Yet again I am stealing but this time from Juliette Lewis. She used this word in an Instagram post about buttered toast. Plain Jane simple buttered toast – white, not whole wheat.

If you didn’t just start drooling a little or feel a little pang of hunger or craving at the mention of this culinary delight then it’s time that you and I part ways.

I was joking with a friend the other evening about rolling into a bakery on my birthday and just asking for a loaf of white bread, a cinnamon bun or two, and all of their cookies. Oh and I just thought of it – pecan pie. If they have pecan pie I’m taking a piece of that too.

Do you see why I have to watch what I eat? It’s a runaway train to all things bad (and everything with an elasticized waist) if I just let myself eat what I want!

I don’t know why I’m a carbaholic. I just know that I am and honestly in this case, admitting it does SFA in addressing the actual issue. Where I work there is a drawer with little packages of cookies in it and every day I talk myself out of eating those cookies. Every day I go to the cafeteria to eat and when I grab my utensils before I eat the food I brought from home, I steal a quick but longing glance over at the cooler.

It’s where they keep the desserts and such. Sometimes there is cake, or pie, or some other amazing concoction that looks delightful and like it would make me feel like a million bucks. It would make me feel good for mere seconds though and here’s why:

  1. I eat at a pace that may suggest to others that it’s been weeks since I’ve eaten or perhaps will be weeks until I eat again. If I’m eating something sweet, I eat at twice that pace. I do not know how to savour.
  2. I’ll immediately be angry at myself for giving in for something that probably isn’t even as good as I think it will be (there are exceptions: my brother’s cheesecake – I could be training for Olympic level meal planning and portion control and if you set a piece of that in front of me? I’m eating it – and a second piece too if possible. Also probably anything my mom bakes – especially cookies. They go in my mouth and I typically don’t care to bother with chewing. I probably unknowingly unhinge my jaw.).
  3. It’s never enough. I always want more. This is what got me in trouble over the Christmas season. I couldn’t just have a cookie or one or a couple of chocolates or maybe a handful of whatever snack was within reaching distance – I ate until I felt terrible because it was there and I wanted to “enjoy” it and then I ate a little more. Portion control I can do. I can meal plan and follow a meal plan pretty damn good. What I can’t do – yet? Is enjoy treats in moderation. I’m getting better but Valentine’s Day is approaching and this spells trouble for me. I will often tell myself I can enjoy some chocolate that day (that day that really means nothing and usually my husband and I rarely even exchange cards because we are not teenagers, newly weds, or dating. We’ve been married for 15 years. We love each other – we don’t always like each other but we keep hanging around, sticking it out, and we don’t necessarily feel like proclaiming it on the 14th of February is going to provide any kind of insurance or real boost to our marriage. This year we’ll be spending it at the rink watching our 12 year old play hockey. Maybe I’ll brush my hair before we go and apply a fresh coat of Blistex to add that little bit of romance and allure – the fluorescent lights already really enhance the ever present circles under my eyes and overall level of exhaustion by 8 pm though, so I don’t want to get the poor guy too worked up!

Anyway, I digress. All I know is that moderation is a real work in progress for this girl and something I’m going to get to practice shortly. Super Bowl party this weekend at a friend’s house and said friend is well known for preparing amazing snacks and a lot of them! Then I’m going on a little mini vacay in just 17 days, 8 hours, 8 minutes, and some odd seconds or so to visit my son and his girlfriend in Toronto! Aside from seeing them, do you know what I haven’t stopped thinking about? Soft pretzels. You cannot get a decent soft pretzel in this city or this province really, and so my focus is being diverted from getting to share a few days in the life of my first born, to getting my hands on a soft pretzel – I fear it will act as a gateway drug for me though and before you know it, there’ll be Cinnabon icing in my hair (also not available in this province – we may as well live on a deserted island), and melted cheese on my top from who knows what. It’s a slippery slope and I am afraid I’ll over wax my skis…

When I was 12 I wanted to weigh 100 lbs. I was stuck at 98 lbs for what seemed like forever! I ate bread (white homemade bread that was heaven in my mouth), pasta (white, with butter, and minimal sauce was my preferred style), rice (white, either plain or with a bit of margarine), home made baking of every variety, and of course because I was not actually raised by Paula Deen, I did have vegetables (whatever I could be convinced to eat), fruit, and protein as well – but mostly I perfected my tiptoe across the kitchen and a silent slip of the cookie jar lid open just far enough to get my hand in and get 2 cookies out – at least once a day, I’m sure. I had a perm too then, and when I see old photos of myself and a home video from that time – I laugh out loud (as do my children) because I resemble a bespectacled stick bug with a ‘fro. So skinny. So skinny but full of all the carb-y goodness of life. Lest you think I was burning that off playing outside and playing sports, don’t. I didn’t particularly enjoy being outside just for the sake of being out there and I did not play sports because, well I have the coordination of a three legged drunken and perhaps drugged, baby deer. I watched TV, I read, and I wrote made up stories about my future life as an Ob-Gyn (Harvard or Yale grad, depending on the day) who was the mother of twin girls. I was aiming high, folks, nothing but glory!

Point being I now spend anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour sweating in my living room every morning – doing the most inane things in the sake of getting to a weight that is nowhere near 100 lbs (nor should it be!). I haven’t eaten white bread since I don’t know when. Homemade baking daily? I wish but no. Pasta? Only if it’s whole wheat and once a week AT MOST. Rice, same deal. 12 year old me needed to keep her skinny mouth shut and just enjoy her sugar fueled freedom and 0% body fat! Sigh, those were the days…(except not because if you were paying close attention: Perm. Glasses. Unathletic. Nerd. Oh and never knew when to shut up. It wasn’t a great time aside from the food!).

However, since I never want to be insulin dependent, or really dependent on anyone at any time ever, to meet my basic needs in life? I’ll forgo the delights of my pre-adolescence and keep grinding away at the workouts but I can’t make any promises about the goddamned pretzel. (Pretzels. I feel I need to be honest).

My name is Angela and I’m a carbaholic. It’s been 12 days since my last cookie. #onedayatatime



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