Adult Eating

Rip down that shitty old 2012 calendar, callously toss it in the trash. Hang the shiny new 2013 calendar in its place. Expectations, hopes, and desires all bubbling to the surface as you do so. What will happen to me this year? Where will I go? What amazing things will I do?

Resolutions aren’t my bag, man. I prefer goals. I think that’s because goals don’t come with the finality that resolutions do. If you resolve to do something and you don’t do it, then you’ve failed. It’s as plain as that. If you set a goal for yourself, there’s just more wiggle room. You can reach that goal eventually, you can shape that goal and change it. If you try to change or modify a resolution it’s like you’re trying to hide from failure. A resolution seems like it’s too final. It’s an absolute. It’s an absolute asshole.

Goals just seem to place more emphasis on progress, as opposed to results. That’s what I’m interested in, progress. I want to see and feel the progression when I strive for something. If you’re just racing to the finish line all the time, you’ll never really learn anything. Resolutions demand a finish. Goals allow us to learn, and improve.

I have a couple of goals in mind for myself this year. One of them is to eat more adult meals. And by that I mean meals that have been cooked at home. From real ingredients. Not nuked for two and a half minutes until heated through.

And I’m going to use my infallible tracking system to see how well I do with this:

soda chart

This is the chart I made in July when I decided to give up drinking soda. I gave myself a little check on each day that I didn’t drink soda. And I did pretty good too. You can only see two slip-ups. One was on Sunday the 22nd and that was because we went to see The Dark Knight Rises and I won a free large drink playing movie trivia. So, clearly I had to cash that one in before it expired at the end of the month. Can’t waste free soda, that’d be ridiculous. More importantly, you can’t offend the Gods of Movie Trivia. If I didn’t enjoy every second of that drink, I might never win another trivia prize again. And I just can’t have that.

Then I slipped up again the next day, just one little can of coke, because it tasted so good the night before! But I finished the rest of the month without issue. Looking back at that calendar, I’m really proud of myself. I did a good job. And seeing it like that, visually, really motivated me to keep the goal going. Doing this showed me that I have it in me to work hard at achieving my goals. It inspired me.

This is what I’m going to do when D and I have adult meals for dinner. I’m going to mark them down on the calendar so I can watch us progress. We have the time, we have the ability, and we have the will to succeed. We don’t need to slack off and pick up a pizza on the way home from work because we’re “too tired” to cook. Or because we don’t want to deal with the dishes afterwards. We can do this. We’ll make adult meals for ourselves. D is already really good at it, he just needs me to be more supportive and less lazy.

But before we could move forward, we would need one last kiss goodbye from our beloved poor-eating ways. On New Years Eve, after the ball had dropped and we were sufficiently buzzed, we headed out. Down the street to the local Burger King we went. And we procured an epic feast, that consisted of only the most greasy morsels. The entire lot was under eleven bucks total.

burger king feast

We shared the fries and drink, so as to keep our gluttony in check. D had a King Supreme, and I dug into the best whopper I’ve ever had.


The fries were perfection. They’re never that great at BK, but naturally during our last big hurrah they were perfect. Deep-fried little pricks. Once we’d gotten that out of our systems, we were ready to move forward. We hit it and quit it like pros. Don’t call us again, BK. We’re not home, and we’re screening all calls until further notice. We just need some space, to figure this all out. We hope you understand.

The next morning we were happy. And ready to move on. We had something excellent in the works for dinner tonight. For the very first dinner on our new leaf, we did an amazing job. A prime rib roast, mashed potatoes, steamed green beans, and yorkshire puddings. Oh hells yes, yorkshire puddings got invited to the partaaay!

It started with a delicious piece of beef. On sale!

prime rib roast

Which needed a nice marinade the night before, for optimal tastiness. In the magic ziplock bag of deliciousness is garlic, onions, fancy mustard, Worcestershire sauce, rosemary, and thyme. It was pretty simple.


Then the next day, this bitch went in the pan!

roast ready to cook

Once it was cooked to perfection, D popped it out of the oven and sliced it up. The roast was then put to plate with everything else.

roast beef dinner

I took a pass on doing the dishes tonight. They need to soak a bit anyways, right? But otherwise, I think we’re off to a great start on our goal for 2013. We’re eating like adults now, and don’t it feel good!

Tripped on a Bike

I know that we’re here to celebrate exemplary little moments of the day-to-day, and the title of this post may not seem very inspiring but I assure you this was the greatest moment of my week by a long shot.

This past week has been one of those black holes of bullshit kind. You know the one, you’ve had them before. The week where every “Worst Case Scenario” comes true. The one that ruthlessly rapes your will to live again and again. The kind of week that makes you want to fling yourself from your balcony, even though you only live on the second floor and at best would sustain a minor head injury or ankle sprain. Yes, it was one of those weeks…

I started feeling like a zombie by the end of it. Not just feel like a zombie, but I think I went through the stages too. I got infected by the virus, but denied it and thought I’d bravely carry on. Then I succumbed to the maddening fever, and eventually faded away into the bloody grey un-dead oblivion of emotionlessness. The numbness had officially set in by the end of the week.

All that kept me hanging on was the thought of Friday night. Sweet, sweet Friday night. Friday night will go one of two ways for me now: extreme couch-potatoing or getting back to my roots by seeing how much beer I can chug before I barf in someone’s mailbox. This week I was really looking forward to the couch-potato option. I just wanted to put on my eight dollar Wal-Mart sweats, consume a metric ton of Doritos (Zesty Cheese, Score!), and only move from the couch when 100% necessary.

Friday afternoon on my way home is when the incident occurred. I got out of work, plugged in to my iPod hoping some sweet jams would make me feel human again, and hopped on the bus. A short while later I was feeling alright. I survived this hellish week and my tunes were kicking in. I strolled up to my building, walked through the door, and headed for the mailbox. I grabbed my mail, which by the way counts as mail even if it’s only coupons for burger king, and turned down the hallway to the stairs.

I should mention that the main floor of my building is rife with children. Unsupervised little assholes that run around screaming at the top of their lungs all hours of the day. Friday was a rare exception. There was nary a rascal in sight. They usually leave their shit all over the halls too. Case in point, the bike.

A fucking pink, purple, and green two-wheeler with training wheels was left right in front of the corner I turn down to get to the stairs. And here I was just enjoying some choice tunes while fantasizing about the plans I had for my newly acquired burger king coupons. Needless to say, I was in my own little world. I know I should have expected it because these asshole kids are always leaving their bikes around the building, but truth be told my keen ninja senses weren’t what they usually are.

As I turned the corner to the hallway I stepped on one of the training wheels which smashed the bike into my shin. I tried shifting my weight to gain my balance but I ended up toppling head first over the bike. I did make one last ditch effort to grab the walls for support, but they were out of reach and I wound up frantically clawing at the air. As I did so, the coupons went flying and I did a truly spectacular crumple into the ground. The bike was caught on my pants and on my way down the seat jabbed into my ribs knocking my breath from me.

I lay there gasping for air like a fish out of water for a moment or two. I raised my head off the ground and scanned the hallway to see if anyone was around. Thankfully I was alone. I was raving mad about the bike, and I could feel an angry snarl building in my throat. When I finally regained my breath I promptly erupted in laughter. My nasty snarl gave way to whooping waves of laughter at the thought of how ridiculous I must look. I didn’t have the energy to get up just yet, all I could do was lay there and laugh like a maniac.

I barely managed to get to my feet and gather my composure before the rotund woman living in the apartment across the hall came out shrieking “Watchoo doin’ out der girl? I gotta sleepin’ baby in here!” Although she was apparently deaf to the perpetual war-cries emanating from her 4 beastly children on the daily, she felt that I was making a real ruckus out in the hallway.

I smothered another hearty snicker in my coat-sleeve, grabbed my coupons, and bolted for the stairs.

I had forgotten what laughter felt like. My week was so grim, that I forgot about laughing, which is usually one of my favourite things. I just barely clung to my sanity this week. My main goal was to get home and cry into some empty calories. But damned if that bike wasn’t a wonderful blessing in disguise. I just let it all go.

I let the bad vibes wash away and laughed with abandon at what a magnificent sight my tumble would have been for an onlooker. It revitalized me, and brought me back to reality. I had been so wrapped up in my own troubles, I literally did not account for the world still thriving around me. I felt like myself again.

My ribs hurt like hell the next day, but I suspect that had more to do with the laughing than the bike.