Subliminal Messages About Comfort Food and Why I’m Going Back to the Gym Tomorrow

Thanks to the wonderful people at Skinny Scoop for taking a chance with an unknown kid. By sponsoring this post about comfort food, they’ve helped support my Midnight Moon addiction.

I’ve been consuming a LOT of comfort food lately. Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe it’s the stress of working and blogging and dealing with Chicago winter. Either way, I’ve definitely been eating a lot of my favorites. So much that I am probably going to start one of them there fancy diets pretty soon here…I even signed up for a personal trainer at the gym. If that doesn’t make me show up, I don’t know what will.

My theory on the gym? If I go, and genuinely work out on the regular, I can still consume some of my favorites (in moderation). Because giving up on queso seems wrong. And if anyone remembers that one time I gave cheese up for Lent? And HOW well that worked out for the practice of Lent (sorry, Mom)?

The other night, I had a decadent and ridiculous grilled cheese sandwich that I’m going to have to make again and destroy your diet with a recipe and pictures because holy crap was it that GOOD. It was like breakfast on crack. For dinner.

Last night? A charcuterie platter before dinner. Mac and cheese. Some of Brian’s beef Wellington. I didn’t even bother with dessert. I was stuffed.

Twice in the last two months, I’ve been caught playing chocolate roulette…like a a gambling addict only with chocolate instead of money.

What are some of your favorite comfort foods?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Going to the Gym is Like an Atheist Stepping into Church

And guys…I didn’t spontaneously combust. We went to the gym last night. After paying for a membership for several months and going less than once a month. We went back.

And I took a chance on zumba.

And despite the fact that I am in TERRIBLE shape.

Despite the fact that I have 2 bad ankles, 2 bad knees and 2 bad hip flexors.

Despite the fact that I was the chubbiest girl in the room.

Despite the fact that I could BARELY keep up with the skinny bitches.

I lasted the entire 60 minute class. And lived to consider going back.

Once I stopped staring at my stomach in the mirror and watching myself bounce around like a bowl of jello going on a joyride…I kind of caught on. And caught myself…Smiling. Exhausted. But smiling. It felt good!

(BTW, I hate it when I use my best line in the title. But I’m too lazy to change it and put something else up there. I feel like I let you guys down. Wait. I can make it up to you. Keep reading).

I did all of this crazy zumba-ing while injured! So on Wednesday when we were getting off the train, I slipped on the metal stair. The doors were still closed, the train was still moving, and if I hadn’t been holding on to the pole/railing/bar thingy for dear life, I would have fallen into the door, which would have opened, and I would have fallen out of a moving train to my klutzy death. But I WAS holding on, so none of that nonsense happened. Except that in holding on, I pulled every muscle from my wrist to my neck trying to rescue myself from a very embarrassing death.

Brian’s reaction?

Or should I call it, Brian’s lack of reaction?

“Did you hurt your ankle?”

“No”

“OK, good.”

He’s immune to my klutzy. I suppose that’s only natural when the word “ow!” comes out of my mouth more than any other single word.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!