hot and fresh out the kitchen.

I have a lot to talk about because I watched too much TV this weekend. The following post is an example of why TV is bad. Baaaaaad.

1. Boyfriend and I are kind of foodies. Not in the gourmet sense, just in the whatever-is-delicious sense. We're always up for a new food adventure, so it's no wonder that the Food Network is playing on our TV at least 50% of the time we spend watching.

I have yet to watch the episode "Creme Fraiche" of South Park without pissing my pants laughing. Ever. And I've seen it like a dozen times.

Guy Fieri, Robert Irvine, and Alton Brown are like my three best friends. No joke. But as I was nursing a hangover from my favorite spot on the couch across from the TV, I couldn't help but notice how much mother fucking butter is in everything. EV-ER-Y-THING. We weren't even watching mother fucking Paula Deen, it was just Triple D!

2. Which leads me to my next point: I am not eating out. Ever. Never, ever again. Watching the behind-the-scenes cooking process at the restaurants profiled on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives has proved to me that you can't eat healthy anywhere. Boyfriend and I tried to play the game of "count the calories" but we both gave up on an APPETIZER FOR ONE that cleared 3000 calories.

Never eating out again.

3. Add to the list of things that I'm never doing again: drinking alcohol. I know I've made reference to this before, but for those of you who don't listen read, here it goes again: I don't drink alcohol. Not regularly, at least. I'm not aiming for sobriety, this isn't for religious purposes, and if I can be perfectly frank, I don't intend on being Sober Nancy forever. I like to drink, I know how to knock them back, and if you challenge me I can probably drink you under the table. I come from a proud line of alcoholics and I have no intent of letting that tradition die. But despite my best efforts, I have come to the final conclusion that there is NO WAY to drink and lose weight at the same time.

In fact, I had the scare of my life this weekend:

On Friday, as soon as boyfriend let me know that we were going out drinking, I went to the gym and then to the pool for a total of 1 hour of strenuous activity. I even purposely cut back on dinner to make room for alcohol calories. I had 5 beers and 4.5 Long Islands from 7:30pm to bar close. I should also mention that I spent at least half an hour crazy dancing (it counts as exercise! it does!). At the end of the night I had to buy my DD food before she could drive us home, and a friend who was also out with us totally saved my ass by finding my phone so I owed him a burrito too. We went to Pancheros so I could repay my friends for their nice deeds, and somehow boyfriend came out with a burrito too. I remember not being hungry, and yet there I was, half a burrito sliding down my throat.

When we came home, out of nowhere boyfriend brings out some herbal refreshments. I took a hit and next thing I know I was raiding the fridge for something delicious. Before passing out I ate a bowl of spicy mac and sausage while thinking "wtf am I doing?" The entire time I was drinking, I was vaguely aware of my actions, at some points I even asked myself "what's going on, bro?" but at no point did I feel like I was in control.

Alcohol = zero impulse control.

The next day I had a headache, I was nauseous and ravenous at the same time, and thirsty. It was the world's worst thirst. I made the mistake of weighing myself: 236.0.

How. In the fuck. Does that happenen?!?! Last week I was jumping for joy over 226, and Saturday morning I'm crying at the number between my toes. Ten pounds. TEN POUNDS.

It took me a whole weekend and then some to recover. As of noon today my weight is at 229.0, but I'm almost certain some of that is fluid retention. I see it in my legs, they look puffy and watery but I have no reasonable explanation for the swelling aside from "alcohol is the devil."

Binge drinking took me out of the gym for a day and a half, caused me to retain ridiculous amounts of water, made me feel like shit, reduced/eliminated my ability to say "no" to things like unnecessary servings of food and extra glasses of booze. And after the party was over, all I had to show for it was a headache and a hangover.

3. So now it's Monday, I'm back on a regimen of salad, water, and gratuitous amounts of running, and I'm praying to any deity that will listen that I see my weight return to 226 sooner rather than later. I'm really disappointed with how this weekend played out and I have no one to blame but myself. And what's worse is that I have a shitty week at work before I skip town early on Thursday for a extra long weekend filled with wedding festivities for a good friend.

Fuck me.