That title works on two levels because I totally ordered the pasta alfredo and ate it all but also because it's raining cats and poodles and I think my boyfriend drowned. Probably not but he's still outside sandbagging the waterfall in our driveway and if he's not actually drowned he's definitely grumpy. The good news is the well is full. Heh.
The good part about that dinner being over is that it's the last time we'll be eating out for a while. I'm placing a ban. Not only does it cost money and make me fat but also I have a deep desire to get my cooking on. Since I bought the new knives of much panting I've been doing a lot more cooking. It's amazing how the right tools make everything more fun. Tomorrow I'm stir frying some portabellas and I can't wait to chop them up. My old knives complained about chopping mushrooms, I didn't realize how very very bad they were until I wrote that, they were total chopping wimps.
Which leads me to me being a wimp. I'm not doing so hot with the getting back on track. The food nonsense is over, at least in the way of obligations, but I haven't lifted a finger toward sweating on purpose. My time gets all eaten up by things like dooce posting video of Prince covering Radiohead and playing with my new Adobe Photoshop and generally screwing around. I'm a bad, bad Amy. I need a time out. Actually I need a schedule engraved on some granite plinths for my living room. It has become obvious to me that I'm not going to fall into some swimsuit edition exercise routine by accident so I'm scheduling it. I can't be trusted to make it a priority so I'm going to schedule an activity a day and cross it off like a to do list until I get back into the swing...or a swimsuit, whatever. This lounging around waiting to get skinny is pathetic and sad. No one ever wasted into nothing watching tv and eating creamsicles. I don't know why I have to keep inventing the wheel on this crap, it's getting very old.