Chicken wing mania and a walking hypocrisy

Last night, as I lay in bed with a belly full of trapped air and a five-alarm fire burning in my chest, I contemplated the folly of my all-you-can-eat-chicken-wings- excursion and decided to make a confession to the little monk that lives in the Italian monastery located at the back left corner of my brain. He took a vow of silence, so I don’t have to worry about him getting all preachy on me.

The unburdening of my soul went something like this:

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been….um…let’s see…25  years since my last confession. Yes, I know that’s a long time, but I don’t sin. Ok, I just lied right there. I guess that’s a sin. I try not to, though! I don’t tell whoppers, I eat them - hahaha….ha…ah….ok, I hide my true feelings behind lame attempts at humor, don’t judge me!

Anyway.

I JUST wrote a blog post about how I was going to do right by my fatty liver by eating clean and exercising like a mofo, only to follow it up with a Facebook picture of me at a Hooters establishment grinning like I’d just won the Powerball, SuperLotto, and Megabucks all at the same time. Oh, and I kinda judged the girls who worked there….because boobs.

I have inflicted damage upon myself while being fully cognizant of the fact I was inflicting damage upon myself, and for this, I would like to be forgiven. 

Oh yeah, and I also constantly wish that Justin Bieber and the Kardashians would get swallowed up by the largest creature to have ever lived, the blue whale. I shouldn’t wish such misfortune upon a poor, defenseless animal. That is all. Thank you and goodnight.”

A smile as bright as a thousand desert suns

UGH. I love food. Too much. Too damn much. I don’t claim to be an expert on nutrition (OBVIOUSLY - says you). But I’m pretty sure that eating a plate and a half of fried chicken wings is not beneficial to an already taxed system (DUH – says you again).  

I could've been a contender, but that probably would not have been wise

So I started fresh again today, as I do every day. I sure hope I don’t wear out the reset button on this body because I will be plenty mad if I die in my sleep without ever having tried a real cronut from the Dominique Ansel Bakery in New York.

 

The real deal - actually, it's pretty expensive, so it's not a deal

 

This journey is hard, and honestly, it sucks. Sure, I can blame things on the fact that I have the metabolism of a middle aged South American sloth, but the truth is – I just have no control (or shame).  Ah well, time to pick myself back up again and keep on marching along.

Isn't he just so cute though?

 

Anyway, I plan on doing some weight training this evening using Nate’s elaborate gym set up in the garage. This always used to scare me because after watching a certain disgusting weightlifting video on Failblog.org, I now have an intense fear of crapping myself mid-lift. Plus, I’m pretty sure that my calves can break a grown man’s neck in three different places, so I really don’t want to bulk that area up any further. However, Nate has assured me that I’m crazy and that both of those fears will not materialize. I trust him because...

I love that face

Anyway, I will make a good effort tonight...just like the tiny ant I found bench pressing a grain of rice in the kitchen last week.  If he’s down, then so am I.

 "We can not start over, but we can begin now, and make a new ending" - Zig Ziglar