Blugh… roll me on down the hill… it’s like I’m a blimp with all the hot air and no football game to hover over. Maybe they’ll take my services at the Chuck-Up-A-Rama… hover over that for a few days and bring in bizness… that blimp up yonder sky ‘et the whole buffet… see how good our food is? It would totes be a great advertising campaign… except then I’d have to sign up for the Witness Protection Program after witnessing all sorts of crimes against fashion… socks with sandals… BLASPHEMY! White after Labor Day… oh no you just didn’t. Then I’d have to change my name to something like Shmitney Shmade… you can see my dilemma. Childhood flashbacks of my madre heading for the wooden spoon drawer with her teeth bared… You little Shmitney! Note to all future parents out there… name your child Whitney or something that rhymes with cuss words… that way you have legitimate name calling rights when they are a brat.
What were we talking about? Oh yes… my blimping services. I LOVE weekends… LOVE ’em… but I also find I use them as license to join the Twinkie Fest… and it’s frustrating every Sunday night when I’m reflecting back on my craptastically not-in-control weekend of eating. It’s not THAT bad… certainly not anywhere near the craptasticness that got me to 530 pounds… but I feel out of control when comparing it to my weekday eating regimen. On the weekdays, every day is pretty much set in stone. Get up, eat breakfast, go to work, eat lunch, work some more, exercise, make and eat dinner, watch TV, write my blog, sleep for 4 to 5 hours, and then get up the next day and do it all over again. It’s easy to plan out my meals during the weekdays and when I do plan out my meals, I pretty much stick to the plan. Then, the weekend comes… free for all… no plans set in stone… doing things willy nilly, and eating whenever and whatever I want. Weekends also include approximately 75% more going out to eat time. Par-TAY!! I also have a hard time logging my food into my food diary because I can’t remember half the stuff I shoved down the ole gullet. I told you I had brainitis disease!
I’ve been thinking tonight about how I’m going to solve that… get a better control on my weekend eating without being a killjoy and skipping the “get a life” portion of my journey. No brilliant idears done popped into my head, so until one does, I’m going to wing it… write out my menu anyway for the weekends and then if plans change midjournaling, I’ll work the calorie angle. Say, you are scheduled 800 calories for one meal on Saturday, pick that meal, and then adjust the remainder of my calories throughout the day around that number. Sunday is only bad because we usually have family Sundee dinner, which I usually don’t have much control over since I’m usually not the one preparing that because my family likes to enjoy the food they eat. Sue me… I ain’t no chef!
I’ll put “professional blimp” on my resume until I figure a better way to conquer this weekend conundrum. Until then… y’all come visit me at the Chuck-Up-A-Rama… I’ll be the bloated girl in the sky!
Question of the Day: Do you find weekends are harder, eating wise, than the weekdays? Any suggestions for how to get control over that?