hands on trophyMonday night I volunteered at the dog rescue shelter.  I always work Monday nights, but this Monday night was especially good because it was Halloween, so I had an excuse not to pass out candy in our neighborhood.

This was certainly great for my neighborhood reputation, as last year I “may” have turned off our light early because we were getting low on Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and I didn’t want to share with the kid down the street who threw a sheet on himself and said he was a ghost.

Come on kid! Get some imagination (and sheets with a thread count of greater than 50.  I can see your underwear).

empty food bowlAfter my shelter shift I was hungry and didn’t have the energy to make something at home, nor did I have ingredients.  As a dinner of vodka and saltines just wouldn’t be acceptable two nights in a row,  so I headed to my ole standby.

My mecca.  My home away from home.  Chipotle.

I arrived at the location closest to my house, as I despise driving long distances with delicious goodness sitting next to me.  That, and it feels strange seat belting my burrito bowl into the front seat.

I walked up to the building, my feet dragging, and the smell of dog poo surrounding me like Pig Pen and his cloud of funk, only I’m not prematurely balding).

I walked up to the counter and ordered my “salad.”  I like to call it a salad because it has lettuce, although nothing else about it even remotely resembles a salad.

I asked for grilled onions and peppers so I could say I ate my veggies for the day.  She piled them on and I was shocked at how much she gave me.

Clearly this chick knew I needed more than one helping of veggies for the day.  Fine with me!

onionsNext she she added chicken, as it’s delicious, and I feel like it’s the healthiest option.  I realize the healthiest option would have been to actually get a salad…from a place other than Chipotle…but whatever.  I was working with what I had.

She piled on the chicken as well.  This lady was my friend for sure.  I took note of her name and reminded myself that I needed to ask Rose to make dinner on subsequent visits. Let’s face it, would probably be the next day.

We then moved on to salsa and Rose didn’t disappoint.  I was beginning to wonder if the cardboard container could withstand the weight of my “salad.”

Then I got to thinking…why was Rose being so charitable with the extra food?  Was she disenchanted with Chipotle?

I immediately dismissed this idea as it is positively ridiculous.

Did she look at me and know I’m a girl who loves to eat, so she was just giving me what I needed?

salsa and chipsWait a minute…I mentally took inventory of my appearance and realized that Rose thought I was homeless.  The disheveled hair, dirty clothes, and faint smell of urine and feces suggested it.

I was just grateful she didn’t see my emergency flask of liquor stashed in my trunk.  Talk about a stereotype….

Although I have nothing against the homeless, for some reason I didn’t want Rose to think I spent my nights sleeping in a cardboard box.

I told her I just got off work, was exhausted, and apologized for putrid smell.

I then took this as a cue to fart, as I had already accounted for the stench.  A little gas wouldn’t hurt anything.  She seemed completely unmoved by my explanation and continued to pile on the salsa.

She did the same thing with the cheese, most likely making the biggest “salad” Chipotle ever created.  But the final test wasn’t complete.

If she skimped on the guacamole I would know she was judging me and that she knew I passed gas.  I was sure of it.

crossed fingersAs she went for the spoon of guacamole, I held my breath in anticipation (and also because I really stunk).

 

Rose didn’t disappoint!  She was definitely getting a gift card for Christmas.  I was ecstatic!

She handed my feast to the cashier and told her I had a chicken bowl.  She neglected to say I also had guacamole, which carries an extra charge.

Now I’m a lot of things, a disaster, and a cheater at board games, but a thief I am not.  I told the cashier I had guacamole, and I should be charged for it.

It was then that she said some of the happiest words to ever hit my ears:  “The guacamole is free today.”

WHAT?!  How was the guacamole free?  And more importantly, how did I not know about this?

Well, I wasn’t going to knock it.  Okay, fine with me.  I then asked how much my overflowing dinner would be.  And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, it did.

Cashier Accepting Credit CardShe told me my total charge was only $2.00.  WHAT?!  Did this cashier think I was homeless too and this was the reduced rate?  I would take it…I just wanted to know.

I asked what was going on, and Rose said it was a charity event where everything was $2.00 and the money went to Farmers’ Aid.  My purchase of Chipotle was only $2.00 and it was going to charity?  Could it get any better than that?

As I walked back around the counter after hugging Rose and the cashier, I couldn’t contain my excitement (or my gas).

I quickly gave her two dollars, all the while contemplating how many more times I could go through the line for $2.00 burritos.

I knew I could tell Rose the extra burritos were for my husband, but she would know the truth, and I couldn’t live with that.  Not after what we’d been through.

So I grabbed my five pound “salad” and headed to the door, hoping they wouldn’t tell me they’d make a mistake.

excited about fooseballWhen I got home I told my husband the good news but he seemed less than impressed.  Obviously he wasn’t charitable like I was.  I enjoyed every bit of my dinner, and I truly believe it tasted better because it was only $2.00.

Charity felt good, and it filled my belly.  I was quite the philanthropist.  And then I wondered where I could go to get some Halloween candy.

Maybe Walgreens was running a charity event on Butterfingers…

baseball player on groundI’m a baseball fan and I love it when my team gets to the World Series.  Fortunately, I’m not a Cubs fan, so I actually get to see my team make it to post season.

This year my beloved Cardinals made it to the World Series and I have been glued to each game, rooting them on while stuffing my face with wings and pizza.  That helps them win, right?

So this year I have noticed something a little strange as I watch these games.  Many of the players have ridiculous mustaches.  It’s not specific to one team, as both the Cardinals and Rangers have players sporting the upper lip sweaters.

If one were to turn on the TV and look at these players, he or she would think they were living in 1978 when Tom Selleck was king and the gas crisis had everyone in a tizzy.

mustache-clip-art-220x73.jpgWe have a similar gas crisis at our house after an evening of eating wings, but that crisis is solved with a few candles and a roll of Charmin.

Is this look coming back?  I hope not, because I know a few women who would be happy to embrace this trend and I don’t want to see that. Come to think of it, a cashier at my grocery store already seems to think a mustache is in style.

Maybe she’s a trendsetter.  I don’t know.

But what is with these men and their flavor savors? Although, I wouldn’t mind a more acceptable way of savoring the flavor of guacamole,  Maybe these guys, and the cashier at Shop N’ Save, are on to something.

Here’s a look at a few of them:

Derrek Holland

Derek Holland

Derek Holland

He’s a pitcher for the Texas Rangers, and by the looks of his face in this photo, he is also extremely constipated.

He also appears to be in the yoga position of Warrior 2, and I’m pretty sure he’s sporting yoga pants under his uniform.  But look at that stache.  Or should I call it a “wanna-be-stache?”  It’s just like Flava-Flave’s career…barely there.

This kid looks like he is in junior high, just hit puberty and is desperately trying to prove his manhood with a few face pubes.  I don’t buy it.

If he is trying to make himself look older and more sophisticated, it isn’t working.  I would card this guy for liquor, and then steal his lunch money.

Ron Washington

Ron Washington

Ron Washington

I suppose it’s no surprise that Holland is sporting the lady pleaser when his fearless leader is also sporting the same look.  Let’s hope Holland doesn’t share the same love of nose candy that Washington did.

Does Washington think he looks good like this?  Is he trying to grow hair in the middle of his face to compensate for the lack of hair on the middle of his head?

It looks like the parting of the Red Sea up there and I can’t help but wonder if Fox makes him wear a hat during the games just to keep viewers’ focus on the game and not the rapidly eroding hairline.

Perhaps the mustache is his way of trying to prove he’s capable of growing hair, just not on the top of his head.  He also vaguely resembles Bill Cosby to me and I’m not sure why, but I’m waiting for him to appear in a loud colorful sweater and tell me all about Jell-o pudding pops.  (Mmm..)

elvis

Elvis Andrus
http://tinyurl.com/bvqa6le

Elvis Andrus

And then there’s this guy.  He’s the anti-stache.  He’s managed to grow hair all over his face except the mustache.

Is it some political statement he’s making?    What does he have against the upper lip hair?  Is he trying to counter balance the staches of his fellow team mates?

And who is named Elvis anyway?  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have blue suede shoes, nor is he a hound dog.  But he does appear to be rocking the Blue Blocker shades so at least his eyes are protected…most likely from the glare off of Washington’s head.

Jason motte

Jason Motte
http://tinyurl.com/crcrvl

Jason Motte

Then there’s Jason Motte.  What to say about this guy?  He doesn’t just have a mustache, but rather a large bush of hair on his face that I’m pretty sure smells like urinal cakes from all the swirlies he gets in the locker room.

In this photo he looks like a male blow up doll, or like he’s ready to earn his salary as a fluffer on a porno…in 1975.

So enjoy the rest of the series and as you’re downing your beers and stuffing that third hot dog in your mouth (maybe that’s just me), take a moment and be thankful that you aren’t married to a guy with a stache.

And if you are, check out the billboards on the way home for a good divorce attorney, as I think you’ve got enough grounds to start that process.

STACHE BASH

 

DUMMIE'SI’m sure it comes as no surprise to any of you that I love to eat.  If it does come as a surprise, you’ve obviously never met me, or seen me make sweet love to an all you can eat buffet.

I talk about eating and food the way new parents talk about their babies, although I’m pretty sure new parents don’t dream of smothering their babies in butter and hot sauce.

If they do, they should be reported immediately.

I’ve been at a loss about what to write about for a blog post, as nothing exciting has happened to me over the last few days.  I know, I know.  I can’t believe it either.

Usually I at least say something embarrassing or spill something on someone, but this week has been slow.

So decided to write about what I know best, aside from farts.  Eating and gaining weight.

I’m really a pro at both of these things and if it were a career, I would be the Albert Pujols of the profession, although I don’t pronounce the word “man” as “mang”.  So here it is, my guide to gaining weight.

A Gaining Weight for Dummies of sorts.

1.  Cover everything you eat in melted cheese

cheese.png

Seriously, this will change your life.

I never knew vegetables could be so delicious, but smothered in cheddar, they aren’t too bad.

The Mexicans are onto something with their love of melted cheese on all dinner items, and would you disagree with the country that brought you fried ice cream?  It’s frozen, yet fried at the same time!!!!!  Mind boggling!

So embrace the culture, step up to the microwave and start melting away.  (Mariachi band music is optional).

2. Always get seconds, and thirds

dirty plateThis seems like it would be a no-brainer, but it’s worth mentioning.

I always plan on getting seconds and will actually put less on my plate so I can go up for seconds.

Okay, I really don’t put less on my plate, but I tell people I do so they won’t judge me when I leap from the chair and head to the kitchen for a second helping.

Getting seconds also shows respect to the chef, who would definitely be offended if you didn’t get seconds.

I mean, if you’re at my house and don’t get seconds of my special meal of cut up hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, I will personally be offended.

And everything is better with cheese.  See number 1…which will frequently lead to you having to go number 2.

3.  Pre-eat before a meal

eat+on+beach.jpgIt’s like pre-gaming, only you get drunk on carbs instead of alcohol.  This is best done alone, so no one knows you pre-ate and you can deny it later.

This way you can come to dinner and say you’re starving, and no one will know that you secretly ate a box of Fruit Roll Ups before coming to the dinner table.

**Author’s note:  If you pre-eat (and why wouldn’t you?), make sure to remove all evidence of pre-eating.  (Dispose of wrappers, bribe the fast food workers not to tell, etc.) 

Also, try to stick to things that don’t spill or make a mess.  Coming to the table with a chocolate milk stain on your shirt and cookie crumbs on your face doesn’t bode well for your allegations of hunger. 

It may also keep you from getting seconds, which would be a travesty.**

4.  Don’t limit yourself to three meals a day.

dinners.jpg

Take eating seriously and remember that practice makes perfect.  Do you think Tiger Woods got to where he was by only putting a few hours a day?  No.

He spent hours a day practicing his drive, and then “drove it home” to several slut bags in the wee hours of the morning.

I’m not suggesting you engage in extramarital affairs with women whose faces could sand down a deck but, you should treat eating like the serious job it is and take it seriously.

Then you can follow in Tiger’s Nike swooshed footsteps and claim your eating is an addiction so no one will judge you.  Get serious!

To quote Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch; “If you ain’t in it to win it then get the hell out.”

5.  Eat late at night

late.jpg

Do you know what makes a double cheeseburger from McDonald’s taste even better?  Eating it while watching late night reruns of The Nanny.

If you aren’t into Fran Drescher’s screeching voice, anything on Nick at Nite will do.

So grab a bag of chips (not the baked kind…those are for amateurs) and stuff your face with carbs and cheese all night long.

Then promptly call in sick to work in the morning.

6.  Follow up everything you eat with a dessert

ice+cream.jpg

You don’t want to leave your palette tasting like Frosted Lucky Charms after breakfast. Or maybe you do.  They are magically delicious.

Make sure to follow up all meals and snacks with a dessert.

I recommend Hostess 100 calorie snack packs, but don’t eat just one.  (See rule number 2).

7.  Don’t be afraid to fry everything

frying+pan.jpg

When gaining weight, fried food is definitely your friend.

Charmin Extra Soft will also be your friend as well if you eat enough fried items.  These two usually go hand in hand…literally.

I recently attended a party where we fried everything, and I can assure you that although spinach is fairly tasteless by itself, when fried and smothered in Parmesan cheese, it’s quite tasty.

What did I tell you?  Everything is better with cheese.

And don’t get me started on fried ice cream and fried bananas….perfection!  So get out that deep fryer and a bottle of Pepto Bismol and start frying away!

Okay, that’s all I will give you for now.  This should be enough to get your blood pressure spiked and your buttons popping off your jeans.  Rest assured I have plenty more suggestions to expand that waistline and ensure you never see the tops of your feet again.

zumba instructorsI recently started taking Zumba classes in an effort to lose weight.

I love to eat and since I don’t want to give up chocolate lava cake, or carbs, or sugar, or anything else that is delicious, I know I need to burn some serious calories in workouts.  Enter Zumba classes.

For those of you unfamiliar with Zumba, it is a torturous aerobics class where we constantly move our hips and do somewhat sexy dancing (although with the size of my hips and my protruding stomach, I would say I look anything but sexy.

I look more like I’m having a seizure).

As I’ve taken these Zumba classes, I’ve noticed a few things about the instructors.

So here are the 9 things I’ve observed about Zumba instructors.

I know, lists usually have 10 things, but I couldn’t think of a 10th thing so stop judging and read.  And 10 is so unoriginal.  I’m such a trend setter and 9 is going to be the new 10.

Just wait.

1.  They must love rubber bracelets

wrist band

It seems that every Zumba instructor I see has one arm covered in those ridiculous rubber bracelets.

At first, I thought they were all just really devoted to finding a cure for cancer, or that they loved Lance Armstrong and his one testicle.

But a closer look demonstrated these rubber bracelets say “Zumba!” on them.  (Yes, with the exclamation point).  Apparently zumba  instructors love jewelry but are too cheap to buy anything made from material other than what tires are made of.

Maybe teaching Zumba doesn’t pay well.  And I can’t imagine that rubber bracelets smell good after an hour of sweating it out to Latin music.

Clearly these women need to find a Claire’s Boutique asap.

2.  They must wear bright colors

colored starsI’m not sure why every single Zumba instructor I see is covered in neon colors like it’s the 80s and they are headed to a Wham! concert.

What ever happened to a nice gray t-shirt for a workout at the gym?  Clearly this is forbidden in the Zumba instructor world.

Maybe when they get those rubber bracelets from the super secret place they shop, they are reminded of the importance of wearing distracting neon colors.

Maybe the bright colors are used as a focal point so those of us in class who start to feel weak and lightheaded can look to the blurry bright yellow blob doing hip moves and attempt to stay conscious.

Personally, I think a bunch of bright colors bopping around to the tunes of Gloria Estefan is enough to make any normal person go into shock.  And yet, I return each week for more zumba.

3.  They must have at least a small form of Tourettes

screamFor some reason, all Zumba instructors I’ve encountered seem to think they need to randomly yell out “Zumba!” throughout the workout.

I have no idea why this is necessary, as it certainly doesn’t help me burn off my burrito any faster.

But alas, every class I’ve been to has involved an instructor randomly yelling this throughout the workout.

Perhaps that’s why they wear the rubber bracelets adorned with the word…maybe their memory isn’t that great and they constantly need to be reminded of what they are doing.

4.  They must look good when they work out

glamourI am no glamour queen, and I never go to the gym wearing makeup.  Sometimes my clothes don’t even match.  I figure the people at the gym are just lucky I put on a sports bra before I go.

So I realize I may not look overly attractive when I start at the gym, but about halfway through the workout, I look horrible.

My face is red and last night’s mascara is always running down my face, as I can’t seem to find a good makeup remover to save my life.

As I gasp for air and pray for the end, I look up and inevitably see a neon blob with rubber bracelets looking amazingly good.

What?! How are these women not dripping their makeup down their faces, or at least sweating a little under their armpits?

My shirt is always covered in sweat and I look like I might have a heart attack at any moment.  These instructors, although sweaty, seem to glisten with the sweat, and I swear they look even more attractive.

How is this possible?  Perhaps a requirement of becoming an instructor is to put them in a sauna and see how good they look when they perspire.

I wouldn’t pass that test.

5.  They must hate Mexican food

margaritaI realize this seems counter intuitive, but with all that Latin music pumping through the speakers, all I can think about during these workouts is a large margarita and a bowl of chips and salsa.

The urge to eat something salty and covered in melted cheese is overwhelming at times, and if there was a Taco Bell close to the gym, I’m pretty sure I would have that every day for my post-workout meal.

Clearly these instructors hate Mexican food, or have will power of steel, because I don’t know how any respectable human being can listen to the music they play at Mexican restaurants every day as part of their job, and not be tempted to indulge in some serious carnitas.

I know they can’t possibly like Mexican food because if they did, these instructors wouldn’t be the size 2 that all of them are.

And no one can resist chips and salsa.  No one.

So clearly instructors hate Mexican food.  Which makes them un-American if you ask me.

6.  They must all have artificial hips

pelvis xrayZumba requires a lot of moving and shaking of the hips, or in my case, shaking of the beer belly.

These instructors clearly have bionic limbs with the way they are able to shake their hips to the beat, all the while looking attractive.

I’m convinced their joints aren’t human, and must be machine.

 

7.  They must have a very short memory

memory.jpgAlthough they seem to be able to remember the routines, these instructors seem to have a short memory about what they are doing, as they always need a reminder about their activities.

From the clothes they wear that say “Zumba!” all over them, to the bracelets, to the yelling of Zumba in the songs, to the random Tourettes yelling, these instructors clearly need constant updates about what they are doing.

8.  They must enjoy torturing themselves

Zumba is not for the weak hearted (or the overweight).

It’s rigorous and ridiculous and I usually want to pass out after the warm up.

Clearly these instructors love to torture themselves, as I can’t see any reason why they seem to be enjoying the squats as much as they do.

9.  They have to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time

gumball.jpgOkay, I don’t know if this is really a requirement, but it seems like it would be.

These moves involve the hips, the legs and the arms, and I’m lucky to get one of those movements correct, let alone all three.  These instructors seem to do multiple movements with ease, as they glisten away.

Clearly, the walking and chewing gum thing must be a requirement.

That’s all I could come up with for now, although I may think better when my legs aren’t throbbing and I’m not so dehydrated.

I will continue to attend Zumba classes, mostly because I want to keep eating and Mexican food keeps calling my name.

I’m off to down a burrito from Chipotle….

goldl questionSaturday night, my husband and I went with a group of friends to a charity trivia night.  Need I say the trivia night was to support a local dog rescue group?  I needn’t.

For those of you not familiar with trivia (you clearly don’t live in a Catholic city like I do), it’s a night where tables of people get together, put down some cash, bring a ton of unhealthy food and compete with other tables to answer trivia questions.

beerThe table with the most correct answers wins, and you usually just win your money back, or some pathetic prize that you don’t want…like a hat…or a month’s membership to a gym.

Most trivia nights have alcohol…which is why I participate.  The free alcohol combined with the fatty foods make it the perfect night for me.

The fact I can smack talk other tables is just an added bonus, and icing on the cake.

My husband and I gathered some of our closest friends and we got a table.  Truth be told, I picked the friends based upon whether I believed they would bring good food to the trivia night.  Knowledge of trivia we had…homemade guacamole….now that’s something we needed.

Naturally, my friend Downtown Christy Brown (not her real name), was an obvious choice, based solely on her ability to eat large quantities of food.

I put on my most comfortable pair of jeans, which were the ones with a stretchy elastic waistband to allow for maximum eating, and headed out the door to the trivia night.

chips and guacWe arrived with several bags of food, as we didn’t want to be left without options.

From sandwiches to cookies, we wanted to have all bases covered in case our friends failed to bring good food for the night.

The worse case scenario would be fruit and vegetables.

We found a table and deemed it ours.  It was strategically located near the bar.  We didn’t want to have to walk far for our free drinks.

After all, I was working out and didn’t need the additional cardio on my way to get a beverage.

We sat down and unwrapped our goodies.  Naturally, I started eating immediately, trying to get as much as possible before the others arrived.

I like to eat without others seeing me, mostly because I inevitably spill something on myself during the process.

not puppy chow

This is not the puppy chow she brought. This is a photo of actual dog food.

Pajama Jeans (not her real name), and her husband, The Funniest Man Alive (not his real name) arrived, and did not disappoint.

Pajama Jeans spent her afternoon making a variety of delicious foods.  Despite her small frame, she managed to make delicious, fattening food.

Usually I don’t trust thin people who cook, as their waist size is usually quite telling as to whether they know how to fry some chicken, but Pajama Jeans didn’t disappoint.

She brought puppy chow, chips and salsa, and chocolate covered strawberries. After looking at the food spread she brought, I felt a little bad about cursing her thin frame under my breath when I initially saw her.

The rest of our friends arrived and the food selection was great.  Based upon the large number of complex carbs and enriched flour at the table, I knew it would be a good night.

Each participant received a ticket for a door prize.  Directly on the ticket it stated “place this ticket in the proper place.”  We saw a container on a table near the door prizes that said “tickets for door prizes.”

None of us are geniuses but we figured we needed to drop our tickets into the door prize container and hold our breath that one of the large beer bottle coin collectors would soon be ours.

How perfect is this photo?  As kid on a bike with a trophy?  WINNING!

How perfect is this photo? As kid on a bike with a trophy? WINNING!

Just before the trivia, the announcer called out our names and asked us to come to the front.  Woo hoo!  We were excited we already won something before the night officially began!

Because I’m a generous spouse, and because I couldn’t pry myself away from the mini sandwiches at our table, I sent my husband bouncing up the aisle to collect our winnings.

I was hoping for a new bike, but I didn’t want to be greedy.  A new scooter would do as well.  I already had practice on one.

My husband returned from the front, his face fallen. Apparently we were a bunch of idiots (not necessarily a news flash).

Although the container said it was for the door prizes, it was for the organization’s tickets, not ours.  We were supposed to hold on to our tickets for the door prizes.  We didn’t win a bike.

I found inner strength in the bottom of the hummus, and we forged ahead.

The questions began and the woman reading them began the first round without announcing the category.  For seasoned trivia goers like us, we were horrified a round would start without a formal introduction.

We loudly objected from our table in the back and were promptly advised the first round’s category was T.V.

We were stoked!  T.V?  That was for amateurs!  My husband and I watch more T.V. before 10 a.m. than most people do all day!

The first question came and it was a bit of a doozy.  The second, third, and fourth questions in the T.V. round were just as hard and we realized we were in a bad way.  The questions weren’t from T.V. shows from the last 10 years…they were all old shows.

Not to be outdone, I decided if I was writing the answers, and we didn’t know them, I would at least make what I wrote entertaining for those reading them. I was also hoping to score a point or two for creativity.

For round one, here were the questions and a photo of our answer sheet:

trivia answer

1.  What was the name of four Sweathogs in “Welcome Back Kotter?”
2.  What were the names of the two families on the show “Soap?” (I liked this answer.)
3.  Can you name all 8 children from “Eight is Enough?”
4.  What was the name of Radar’s dog on “M.A.S.H.?”
5.  What was Alice’s last name on “The Brady Bunch?”
6.  What does “Star Trek” have in common with “T.J. Hooker?” (We actually knew this.)
7.  What was the name of the news reporter on “WKLP in Cincinnati?”
8.  What was the name of the town in “Little House on the Prairie?”  (I wanted to put B.F.E., but someone thought they knew the answer so I was overruled.)
9.  What was the name of the lake in “Bonanza?”
10. What famous person’s mother was on the show “The Jeffersons?”

We knew the last one because I’m obsessed with The Jeffersons and can recite the theme song by heart.

Please note that at the bottom, in an attempt to get some “street cred,” I pointed out that one of our table members adopted a dog from the rescue, so they had to be nice to us.  I’m not above bribery and idle threats when it comes to trivia.

Or anything else.

If the first round was any indication of how we were going to do, we were in trouble, and so was the bar, as our consumption would go up significantly.

Fortunately, the rounds got a bit easier, and we did fairly well. Unfortunately, the night got a bit long, as the woman reading the questions was slow.  Not slow, like she couldn’t name the president…but slow as in actually slow.  Like she read the questions at a snail’s pace.

At one point during the night we got so bored that we wanted to see how I would look in braids.  Aside from my creepy, serial killer smile, I don’t think I look too bad.

By the time we got to the seventh round, we were highly annoyed at the slow pace, and stuffed full of carbs and somewhat slap happy.  That’s when the real fun began.

Halfway through the seventh round, in a rather abrupt fashion, the woman reading the questions said she needed to excuse herself for a moment for a bathroom break.  After eating junk for a few hours, we all knew what kind of bathroom break she was taking.

But, to be sure, I followed her into the restroom to do some recognizance for my table.  I owed them that much.

I followed her, my braids blowing in the wind she was leaving in her wake.  She ran to the stall where she was there for a solid 7 minutes.

toilet plungerI returned and informed my table our suspicions were true…and the trivia night was on hold for this woman’s “shit break.”

It was quite telling, but we felt her pain. Literally, we felt her pain. I think we were all a bit jealous that she was doing what we all wanted to do, but were fearful of social repercussions.

Our speaker returned, looking relieved and three pounds lighter.  We continued with the trivia.

One of the rounds dealt with various famous people, and judging by her answers, the  speaker wasn’t the most worldly .

One of the answers was Copernicus, the beloved astronomer who was wrong about the sun being the center of the universe.

Clearly, our speaker never took an astronomy class (or a Tums before the trivia night), because she pronounced his name as Copper….nick…us…with the question mark at the end.

She then went on to provide another answer which was Boris Yeltsin.  Now that’s not a hard name to screw up.  She called him “The dictator, Boris Johnson.

moon and jupiterHmm…not only was he NOT a dictator, his last name wasn’t Johnson.  Another table corrected, and she quickly changed her answer to Boris Yeltsin, buried her head in her bag of M&Ms and moved on.  We did the same.

By the end of the night we were exhausted.  We didn’t win but ended near the top, which was pretty impressive considering some of our answers.

Either that, or it says a lot about the other people playing at the trivia night…

We will no doubt begin the trivia circuit once the trivia night season begins.

Until then, I’ll be watching T.V, reading about Copper-nicus and learning more about that horrible dictator, Boris Johnson.

squirrel with nutTonight I had dinner with one of my long time friends, Downtown Christy Brown (not her real name).  I will hereinafter refer to her as DTCB.

We are sorority sisters and have been close since college.  We share a love of food, farts, and all things hilarious.  When we get together we manage to get dumber and together we have the collective IQ of a barn mouse (or that of any Jersey Shore cast member).

Apart, we are both quite intelligent, but seeing us together laughing as milk comes out of our noses, you would never know it.  We somehow manage to laugh at anything and everything and usually cause a scene, most likely because we snort from laughter or we spill something…or both.

I was excited about our get together tonight because I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks, which to us, is a lifetime.  We agreed we would meet for dinner, but wanted somewhere with a good menu, as DTCB and I like to eat.

No, we love to eat.  Our love of food is one of the things that makes our friendship so strong.  It’s a bond based upon burritos, and to me, there is no stronger friendship.

chilisWe (shamefully) agreed to meet at Chili’s.  This decision was based upon their large selection of appetizers, entrees and desserts.  It was a calculated decision and one we didn’t take lightly.  We were serious about dinner decisions.

DTCB arrived at the “restaurant” before I did, which is rare, as I swear that woman can’t tell time.   (And can we really call a place that has plastic cups a restaurant?  I think not.)

As soon as she arrived she grabbed a booth and texted me to let me know we were placed in the booth closest to the restroom.

Normally I would be offended by such placement near the lavatory, but I knew that we were going to binge on nearly everything on the menu, so placement by the bathroom was actually a smart move by the hostess.

She obviously remembered us from the “buffalo chicken dip of 2010 incident”, which DTCB and I still don’t discuss.  It was a rough time, and an even rougher time for the cleaning crew of that restroom.  But I digress….

potato chipsAfter processing our coordinates, I texted to let her know I was on my way and to order an appetizer.  If possible, whenever I arrive anywhere I like to be greeted with food of some kind.  Whether it be a granola bar or a mint, I like to say hello with something in my mouth.  DTCB obliged and immediately ordered bottomless chips and salsa…with a side of Ranch dressing.

It’s another reason I love her.  I like to put Ranch dressing on most things, but never thought to put Ranch on my chips and salsa.  But DTCB’s dedication to increased caloric intake for our dinner was not only ingenious, it was inspiring.  I decided I would try it once I arrived.

I made it to the restaurant before the appetizer and tried to mask my disappointment by downing the iced tea waiting for me.

DTCB and I engaged in informal pleasantries, all the while eyeing another table’s queso dip.  The smell of melted cheese was intoxicating as we waited for our heart attack in a festive bowl.

The chips, salsa and Ranch arrived, and I wasn’t disappointed.  DTCB may not know much about reading directions, or how to properly obey a stop sign, but she knows a good appetizer.

waitress

NOT Heidi.

We began inhaling chips and practically bit the waitress’s hand off when she placed them on the table.  We looked like two starving orhpans who hadn’t seen food in days, instead of two women who just snacked on peanut butter prior to the dinner.

Well, maybe that was just me.

After gobbling the appetizer in 30 seconds flat, we realized the waitress was still standing there staring at us, most likely too shocked and horrified to move.  We looked up to see a skinny woman named Heidi who didn’t understand the discomfort of a fat roll hanging over her jeans.

She seemed flabbergasted by our behavior, so I informed her that we used to be thin, as if that fact made our ingestion of a half pound of salsa somewhat more acceptable.  She looked at us quizzically, not believing our previous single digit sizes.

However, Heidi was smart enough to know she needed to get a good tip from us, hopefully to pay for a hairdresser to address her black roots. She told us she was gaining weight and was “only 21 and already getting fat.”  Seriously?!

I told her until she started purchasing pants based upon the elasticity of the waistband, I didn’t want to hear her complaints.  DTCB was too busy stuffing her face with salsa and Ranch to chime in, but she nodded in agreement.

chocolate cakeWe told Heidi we needed time to peruse the menu, as that decision shouldn’t be taken lightly.  Before we even looked at the entree options, we agreed we to get dessert.

We turned to the dessert menu, complete with photos of the decadent treats that are most likely pre-baked in a factory in South Dakota approximately 3 months before they’re shipped to Chili’s.

We didn’t care, because the molten chocolate lava cake is delicious.  We agreed on dessert.  With that critical decision made, we turned our focus to the far less important decision:  the main course.

I snacked on Ranch and salsa chips as I looked over the options, my eyes drawn to the photos of the delicious options.  A menu with pictures of food is like a fat person’s version of porn, and I was in heaven.

From nachos to burgers, the photos were amazing, and I found myself drooling over the options.

Luckily, Heidi made the correct assessment that we were messy eaters and took the precautionary measure of providing us with extra napkins.  I wiped the drool off my laminated menu and decided to make a healthy choice and get a salad.

salad89After all, I was trying to watch my figure.

Naturally, to reward myself for ordering a salad, I had it covered in buffalo chicken.  Heidi read back my order as “buff chicken,” making it sounds like the chicken was in a weight lifting contest.

I could imagine my chicken oiled up in Vaseline, wearing a man-thong, posing for the judges with his veins popping out of his neck and thighs.  Was it really that hard to say “buffalo?”  Was cutting off the “alo” that much easier?  Did it really save that much time?

DTCB followed my healthy example and ordered soup and salad.  We also ordered another basket of chips, salsa and Ranch, as the only thing left of the first basket was a pile of salt and the remainder of our dignity.

DTCB and I chit chatted in between gulps of food, all the while watching out of the corner of our eyes every time someone emerged from the kitchen with food.

When the main course arrived, we jumped for joy, although with a belly full of chips, all we could muster was a solid fist pump.  Heidi asked if she could take the chips out of our way. She nearly got a punch in the face from DTCB for that.  Heidi made the good decision to leave the chips for further snacking.

boys eating ice creamWe ate our salads, thinking about dessert.  When Heidi returned to remove our plates, she didn’t even ask if we wanted dessert.  Judging by the food wasteland on our table, she knew she didn’t have to sell dessert to us, so she simply asked us what we wanted for dessert.

We told her the chocolate lava cake was calling our name (although it actually could have been our subconscious calling our names, urging us not to eat another day’s worth of calories in 2 bites).

We sat back, unbuttoned our pants, and waited for the glorious dessert to arrive.  We chose to ignore the judgmental stares from the woman in the booth across from ours who weighed approximately 90 pounds and was most likely preparing to purge.

The lava cake arrived and we immediately went to town, annihilating the dessert.  In just a few short bites we destroyed the dessert and practically licked the plate clean (the only reason we didn’t is because we couldn’t decide who should get the privilege).

Shortly after we devoured dessert, we realized we were painfully uncomfortable and needed to get home quickly.  We both left Heidi a good tip, not so much for her great service but for the hope we could buy her silence about our night of gluttony.

We waddled to our cars in silence.  We set a date (and a menu) for another time, said goodbye, and plopped into our cars.

As I struggled to move the steering wheel without striking my protruding belly, I was reminded that tonight is what life is all about….friends and laughter…and a side of Ranch.