|Rockin' the Casbah|
The boys in my house are gone for the weekend, excepting the dog & cat who are, at best, half boys. Me and my girl are gonna get our freak on. We're going buck wild. We're going to try to distract me from eating everything in the house.
I did our taxes. I organized the coupon drawer. I made a photo book of Lincoln from his 1st to 2nd birthdays. I wiped down the kitchen. If I'm not careful, I might end up tackling the dreaded junk drawer.
Sadly, this has made me realize how much I depend on Dave & Lincoln to keep me on the straight & narrow. Without the natural accountability of a supportive spouse or the defacto accountability of impressionable youth, I feel a lot more Old Sara than I'm comfortable with.
So far, so good as far as not acting on the lacivious foodie thoughts that are running amuk in my head. I had planned on cooking a meal, but that just wasn't going to happen. I broke into my stash of portioned-out-frozen leftovers & then steamed the better part of a Costco tub of spinach (which cooks down to about 1/2 a cup...grrr). Now I'm sitting here just wondering if this will ever get any easier. Will I have to be on terror alert orange for the rest of my life? Probably. It's a pretty down thought to end a down week.
***Unrelated Side Note #1: Speaking of orange alerts, for a giggle, check out this opinion piece on Terror Alerts. Dave & I giggled ourselves to sleep last night.***
***Unrelated Side Note #2: As I was writing this, I got my "IPR Connections Newsletter" in my inbox. Just another kick in the teeth as far as I'm concerned. Nothing makes me want to eat gas station food like IPR. I hear the "All Things Considered" theme music & I'm on auto pilot to the nearest place with gagantuan Swiss Cake Rolls. Harkens back to my days of commuting & eating my way from DSM to Ames, but knowing that doesn't make those dirty hippies' mystical pull any less. Dave asked me recently why I don't listen to the news anymore & I told him I just couldn't stand the temptation. Left wing politics & witty reparte just say processed junk food. And now they're after me without me even tuning in. Buttheads.***