FAT TUESDAY

****This post was originally published a few years ago but it’s so perfect and fitting for Fat Tuesday, so give it another go.****

I’m pretty sure I didn’t have to write a blog post about how I love Fat Tuesday, as it’s pretty much a no-brainer. Any holiday with the word “fat” right in the title is obviously going to be observed by this girl. It’s pretty much a celebration of me and my fellow chub club peeps, and what we stand for…which is butter on everything and a side of Ranch dressing.

OMG! I just made up that chub club thing just now and it’s completely brilliant! I’m going to run with it. Okay, I won’t really physically run with it.  I will walk slowly with it or take a cab.  I think I’m going to start a Chub Club for real.

I will be the “Big Cheese” in charge of the outfit, and the members will be named after different variations of my favorite dairy products. This is genius! I predict t-shirts will be made soon with the smallest size being an XL (for the tiny people in the group). This is gold!

Sorry about hijacking my MjAxMi1hOWJkZTkyMDhjOGI2YmM4own post there, but when amazing ideas come to me, which is pretty much every hour, I need to write them down so I don’t forget them.

I’ve got so many irons in the fire right now that it’s hard to keep them all straight.  And by “irons in the fire” I mean “items in the microwave.”

Anyway, I feel like this post is a pretty obvious one and probably doesn’t need to be written, but then again, I thought Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes had a love to last a lifetime, and look how that turned out.

You guys need guidance, and fortunately I’m here to serve.  However, I’m not here to serve you food; only wisdom. Scoop your own gravy, free loaders.

Perhaps the best part about Fat Tuesday is that it’s an actual holiday encouraging indulgence and gluttony.  Any other day of the year, society quietly judges you for overindulging.

Except in my case, society takes the form of my great aunt who doesn’t judge me quietly, but does so quite loudly from the seat next to me at dinner. “Wow, Lisa, you sure can eat an entire ham. Maybe you should grab some broccoli to round out your meal.”

charlie-sheen-fat-tuesday-mardi-gras-ecards-someecardsUm, maybe you should pick your teeth up off the table and shut up.

What other day of the year encourages engaging in a full day of complete gluttony? Thanksgiving is usually restricted to one meal of gorging, and the focus of the holiday isn’t simply stuffing one’s face with carbs (there’s desserts too!).

Apparently we are also supposed to remember the Indians on that day and how we killed them all with cholera blankets and STDs.  Not the happiest of holidays, although pie definitely makes it better. (Pie makes everything better. I think I should make that into a bumper sticker. It could be the slogan for my Chub Club.  I’M ON A ROLL TONIGHT!)

Unlike the short lived Thanksgiving with one big meal, Fat Tuesday encourages gluttony all day long! It’s the perfect day and it should be a national holiday. How can I be expected to work when I have a full cookie cake to eat? And that plate of nachos isn’t going to eat itself.

I can’t be expected to go to work on a day when the world is my oyster of food, and the oyster is on a cracker with Tabasco sauce.  Does my boss not want me to properly honor the holiday?  To basically flip off Fat Tuesday and all that it represents?  Apparently so.  My boss is obviously unpatriotic.

Fat Tuesday is also a great holiday because it actually celebrates being fat! All year long I’m made to feel embarrassed by my love handles and meaty thighs.

fat-tuesday-16

(I don’t feel bad about them, but it’s not for a lack of society’s attempts. They are relentless!)  But just this one day a year, society embraces fatness, one love handle at a time.

Wait, my husband just told me that Fat Tuesday isn’t a celebration of fat people at all. Apparently, he seems to think its a last hurrah of sorts before Lent starts and people give up stuff.  What does he know?  He’s skinny and clearly wants to bring me down on the best holiday of the year.

And if he doesn’t watch himself, he’s going to learn about giving up stuff…in this case, it will be the comfort of our memory foam mattress, as we don’t have one of those in the guest bedroom.

I’m not letting my husband’s nay saying bring me down on the best day of the year. I will relegate him to the guest bedroom so he can think about what he’s done, and so I can enjoy my last stash of Twinkies in peace without judgment. I will also be launching a Chub Club, as this is clearly one of my better ideas. It’s right up there with the Snuggie dress, which is a genius idea if I could just get some funding.

So enjoy Fat Tuesday, my friends. Celebrate your inner and outer fat kid, and if you come across nay sayers like my husband, feel free to throw a pie in their face and tell them they need to get in the holiday spirit.  But don’t waste a good pie.   That would be a tragedy.

The day has come for all you football fans out there.  It’s the culmination of a full season of cussing at the TV, yelling at the refs who clearly got it wrong, and cursing Bill Belichick because he can’t be bothered to wear a sweatshirt the way it was intended…with sleeves.

That last part may just be me, but seriously with that guy?  Would it kill him to not look like a slob for ONE game?  But then again, when he’s regularly on camera with such a beautiful specimen as Tom Brady, he is always going to look like a slob in comparison.  He probably figures he should not even try and just be comfortable.

Okay guys, stop googling images of a topless Tom Brady and focus on this amazing blog post.  Do I need to keep you here with eye candy?  I’m not above it.  <———There. Happy now?

Let’s get back on track, people!  After a season of hard work, two football teams will face off today in the Super Bowl.  It’s the biggest game of the year for those two teams.  It’s the….well….it’s the Super Bowl of…..well…Super Bowls.

Today is Super Bowl Sunday.  Even if you don’t care about football, today is the one day of the year where you pretend to care just so you attend a Super Bowl party.

Every year, I can’t help but laugh at the whole notion of Super Bowl parties.  On any given Sunday during football season, you can find a football lover laying on the couch watching the games, dozing in and out of consciousness.  Sunday football viewing is basically a full day of intermittent napping and football fans can’t be bothered to do anything with others as long as there are games on.

During the season, Sundays transform into a day of solitude for football lovers.

MANHATTANDon’t even think of talking to them during the game, as viewing the sport takes significant concentration.  In my experience, I find such concentration is most often achieved with closed eyes and snoring.

However, once we get to the biggest game of the year, all of a sudden everyone wants to celebrate with a party.  I truly believe the reason these parties happen is because football lovers know if they didn’t have people over, they would sleep through the big game too.  They need parties to keep them awake for the full event.

Fortunately, I’m a giving and caring person who wants to make dreams come true, so I’m happy to attend Super Bowl parties.  However, I take them quite seriously.  If I’m going to go, I want to make sure I’m prepared ahead of time.  I need to engage in a serious fact-gathering expedition before I make my final decision regarding what to root for.

This investigation usually starts days in advance.  I begin researching information about which teams and cities are in the final game and what colors they wear.  (I need to plan my outfit.)

But most importantly, I want to know the spread for the game.  Will there be nachos and dip, or chili and sandwiches?  Cookies and ice cream, or brownies and pies?

Wait…you didn’t think when I said I wanted to prepare myself for the big day that I was talking about educating myself on the teams, did you?  I simply need to know which city each team comes from to know if I will be walking into a theme-based party with food indicative of the teams.  (Clam chowder for New England or crab cakes for Seattle.)  And when I said I needed to plan my outfit, I meant I needed to locate pants with elastic.

You didn’t think when I referred to “the spread” that I was actually referring to gambling on the game, did you?  Do you read this blog at all?!  The only gambling I will be doing today is eating buffalo chicken dip without the benefit of a gallbladder.

I suspect the loser will be my friends’ bathroom.  (FYI…you know who you are and I would recommend stocking up on air freshener.)

To me, Super Bowl Sunday is an excuse to get together with friends and stuff my face with as many foods as possible.  It’s one of the biggest eating days of the year and I need to prepare myself, both mentally and physically.  I suggest you do the same.

As for the winners of this year’s Super Bowl, it’s too early to tell.  But I’ve got my money on the buffalo chicken dip.

pantry say about youMatt and I recently visited my parents for the weekend. Their house is always stocked with food, so the first morning I was there I trodded into the kitchen and quietly opened the pantry door.  I wanted to scour for food but also wanted to retrieve the no bake cookies I hid there yesterday.  (They were delicious.)

I stood there munching on my hidden gems, hiding from everyone else, and couldn’t help but look around at what was on the shelves.  I was pretty shocked at what I found.  Here’s a breakdown.

And please note, these are ALL photos from their pantry.  Every.  Last.  Strange.  One.

1.  Three shelves of liquor

Okay, they weren’t full shelves of liquor, but there were three partial shelves of alcohol goodness.  How many shelves were taken up by cereal and fiber items?   One.  However, I don’t think this is a bad thing. It just demonstrates my parents are always ready to entertain and are great party hosts.

This was perfectly acceptable.

2.  Six flasks

This was a bit more concerning, as they are the only two people who reside in their home.  This large quantity of flasks is a bit more difficult to explain, unless they host parties where they encourage guests to hide their drinks. Maybe they are speakeasy themed parties.

That has to be the reason. It’s the only logical explanation.

Were they really using the flasks to sneak liquor into places?  Maybe, but then again, how many times do you need to smuggle in enough liquor for 3 times the number the amount a normal person would need?

Soooo many places are buzz kills and don’t allow you to bring in liquor, so you have to hide it like teenagers going to prom. And maybe my parents wouldn’t have to smuggle in liquor if the establishments would sell enough for either one or two times your body weight.

Maybe I could get on board with this finding.

3.  One large Ziploc bag of mini bottles of liquor

I suppose this is a backup in case the six flasks of liquor are discovered in a strip search while going to the local cinema. I suppose it’s good to have an alternate plan.

I can say one thing about these people… they’re prepared.  (And may also need to be placed on a liver transplant list more as a precautionary measure.)

4.  Two fans

Fans in the kitchen closet is not what I expected to see. Normally fans are stored in a basement or hall closet.  Not at the casa de mi parents. Those fans are stored in the kitchen cupboard.

Sadly, this makes sense to me.  If they are consuming three shelves of liquor, they’re probably hot.  They need a fan and can’t be expected to share, so a fan for each of them makes sense.

And why would they keep the fans in the basement? That would be too much work to go to the basement after kicking back some cocktails. It’s just asking for an injury. Come on. They’re my parents so you have to assume they’re at least a little accident prone.

This is exactly why the fans are stored with the liquor. I’m actually kind of disturbed that I’m so easily able to follow their logic.

5.  Ten boxes of Jell-0 mix

jello

This isn’t as strange as the other items at first glance but I looked closer. What I noticed were the flavors. Notice anything? That’s right. THEY’RE ALL LIQUOR FLAVORS! There’s margarita, daiquiri and pina colada Jell-o all right there next to the Progresso.

I didn’t know they even made these flavors of Jell-o, but why do my parents have these flavors, and why is there no pudding? Didn’t they know the Jell-o brand also made pudding?

I felt I owed it to my parents to ask about the flavors (and also to see if they had pudding). I assure you that my mom responded with the following after being asked why she had alcohol flavored Jell-o.

Because everyone loves Jell-o shots.”

She said it as if I was a complete moron for asking such a ridiculous question.  As if I was the one with a cabinet full of fans and liquor.  And yet, she had a point.  Who doesn’t love a Jell-o shot?  No one.  That’s who.

Maybe my parents are on to something.

6.  Six containers of peanut butter

JifBefore I go any further, allow me to assure you this peanut butter was in no way laced with liquor.  I checked.

Once again I had to question my mom on the need for such a large quantity of peanut butter and the varying brands.  I could tell she wa growing tired of my questions, but she responded that the generic peanut butter was “for the birds.”

I had to clarify if she meant the peanut butter tasted bad, or if it was  literally “for the birds.”  Apparently the answer was both.  It tasted bad and my mom “wasn’t going to give the birds the name-brand peanut butter.”  (Another direct quote.)

This was said as one of her dogs walked by in a hand-stitched doggie sweater.  I.  Sh*t.  You.  Not.

So in actuality, the two generic peanut butter containers were for the birds, and the two large Jif containers were for them.  The small snack size peanut butter containers were for when a small snack was needed.  I suspect it’s because a bag of almonds couldn’t fit in one’s purse when it was filled with flasks and Jell-o shots.

At this point, I stopped looking at items in the pantry.  It wasn’t so much because there weren’t other strange things on the shelves, but more because I was out of cookies and wanted to find some pudding.

 

photo credit: FUNKYAH via photopin cc

photo credit: FUNKYAH via photopin cc

There are several things I’m embarrassed about in my life, but tonight there are two fewer items on that list.

I’m from a small town in Illinois that was approximately 50,000 people when I was growing up.  It’s now around 45,000 people so all you fact-checkers out there, please spare me the snarky email correcting my stats.

What can I say?  The town fell apart when I left.

Aside from a slight embarrassment about growing up in a small Midwestern town, a large embarrassing fact about me is that I love McDonald’s.  Okay, maybe it’s not as well kept of a secret as I’d like it to be, as my bumper sticker says “This car brakes for McDonald’s.”

Whatever.  I love it.

photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc

photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc

Yes, I know it’s bad for me, but I’m clearly not the picture of health, so let me have this one (of many) vice.

Today, however, I’m proud to admit my humble beginnings in that small town in Illinois as it is quite close to another small town that’s made the newspapers.  What’s even better?  The story is about McDonald’s.

According to BuzzFeed, a couple in the small town of Ottumwa, Iowa, allege they purchased a cheeseburger from McDonald’s that was filled with pot. Yes.  Marijuana.  Ganja.  Mary Jane.  Reefer.

photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc

photo credit: Thomas Hawk via photopin cc

The police are investigating but if you ask me, this is the perfect way to serve pot.  You can get stoned while also curing the munchies that most certainly will follow.

I certainly hope McDonald’s capitalizes on this concept.  Adding it to a value meal makes perfect sense, as stoners can munch on fries after hitting the bong a few times.

It’s also a great way to get newbies hooked.  A dealer could simply slip a little chronic into a milkshake and before too long the drive-thru would be smokin’.  Literally.

Come to think of it, I might be more likely to eat a salad from McDonald’s if I knew the weeds I was eating were more than just iceberg lettuce.

And who doesn’t want to get a little nugget while getting their chicken McNuggets?  Extra sauce with a side of hash please.

All of a sudden people would be asking for a side of dime bag with their McRib.  I wonder if that could be super-sized.

If it could be super-sized, maybe I would be saying “I’m Lovin’ It!’ a little more.

photo credit: TheCulinaryGeek via photopin cc

photo credit: TheCulinaryGeek via photopin cc

Perhaps now the toy in the Happy Meal will be Puff the Magic Dragon.  Before too long McDonald’s logo will change from the giant M to a water bong, or maybe just a large joint….whichever one is easier to construct.

Granted, there is some question as to whether the substance in the cheeseburger was actually marijuana.  To make that determination the couple called the cops, which is a shame, as I’m sure there are high school kids everywhere who would be willing to take one for the team and test the substance.

After all, it would be in the name of justice.

photo credit: Stéfan via photopin cc

photo credit: Stéfan via photopin cc

What I find funny about this story is the fact that the people called the police instead of (1) ingesting it or (2) gifting it.

Graduation is upon us.  Some people prefer cash while others prefer hash.  It’s a perfect opportunity to take care of that loved one.

What’s also humorous is the couple immediately knew that it looked and smelled like pot.  How did that couple know such a thing?  Is D.A.R.E. really that effective?

Maybe in Ottumwa, Iowa it is.

In a way, I feel bad for the poor employee whose weed this was.  I’m sure he was itching for his break so he could sit back and enjoy a burger while he got fried.

That’s the real tragedy here.

I’m not sure if this mystery will be solved, but one thing’s for sure.  I’d like to believe the employee who processed this order is named Mary Jane.

***This is a post from earlier this year.  I am reposting it because it could have been written yesterday…or last week…or today.  This is mostly just sad for me, but hopefully it will be entertaining for you.  

Grab a napkin and enjoy.  

Ew.  Not like that. ***

cupcake2

The empty container that formerly held goodness.

I know I should be mortified.  I should be disgusted with myself.  I know these things, and yet I feel nothing but satisfaction.

Maybe this is how Taylor Swift feels whenever she puts out a new album.  (Sidebar:  I secretly like most of her songs, but I will never publicly admit it.  She’s just a country girl looking for love.)

Anyway, back to me, where the focus should always be.  (That rhymes.)

Why am I ashamed? Because I ate an entire container of mini cupcakes.

Impressed?  You should be.

Granted, it wasn’t in one sitting, but it was within a 24 hour period, which I find both depressing and exciting.  The fat girl in me is proud of the accomplishment while the skinny girl in me is horrified and repulsed.

Fortunately, the skinny girl in me is squashed and practically crushed by the fat girl, so she can shut the f*#k up and keep her opinions to herself.  (She also needs to eat a ham sandwich.)

I’m saying this is a good thing and I don’t care what skinny people say…not even my husband.

Don't look at me with those judging eyes.  I've seen you lick yourself.  You're no better than me. photo credit: This Year's Love via photopin cc

Don’t look at me with those judging eyes. I’ve seen you lick yourself. You’re no better than me.
photo credit: This Year’s Love via photopin cc

I didn’t do this tonight, but did it about 2.5 weeks ago.  As my loving blog followers know, I recently had surgery and had evil Stan the gallbladder removed.

That’s a pretty big deal, or at least that’s what I’m telling my husband.

I don’t ever want to move anything, lift anything, or carry anything ever again so I’m going to ride this surgery into the ground…or at least ride it to the store where I will stay in the car while he runs in to get milk because “I’m just so weak.”

This whole surgery thing is a built in excuse for life…or at least for a few months.

Either way, I legitimately had surgery and I have the scars to prove it.  They are both physical scars from the incisions and what I assume will be emotional scars that will come when I get the bills and realize I need a second job to pay them.  (I’m thinking something where I get to wear a uniform…but not a hat.)

Due to the physical and emotional trauma my body sustained, it needs time and energy to heal from the invasive surgery.

What better way to heal than with some pre-packaged chocolaty goodness from Target?  It’s the perfect medicine.

I know people say laughter is the best medicine, but those people haven’t tried these cupcakes.  They’re wayyyyy better.  (Incidentally, I also discovered through this whole gallbladder thing that Percocet is also the perfect medicine, assuming you don’t mind constipation, of course.)

photo credit: Frederic Poirot via photopin cc

This isn’t me in the photo. This chick and her skinny arms have never downed an entire container of cupcakes. That’s where we differ.
photo credit: Frederic Poirot via photopin cc

The cupcakes were amazing, and I contend they were good for me too.  I mean, the sustenance my body received from eating an entire 12 pack of mini cupcakes can’t be quantified.

Okay, well maybe it can technically be quantified by calories, fat, and number of tears cried when I realized I ate them all.

Whatever.  Each bite was more savory than the last, and if I had it to over again, I would absolutely eat the whole container again.

Actually, the only thing I would do differently is this time I would buy two containers.  Isn’t two always better than one?  (Except when it comes to STDs.  In that case, I would say one is better than two.  I would also say get to the clinic and get that taken care of, you dirty dog.)

So the next time you’re at Target and come across containers of mini cupcakes, grab one.  You won’t be sorry.  Then bring it to my house so I can down them all in one sitting.  After all, you didn’t even get me a “get well soon” gift.

FOR SHAME!

finished cupcakes

It was everything I thought it could be.

small_3622334673 (1)

No dog ingested beer or alcohol in conjunction with this photo or this post.
photo credit: Amarand Agasi via photopin cc

Dear beer,

I know I ‘m the last person you’re expecting to hear from.  Normally, my heart (and my liver) belong to vodka.  He’s always been my one true love and I’ve never hidden that fact from you.

I’ve passed you up a million times before last night.  I’ve walked right by you at bars, at parties, and even at BBQs.

I feel a little guilty about that but you’ve never been what I needed and I’ve never felt a desire to stray from my betrothed…until now.

Maybe it’s your curves, or maybe it’s your intoxicating smell, but something changed.  I’m finding myself drawn to you and I’m not sure why.

Maybe I’m getting tired of vodka.  He’s never been a cruel mistress (or mister), but perhaps I’m bored with him.

The alcohol is always colder on the other side of the bar.”

Isn’t that what they always say?

Maybe it’s true.  I’m not sure, but what I do know is I’m finding myself wondering what it would be like to spend more time with you and I’m wondering why we haven’t been closer before.

Sure, it’s most likely my fault.  You’re more than available.  I never have a hard time finding you at a sporting event, a wedding reception, or even the grocery store.

You’re not elusive like my dear vodka.  You’re everywhere.  I suspect that’s what pushed me away from you before.

But now…now it’s different.

beerI had a temporary moment of weakness last night and I gave into my urges and I just wanted to tell you thank you.  Thank you for last night. I had such an amazing time.

You were incredible.

Especially now that I know what we can be together, I’m sorry I initially resisted the urge to see you, but I’m glad I caved to peer pressure.

I had a long day yesterday and needed to relax. All the other beverages told me not to turn to you, which was mostly the cause for my hesitation.

They said you wouldn’t treat me right.

My stomach even chimed in, saying you were too rough on her sometimes.  She’s finicky so I didn’t take her pleas too seriously.

Dear beerVodka screamed the loudest.  He can be a needy sonofabitch.

Like the ever controlling paramour, he tried to point out that sometimes you make me feel like I hit my head repeatedly against the wall.

I promptly reminded him that feeling doesn’t come until the morning after we hang out, and it’s only if I spend a lot of time with you.  I told him I wouldn’t do that.

Just a taste.  That was all.  We both knew I was lying, but it was a lie I was willing to make.

Don’t get me wrong. Vodka has his faults too.  He can be bitter at times, and he doesn’t always get along with my stomach.

Then again, no one does, especially since my evil gallbladder Stan tried to kill me.

Either way, I knew I didn’t need bitter last night.  I just needed you.

I practically ran to your cold embrace, holding you ever-so-tightly by the neck.  I know that’s how you like to be held.

Don’t deny it.

Our time together was perfect, and although we had to part too soon, I want you to know I will cherish what we shared.

I’m looking forward to our next get-together.

Love Lisa

most annoying things about grocery shoppingUnfortunately, there are some unpleasant tasks that come with being a woman and grocery shopping is at the top of the list.  It’s accompanied by waxing and listening to your 4th grader practice his recorder for three consecutive hours.

I will never view hot cross buns the same ever again.

Shopping for groceries is one of the worst things on my to-do list, and I always avoid it if possible.  However, my husband is beginning to suspect I may not be allergic to the metal on the shopping carts, so I’ve had to step up my trips to the store.

photo credit: Hindrik S via photopin cc

photo credit: Hindrik S via photopin cc

I know I can’t be alone in my hatred of the grocery store (or “market” for those of you who shop at the fancy establishment that bags your groceries for you.)

Here are a few reasons I despise the grocery store.  Hopefully you can relate.  If not, please buy me a membership to a personal shopper program.  I hate bagging my own groceries.

1.  The picky shopper picking produce.

Who cares if it’s bruised?  Do you know what else is bruised?  My head from hitting it against the wall waiting for you to pick the right peach. You’re not picking a mate for life, you’re picking produce.  Choose some and go.

2.  Shin-bruises from the shopping cart.

photo credit: Robert S. Donovan via photopin cc

photo credit: Robert S. Donovan via photopin cc

I hurry through the store attempting to make the torture as short as possible, and in doing so I typically hit my shins on the bottom bar of the shopping cart.  I can only assume that bar is put there for the sole purpose of making my shopping experience even worse.

3.  I turn into the plant from Little Shop of Horrors.

I resist the urge to belt out “Feed me, Seymour” as I stockpile 100 calories packs.  You can eat five of those for a nice snack, right?

4.  They frown upon snacking mid-shopping.

photo credit: omgponies2 via photopin cc

photo credit: omgponies2 via photopin cc

If I’m going to shop I need sustenance to get through the trip.  If I’m surrounded by food, why wouldn’t I down a bag of chips and a Diet Coke?  I will (shamefully) place the empty containers on the conveyor belt so I don’t steal anything.  However, I take the judgmental stares for free.

5.  Getting judging looks from the bakery department when I take free samples.

Although I don’t have kids, I don’t think I should be discriminated against by not getting an appropriate amount of free samples.  After all, my muffin top suggests I’ve given birth to at least 3 children.

Who knows?  Maybe they’re in the cart on the other side of the store (preferably with an adult watching them.)

So hand over the cookies.  Would it kill the bakery worker to hook me up with a macadamia nut cookie?

Apparently it would.

There you have it; some of the many reasons I dislike going to the grocery store.  I assume you agree, and we can commiserate together.  If not, please leave your email address and I will send you my grocery list.

ASSAULTI’m a bit of an eater.  Okay, maybe that’s an understatement.  It’s like saying Tiger Woods dabbles in golf, or that Kayne West is only a bit of a douche bag.

This girl loves to eat and doesn’t like anything to stand in the way of her and any sort of dipping sauce.

So when I went to lunch with my friend Scissorhands (not her real name) and her mom, I was there for the company, but I was also there for the food!

I arrived and we began chit chatting and catching up, all the while pretending as if I was interested in our conversation and not the appetizers at the table next to.  (Would it kill them to offer their neighbor a bite of their dip?)

We figured out our orders and the overly perky waitress came back to take down our requests.  My friends are healthy and skinny, but I love them despite these obvious flaws.

They both ordered healthy dishes, and the waitress then turned her attention to me.  I could tell she was rooting for me to order something healthy too.  I could see it in her face.

It’s probably the same look I have when I root for the addict on Intervention to stay away from the back alley heroin deal, knowing full well they will find themselves giving blow jobs in a garage for a couple bucks to score some “h.”

photo credit: Sebastian Mary via photopin cc

photo credit: Sebastian Mary via photopin cc

Much like the heroin junkee, I sucomed to my addiction and ordered a pizza.  I like to think it was a healthy pizza, as it had olive oil, mushrooms and goat cheese on it.

But I suppose calling a pizza healthy is like calling this blog funny.  We all want the statement to be true, but it just isn’t.

The waitress looked at me with disappointment in her eyes. “Would you like a salad with that?” she asked, hopeful I would agree to eat at least one thing that day that wasn’t filled with carbs and trans fat.

Um, no thanks,” I said, glaring at her and wondering why she cared so much about my health.  Obviously I was a woman who knew what she wanted, and I wanted a crispy crust on my fatty pizza.

salad

Plus, I always feel stupid ordering a salad at a restaurant.

I feel like the waiter is thinking “Yeah, like this ONE salad is going to help you lose the 100 pounds you need to drop.  Just give up fatty and get the lasagna.”

The waitress walked away quickly.  I can only assume the get up in her step was because she knew my cholesterol must be high based upon my eating choices, and she wanted to get my order in before I died and she failed to get her tip.

I was on to her game.

I patiently waited for my food,  performing an ocular pat-down of every item that came out of the kitchen.

My stomach was growling and I had a hard time focusing on the conversation over the sound of my stomach eating itself.

Finally, the food arrived.  Well, some of the food.  Apparently the waitress felt like torturing me some more, so she brought out the food my friends ordered, and left me to sit and wait, salivating at the prospect of my food being so close, yet so far away.

I waited for her to say something spiteful, like “Dance, monkey, dance,” but instead she smiled at me and said “Yours takes a little longer and will be out shortly.

Translation:  I’m going to make you wait for your food, as it’s probably the only time today you will have an increase in heart rate.  (She wasn’t wrong.)

After what felt like a lifetime, but was probably only 3 minutes, the waitress brought out my pizza.  I couldn’t tell if it was what I ordered or not because the entire pizza was covered in arugula.  Seriously.  It was covering the entire carb-loaded plate of goodness.

food with lettuceShe looked at me with satisfaction in her eyes, and I swear I saw her flip me off as she walked away.  No wait, that was me who did the flipping off…

Why would this woman douse my pizza in tree leaves?  I didn’t understand it.  I considered asking her for dressing for my impromptu salad, but was afraid she would come back to the table wielding veggies and a fruit cup, so I refrained.

Despite its lack of dressing (and lack of anything fried or flavorful), it wasn’t half bad.  I mean, it wasn’t good enough for me to continue eating it, but it wasn’t horrible either.

Maybe that waitress was onto something with the healthy eating.

I would give that some thought as I rolled through the Dairy Queen drive thru later for dessert.

I pushed the leaves aside and began devouring the pizza goodness.  After a while, the lettuce became so overwhelming that I considered eating it to make more room for the pizza on my plate.

I took a bite of “salad” and figured it would be the best way to spite the waitress, as I was sure she wasn’t expecting me to eat it. In fact, I was confident she had a running bet with the dishwasher in the back as to whether I would touch the leafy greens.  Well she was about to lose her $5 bet to Manuel.

I stabbed some lettuce and shoved it in my mouth before I could reconsider my spiteful eating.

(RECIPE AT THE BOTTOM OF OF THIS POST)

Back CameraThis Memorial Day, my friend St. Frick (not his real name), invited us to his house for a pool party.  St. Frick is known for his ability to throw amazing parties (and his ability to shove five profane words into a sentence comprised of only three words.  It’s a talent).

We knew we would be in for a good time and we knew the only logical answer was to tell him we would be there.

We arrived at his place and discovered he and some other friends were already in the pool.  Judging by the various beer cans strewn about, they also appeared to have started the party without us (although I still contend a party doesn’t start until I arrive).

I immediately headed to the pool house to grab some libations and catch up with our friends.  I opened the refrigerator and this is what I saw:

At first I thought they were sliced lemons, which would go nicely with my Grey Goose, but upon closer inspection I realized they weren’t lemons, but Jello shots in a lemon rind.

Is that what it’s called?  A rind?

I was beside myself with joy.

Back CameraI decided to try one of them immediately.  After all, I didn’t want to be rude.  I was his guest and I was raiding his fridge to see what free stuff I could find.

What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do a Jello shot (or three)?

They were delicious.  I decided to have a few more and bring them poolside for others to enjoy.  They were refreshing and alcohol laden, which are two of my favorite things.

I grabbed a couple more and sat on the edge of the pool.  It was like I was being healthy and eating fruit by the pool…if fruit was made of three parts gelatin and two parts vodka.  (If it was, I would eat a lot more fruit).

What kind of person comes up with this idea?  Obviously an awesome person.  I just didn’t know who would be brilliant enough to come up with this recipe.

Normally, if I’m motivated enough to make Jello, it’s done in a dirty bowl with cracks at the bottom courtesy of the time one of my dogs used it as a chew toy.

Don’t judge.  The bowl still works…just think twice about eating Jello when you come to my house…and watch for dog hair.

Back CameraDo you see these amazing Jello shots?  Look how perfectly sliced they are!

Upon closer inspection, I was amazed to discover there were no slices of skin on them, nor were there bloody lemon peels (or rinds.  Are we calling them rinds?).

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m pretty sure I would slice a finger straight off if I was going to slice up these lemon Jello shots.

Naturally, it would be my husband’s finger I sliced, and not mine.  After all, he would be the one holding the lemons while I sliced them.

After several Jello shots, a girl can’t be expected to hold the lemons steady.

Oh yeah, I may have forgotten to mention that when I make Jello shots I’m usually wasted on several of the shots by the time we get to the slicing portion of the recipe.

But everyone is like that, right?

recycleAs if these delicious gems of goodness weren’t already perfect, I realized there was another plus to them.  They are environmentally friendly!

You know my love of animals and of this beautiful planet (which is made even more beautiful by the presence of Jake Gyllenhaal and Andrew Garfield).

So with this recipe I can load up on liquor without feeling guilty about the environment.

I don’t need to be worried about filling the landfill with little Jello shots cups (mostly because when I eat these I will be too blitzed to think straight).

Actually,I’m probably helping the environment by doing Jello shots this way.  I am using biodegradable material for good use, while also supporting recycling.

I’m so considerate.

This is yet another way to give back to Mother Earth while drinking to excess.  Who knew being an environmentalist would be so fun?

The best lemon jello shotsDoes this mean I can stop shaving my arm pits?

Another bonus to these shots is that neighbors going through my trash (or just looking out their window to see me sprawled out on the lawn), won’t judge me for the large amount of plastic containers strewn about me and my body.

Rather, they will assume my drinking caught up with me and my liver finally gave out.  This makes for a peaceful afternoon nap on the front lawn…the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

What’s that you say?  Your neighbors don’t go through your trash?  Sure.

Whatever.  Keep telling yourself that, but do yourself a favor and go outside some night and see if your Us Weekly magazines are still in your trash can.

My guess is they’re not, as the nosy neighbor down the street wants to keep up with the Kardashians but can’t afford a magazine subscription (or cable…or the internet….those fricking Kardashians are everywhere).

So since I’m totally awesome and you guys are just dying to know how these Jello shots are made, I will tell you.  It’s actually fairly easy.  Here it goes:

RECIPE

1.  Cut several lemons in half. (You can also uses oranges, limes or watermelons)
2.  Scoop out the insides of each half lemon so it’s hollow.  (I suggest dumping the insides of the lemon into a large container of Grey Goose and water.)
3.  Make Jello as per the instructions.  (If you are making this for a party that I will be attending, please multiply the alcohol content by two.  Who am I kidding?  Multiply it by three.)
4.  Pour the liquid Jello into the halves, making sure not to overfill them.
5.  Place the lemon halves in muffin pans to hold them upright.
6.  Place the lemon halves in the refrigerator and allow the Jello to set.
7.  Once the Jello is done,  remove the lemon halves and slice the halves into smaller pieces.

Yes, it’s that easy.  I know.  Can you believe it?

And if you make this recipe, I will require you to bring over the equivalent of three whole lemons of Jello shots.

You didn’t think you were going to get this recipe entirely for free, did you?

Why I love Opening DayIt’s that time of year again, sports fans (and beer fans)!  It’s Opening Day in Busch Stadium in St. Louis!

For those of you not lucky enough to live in this beer and baseball town, Opening Day is practically a holiday in St. Louis, celebrated by all.

Do you want your car fixed?  Not on Opening Day you don’t.  What about a yearly check up with your doctor?  Not unless you want to have a last minute cancellation because your doc got tickets to the game.

Saint Louis celebrates beer and baseball like no one else, and Opening Day is one of the most exciting days of the year.  Aside from, of course, my birthday, but that’s more of a world-wide celebration.

So in honor of this glorious day, I decided to make a list of my favorite things about Opening Day, aside from drinking.  That’s just too obvious and I’m better than that.  It would also be a short post.

5.  Nachos are considered an acceptable lunch

nachosNo other day of the year is it socially acceptable by the masses to feast on nachos for lunch during the work week.  Granted, I find it perfectly acceptable, and actually encourage it year-round.

However, not everyone is as nutritiously conscious as I am.

What’s not to love about stadium nachos?

Vegetables?  Check.  (Jalapeños and tomatoes)

Protein?  Check.  (Stadium cheese and beef)

Dairy?  Check.  (Cheese and sour cream)

Carbs?  Check.  (Chips)

It’s a well-balanced meal and I’m not sure why it isn’t a regular form of sustenance during the regular year.  However, I’m glad there’s at least one day a year where noshing on carbs and fake cheese is encouraged.

4.  White pants

Photo credit; http://sports.yahoo.com/mlb/blog/big_league_stew/post/matt-holliday-plans-to-keep-wearing-red-schoendiensts-pants-after-homer?urn=mlb,wp10015

Photo credit; http://sports.yahoo.com/
http://tinyurl.com/d7j2bcn

Not on me.  Ew.  That would be disgusting, and would also be a disaster.  Didn’t you read #5 about the nachos? I’d have cheese and salsa on my pants within 30 seconds of gaining possession of those crunchy carbs.

I’m referring to the white pants those stud-muffin Cardinals players wear when they play ball.

They’re not skin tight in a David Bowie in Labyrinth kind of way.

They’re classy and leave a bit to the imagination (and with each beer, I find more and more imagination).

Opening Day is usually after Easter, and wearing white isn’t faux paux after the egg-stravagant holiday.  (Yes, I made that pun.  It was horribly awesome.)

Seeing the white pants on the tight butts of the players is reason alone to buy a ticket. Adam Wainright is too.

WARNING:  This white pants rule doesn’t apply to most of the coaches, although Mike Matheny sure fills them out nicely.He’s the exception to the rule.

He’s the exception to most rules.  <sigh>

3.  It’s okay to be drunk on a Monday at 10:00 a.m.

beerAny other Monday of the year, if you were drunk at 10:00 in the morning you’d “have a problem” or be “that guy who smells like Budweiser and stale cigarettes.”

But on Opening Day, it’s not only acceptable.  It’s encouraged!

Walking around the streets of downtown St. Louis on Opening Day, it can be difficult to find a sober person.

In fact, sober people on Opening Day are an anomaly; a phantom; a myth.  If you’re not stumbling drunk by noon, most St. Louis fans will deem you a Cubs fan and banish you from the stadium.

NOTE:  Being called a Cubs fan is the worst atrocity imaginable.  I figure you guys knew that, but I wanted to reiterate it.  I will also reiterate that the Cubs suck.

2.  I look good in red.

Cards gameI do.  It’s a fact.  I’m so glad my St. Louis Cardinals have red and white as their colors, as both are complimentary to my hair and skin tone.  Even though I’ve recently gone from blonde to red/brunette, my red Cardinals gear still looks good on me.

But of course it does.  Why wouldn’t it?

Other teams aren’t as lucky when it comes to team colors.  San Francisco got hit with the ugly stick of team colors and uniforms.

I actually feel sorry for the Giants fans.  Sure, they won the World Series last year, blah, blah, blah.  But they deserve a win every now and then just for having to wear those hideous uniforms and the color orange.

No one looks good in orange.

And why are the Giants’ colors orange?  I would think they’d be green, for obvious reasons.  I guess San Francisco isn’t a fan of vegetables.  Ho ho ho.

SIDEBAR:  Who has won more World Series than the current reigning champs? The St. Louis Cardinals.  Again, suck it Cubs.

1.  Mike Shannon

mike shannon

Photo credit:
http://stlouis.cbslocal.com/
personality/mike-shannon/

This guy is the number one reason I love Opening Day.  Cardinals fans everywhere love the voice of this announcer, even if we can’t understand what he’s saying most of the time.

Listeners can practically see the tumbler of scotchka (scotch and vodka) grasped tightly in his hand as he calls the game.  If you stop and listen closely, you can hear the ice jingling in the glass.

However, the ice doesn’t have time to melt, as he downs his drinks fairly quickly.  Mike Shannon doesn’t want his scotchka watered down.

He’s not a pussy.

Cardinal Nation lives for Shannon musings like “That foul tip bounced up and caught him right in the groins…and that’ll really clear your eyes out.” and “The moon sure is pretty tonight.  Wish you folks at home could see it.”

We’re glad he’s back in full effect, and full of liquor…just the way a baseball announcer should be.

Play ball!  Let’s go Cards!