One of my friends replied with, "How are you not diabetic?"
That's a great question. How aren't I diabetic? For lunch today I had a crab cake sandwich, followed by two chocolate bars. But, the chocolate bars had almonds in them, so protein, right? And I drank water all day, so those calories are all balancing out, yeah?
I should know better. Really. My mom's a dietitian. She tells people how to eat right for a living, for goodness sake. She's all about the food plate verses the food pyramid. Monica P., R.D. and Michelle Obama--saving our nation one chunky kid at a time.
Except I bet the Obama girls didn't sneak into bed with left over cinnamon rolls last night. (Psst. That was me admitting that I did.)
So what to do? There are a couple schools of thought I've been subscribing to. The first? I'm 24! I can eat what I want! It does seem to be true. For the most part, I can eat what I want without worrying too much about the pounds packing on. I used to not have to worry at all, though, sooooo there's that.
The next school: Garbage in, garbage out. Do you remember the movie "Riding in Cars with Boys?" Me neither. What I do remember, though, is how much trouble I got in for seeing it. Like, unibrow-forming, Kelly-look-giving, Teachable Moment kind of trouble. (I"ll explain the horror of those things later.) Anywho, I was in it deep because me seeing a movie about drinking, bad decisions and 'riding in cars with boys' would inevitably lead me down the road of sex, drugs and rock & roll. Did my parents overreact a bit? Sure. But I think they may have had a point. (Did you hear that, Mom and Dad?) I was now exposed. Ideas were in my head and when my friends laughed at an innuendo, I finally knew why they were laughing. Granted, I was probably 15-years-old at this time. Sheltered doesn't even begin to describe it.
But I digress.
What does this have to do with my lovely eating habits? While I'm a cutie-patutie on the outside (my self-esteem is just as healthy as my appetite) my insides probably look like the drain of the shower I shared with three other girls my senior year of college. Shortened version=gross. And if they don't now, it's just a matter of time. As my dad always said, "Throw enough crap on the wall, some of it's bound to stick." He was talking about my foul shots, but I think the same applies for plaque and arteries and everything else that's related to plaque and arteries. (Mad anatomy skills. I haz them.)
Finally, and probably the real reason I'm doing this, is because today is my 24th birthday. Mid-twenties. I'll need two boxes of birthday candles from now on because they only come in packs of 24! I'm not upset about turning 24. I love my birthday, always have, always will. I am, though, concerned. 24-years-old is really close to 25-years-old which is really close to 30-years-old which is really close to I'm-never-fitting-into-that-again-years-old, and THAT my friends is the age I'm dreading.
So, I'm making a preemptive strike. I'm going to eat like a grownup! And exercise! And do laundry on a regular basis! Okay, the last one will do nothing to ward off said scary age, but it's still a goal.
So come back soon, friends, and see how it goes. Maybe I'm a culinary master and for my 25th birthday I'll be writing my own cookbook. Or, ya know, not. Whatevs.
That's all for now. After all, it is my birthday AND Taco Tuesday at my favorite bar!
Baby steps.
