This isn’t good
Holy fat fail, where do I even begin? Contrary to what Santa may have thought, I’ve been horrible (food-wise) for the past week- Ok, maybe all month. How did I think I could get by the holidays without one fail after another? I. Have. No. Self. Control.
It makes me sick just thinking about all the horrible things I’ve eaten lately from Christmas cookies, to comfort food and in case you couldn’t tell, I’m feeling super guilty about it today. Perhaps Kristine was on to something with the vegetarian kick, because let me tell you, although it was one of the most amazing dinners I’ve ever had, the ginormous prime rib my mom made for Christmas Eve was pretty much a heart attack on a plate. It could have fed a small country, yet the five of us were somehow able to polish it off.
In my defense, one fail that I couldn’t pass up was a Buche De Noel my mom and I came across in a bakery in Grapevine – it’s a decadent French holiday dessert, which looks like a log, covered in tacky sugar items such as mushrooms, Christmas trees and gnomes (not to mention chocolate butter cream). It reminded me of my childhood when my sister and I grew up eating Buche de Noels at holiday parties during my dad’s expatriate stint in Paris and it was just as good as I remembered.
Unfortunately, the only form of exercise I had was running errands with Kimmy and my annual day after Christmas shopping spree with my mom and sister. I probably tried on 100 pieces of clothing – that had to burn at least 200 calories, right? Shopping with Kimmy could easily be considered a workout.
The worst part is that I’m not out of the woods yet — I don’t even want to think about the strong chance of continued fails throughout the week with Josh’s family in town (which = showing them all the new restaurants), and New Years Eve coming up. Champagne much? Oh – and did I mention my fabulous mother in law gave me a bread maker that you can delay start to have warm bread waiting for you when you get home from work? I love you and the gift, Martha, but something tells me it’ll be death by carb fails if I attempt to fill the house with the scent of freshly baked bread right now.
Somebody stop me! I’m out of control.
