Today’s Weight … 123.5

Yes, damn it. You read that correctly. I’m back where I started. I blame the post below.

Don’t get it? Check this post.

I’ve been cleaning out the pantry around here.

Settle down. Before you get all jealous of my lifestyle, you are more than welcome to come over and help me sort through all of the specialty gifts, treat kits and other edibles that I want to purge from that sad little food closet. We’ve got Pecan Pumpkin Butter, Smores-on-a-Stick, Monkey Bread mix, a Make-Your-Own-Chewing-Gum kit, ‘Hell on the Red’ dip (which my girl keeps permanently facing backwards so she doesn’t accidentally read the bad word – seriously, where did she come from?), etc. etc. etc.

So, yesterday afternoon, I pulled a box from the pile of (delicious!) crap with a picture of cheese dip on it. Perfect afternoon snack, right? It was a feta olive dip made with cream cheese, sour cream, milk and whatever other fatty dairy products I could think of to throw in the saucepan. My plan was to make this dip for the three people in my house who don’t need to worry about (still) eight and a half extra pounds. But, after “slaving” over this delicious hot cheese dip, here’s how it went down:

• Son (after one bite): Eh. No thanks. I don’t really like it.
• Daughter (after a few bites): It’s okay. But next time use less feta. (NOTE: It was a feta cheese dip kit.)
• Dave (after a few bites minus two): I’m not too hungry. I’ll get to it. (Walks out.)

So, I ask you … what’s a girl to do with a bowl of hot cheese dip, an empty stomach and a box of (Reduced Fat) Wheat Thins? (Mistakes number one and two.)

Then, the boys of this house went to the Hornets game leaving the girls to a night of our own. Easy. “Movie?” says me. “Nah. I can’t think of anything I wanna see right now,” says she. “Wanna play a game?”- me. “No. Maybe later.” – she. “Want me to make you something to eat?” – me. “Hey! Let’s make the pretzels in the pretzel kit! It looks really fun.” Blank stare for an awkward amount of time then “Um …. okay.” – me

Great. We finally settled on an activity together … and it centers on food.

I will not be detailing the laborious process involved in making a measly twelve soft pretzels … but I will leave you with this thought:

The next time you pass a Wetzel’s Pretzels, Auntie Anne’s or whatever the pretzelry franchise is in your local mall, pull a one hundred dollar bill out of your pocket, walk to the counter, look the underpaid minimum wage employee in the eye and stuff it in the tip jar without uttering a word. Then, walk away.

Trust me when I say those poor fools are working their butts off. Granted, they are probably equipped with the proper yeast, dough cutters, kneaders, shapers, twisters and a solid pretzel steam bath (yes, I said steam bath) which, in my house, we are not. They weren’t pretty … but they were yummy. All two and a half that I sucked down.

So, between the stupid pretzels and the cheese dip … well, it’s like I set the stupid scale back to Wednesday again. And it’s still the eat-crap-with-my-family-because-that’s-how-New-Orleans-celebrates-everything weekend. Ugh.