Mostly Shitty with a Chance of Suck

That pretty much describes our weather. No, we don't have 8 feet of drifting snow on the ground like our compadres on the east coast--but to be fair, it's not like they all live in a climate where that's unheard of. If Florida got 8 feet of snow, I'd feel sorry for them. Well, not really, because they NEVER get 8 feet of snow or any snow for that matter, so on the ridiculous chance of an Act of God wherein they got 8 feet of snow, it'd be pbbbbbbttt on them. But east coast? Nah. Don't feel sorry for them.

Especially not since we have ice. Ice, ice, baby. And just as it wasn't good on the charts, it's not good on the streets, either. And since the temperatures are barely supposed to climb out of the teens until Wednesday, tomorrow isn't looking so great, either.

So I was really good eating-wise all day until I had a Snack Attack around 2:30 and went to the machine. I stuck in my dollar and selected Sun Chips. Reasonable. Except my package got stuck on the little metal corkscrew thingy and I wasn't about to let A DOLLAR go down the tubes. So I stuck another dollar in and got two bags of Sun Chips. I told myself I was going to save the other pack, but I knew damn good and well that bag wouldn't make it to see 3:30.

And I was right.

Then I came home and ate not one but TWO helpings of cheese ravioli with peas and bacon for dinner. Did I mention the chips and pineapple salsa my husband and I munched on while we were cooking said pasta?



And it's cold and shitty enough outside that I don't want to leave the house again. As much as I really do want to go to the gym, it's painfully cold out. The kind of cold that makes you fold in two as soon as it hits you. That, coupled with the icy roads...yeah. Call it a day.

Maybe I should just resign myself to a Bad Eating Day and spend the evening on the sofa, under Super Blanket, eating crap and candy. Except I don't think we have any chocolate. Except my husband could always make me a malt.

Mmmmm...malt.