I'll tell that story in a minute....
But first I need to admit that my inner fat child has been an untamed, roaring beast for the last 24 hours. I now have her in isolation.
Last night, my cousin visited and we went to one of my favorite restaurants, Gabriel's. Now, y'all all know how much I lovvvvvvvvve Mexican food. But one thing I've learned is that you can take me to a Mexican restaurant, give me salsa with a spoon and a bowl of beans and ketchup and I'll be just fine.
I'll eat it and feel satiated - like I had, literally, the "whole enchilada".
But there was something about Roci telling me that she was buying my dinner that made me have an attitude like "SCORE!", "Katie, bar the door, because I'm gonna eat everything!"
My inner fat child reared her head and essentially took over. Like possession. By a fat, immature spirit.
I ate chips and chips and chips and salsa and guacamole and pretend beer and a cheese enchilada and a bean burrito and more chips and a chicken taco and refried beans and a sopapilla - with honey AND butter. I have NEVER eaten butter on a sopapilla but Roci said it was good and ........... she's older than me? Does that work?
And like an alcoholic, I said I was just treating myself for one meal and that I'd "stop tomorrow".
Well, today (that was tomorrow then) came and Roci said she would buy my breakfast. For the last three Saturday breakfast parties, I've ordered scrambled eggs and bacon. No toast, no hashbrowns. It's become MY THING. But, again being a free food whore, Roci said she'd buy so I ordered huevos rancheros AND a side of bacon. So that's cheese, tortilla, eggs, bacon, chili, hashbrowns, and ketchup. But here's where my little fat Jenny stood up and yelled "MINE!!!!!!!!! ALLLLLLLL MINE!!!!!!!!!"
I also ate a piece of Judy's toast. And jelly. And to top it off, when Roci and Rose left to go to Taos, I shamelessly pulled Roci's only halfway finished plate of pancakes over to my side of the table, slathered them in syrup and crammed them in my mouth.
One more step into debauchery and I would have been going around to the other tables and cleaning up like a human vacuum cleaner.
So.... after an afternoon at the pool, I decided that Little Jenny needed to be forced back inside by being sent to her room with only watermelon for dinner. And so far, it's worked. I love watermelon - so I feel satisfied, and I've been ensconced in my bedroom since 6:12. Saturday night and waaaaayyyy before dark. But I think this will get me back in control.
What I know about myself is that, though to others the concept of "treating oneself" may be a dietary tool, to me it is a slippery slope. A common, but unsafe, occurrence. It's like me saying "I'm going to treat myself to just one cigarette" or "I'm just going to drink wine for this one night". In other words, for me, STUPID. I would NEVER think that I could smoke one cigarette or drink wine for just one night. But, for some reason, I can't get to that place of self-control with food.
But what I CAN do is recognize that when I get on that slippery slope by "treating" myself (which I'm going to do because I am me), I'm going to have to make a conscious effort to pull myself back to safety. One way I can do that is by isolating myself in my bedroom with my computer to blog and a big ole hunk of watermelon to eat. Safety. Grounding. Regrouping.
I can already feel it working. My inner fat child is settling down.
And isn't the concept of "treating myself" better than its synonym (at least in my case) of "screwing up"? It feels much less painful and unforgiving.....
OK. If you've muddled through this, you definitely deserve to hear the story of the pink tits in my hair.
My hard-of-hearing friend, B, hears about half of what's said in a noisy room and makes up the rest. And what she makes up is usually pretty off the wall because................ well, she's B.
This morning at the breakfast party, I was telling everyone about this wonderful blog I found called Lipstick, Margaritas, and Hairspray (http://lipstickmargaritasandhairspray.com/) and how I want to put pink tips in my hair like the blog writer. B yelled out "you're gonna put pink tits in your hair?" And from there, the conversation spiraled downward to a place of wondering if I have pink hair on my tits. I assure you, I don't.
But it gave me a good blog post title, don't you think?
But really, check out this woman's hair and her blog. I think she may be my twin - along with Bev Briggle, my twin who hasn't gone gray yet. I really am going to get pink
Isn't her hair cool? Subtle But cool.
I love it.
And I love you guys.