~lifestyle~ changes come easier for him (or he at least makes it appear so). In fact, when I’ve been in the midst of a failed ~lifestyle~ change and Craig has chosen to not partake, all I do is wait for an opening to sabotage myself:

• “Oh, you’re getting pizza? Oh, well, no sense is spending more money on food for little old me. Let’s go ahead and order two pizzas.”
• “Oh, you are going to leave that crumb? Let me clean it for you.” *Licks plate* “No, no, who would lick a plate? I am cleaning it for you…”
• *Digs through the trash for a cupcake with minimal mold*
• *Opens Pinterest* "Oh look there's a recipe for Oreo Peanut Butter Ooey Gooey Butter Cake Balls with Chocolate and Caramel Drizzle." Comes with a side of diabetes.
• *Looks at ingredients on cat food; sees sugar; eats entire bag while Grizabella watches in horror*

And this is no fault of Craig’s. He’s usually in the background judging me (nicely, but firmly) and trying to keep me on track toward my goal. I always turn it around so that I’m the victim of said judging, and then I’m off the wagon and enjoying my food binge again. No, I can’t blame my self-sabotage on anyone but myself, which you likely deduced when I said “self-sabotage.”

This time, I took preemptive measures to try to avoid self-sabotaging myself. Given that I knew Craig also wanted to pursue a ~lifestyle~ change, I suggested we have a little friendly competition starting the first of the year. Here’s the lowdown:

• Each Monday, we weigh in.
• Whoever has lost the most percentage of body weight per week “wins” for that week, and the “loser” has to take the sum of the weight lost between the two of us and, in cash, add it to our newly christened trip jar. I use "quotes" because it makes the words seem softer and not so threatening #selfsabotage
•  If neither of us lose weight and just maintain, no money is put into the jar
•  If either of us gains weight, we have to take $5 (plus $1 for each pound gained) each from the jar
• Whoever loses the greatest percentage of weight in a month gets to choose the “cheat day” (we get one per month) meal, and the losing member has to pay for it (and they don’t get to complain about the meal chosen, even if that meal is for whatever reason not pizza)
•  At the end of the competition (once one of us have reached our goal weight), we take the money accumulated in the jar and go somewhere.

The first week of a ~lifestyle~ change is always challenging, especially if you’re as cynical about it as I am. On one hand (mostly just like a finger, though – like the pinky), you want to challenge yourself to a healthier lifestyle because a healthier you usually means a longer living you. One the other hand and four fingers, you are shoving a chocolate cake into your face and laughing/crying/choking on it, like any good kind of degrading act that may or may not be recorded and then uploaded to the internet and viewed in exchange for money. This transition is even more difficult when said transition takes place around the time you’re turning another year older, and that day is close to a new year when you stupidly make promises to yourself and the entire world to get started right away. Like you didn’t learn your lesson the first 27 times.

Me on learning

So, yes, I’m another year older. Another step closer to the grave. Another forgotten thought towards senility. Another scowl toward truly realize grumpy old man syndrome. You get the idea, because I’ve droned on about it for four sentences and then stated in another that I’ve droned on about said idea. I’m just waiting patiently for my 30s, because then people can’t accuse me of not being 30, which for some reason is a hallmark insult of your 20s. As if I’m not 10x grumpier than most 30 or 70 year olds.

Anyway, my point is – and yes, I do have a point – is that most years when January 5^th rolls around, all I want to do is eat and drink mine and a small family’s fair share of cheese and wine and pet my cat. No, that isn’t a euphemism (but it might be, winky face; vomit face).

And I had committed to being healthier – no, not just healthier, I had committed to paying money if I didn’t beat someone else at being healthier – just days before my birthday. What a schmuck I've turned out to be.

So here comes my birthday - a celebration of my 28th year of living - and there I am, eating a celery stick and scrunching my face up in discontentment (can one scrunch one's face up in contentment? Also, if possible, can one scrunch one's face up in contentment when eating celery? Can one be content when eating celery? Contemplating...). I had practically settled on spreading some peanut butter on another piece of celery, blowing out a Yankee Candle, and pouring a bottle of wine onto my cat for my homies. Then Craig, husband of husbands brought up Mario's pizza, like some monster. He knew I - WE - couldn't have pizza unless it came on a celery crust, and that better not exist because, if it does, we're all doomed for sure. How dare he even bring it up? Mario's, how absurd! Naturally, I accepted the offer and we went to Mario's. Before I entered, I knew I was going to get Italian salad served in a gondola that may have actually once been anchored in a Venetian canal and a large pizza with ALL THE THINGS ON IT. I considered adding anchovies. I was so crazy with power I think I may have turned orange. 

 

But then (this is where the success comes into play - it only took us a novel to get here) we reconsidered (Craig didn't even know my plans for my meal, so he's finding this out at the same time you are). I ordered a Greek salad with the cheese and dressing ~on the side~ and Craig and I shared a small cheese pizza. I made sure my lettuce was served in a gondola, though. I could only give up so much. 

Do I sound bitter? I hope so. As a person not above hooking and/or selling my first born for a taco – yes, a single taco – I better sound bitter when I reveal that I ate a gondola of salad and half of a small pizza rather than, like, I don't know - some cheese sticks and a large pizza.

We finished the night off with three bottles of cabernet sauvignon. Whatever, fine, that wasn't the healthiest choice, but can we focus on what matters? The last time I had a cab sauv, it resulted in a Pad Thai Meltdown. Craig was brave with this decision, but I was braver. I was willing to have a meltdown ON MY BIRTHDAY for some cab sauv. That probably says something about my wine consumption, but no one asked you, so there. The fact remains that sass and meltdown levels remained at a low. I woke up snug in my bed and knew I was still married, so I call that a win.

So that was my birthday dinner with Craig. The next night, we had my in-laws over for Italian beef, buffalo chicken, broccoli salad, and cake. Chocolate on chocolate cake. By now you're wondering where this success story is going. "Nowhere fast," you are probably saying. Well, once again, nooneaskedyousothere. Yes, I ate multiple sandwiches and yes, I had several spoons of broccoli salad and yes, I had a big piece of chocolate cake with ice cream. AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.

All in all, for a birthday week, I was actually pretty good as far as controlling myself with food goes (although you probably don't get that impression from this particular entry), and I managed to drop 1.79% of my body weight. Of course, that doesn't matter because Craig lost 2.23% ~dramatic~. So this week, it was my turn to pay $13 toward our vacation fund.

Look how joyous I am, throwing away a small jar or tumbler candle and/or a paperback book

#NORAGRETS #someregret

It was a fun week and I managed to be a little better in my choices and managed to lose some weight, but I've got my head in the game now and no birthdays to deter me. You better watch your back, husband, because I'll probably be paying again next week.