Another Reason Why I Hate April: Chocolate Pizzas
Chocolate Pizzas are flinging themselves at me just because it's April. This isn't fair. All this temptation. It's my birthday month, so cakes will happen at work because people care, and I will indulge there, and there, and everywhere ... See, I'm doing so well on my "reducing." 31 pounds down now. I'm feeling good, getting more exercise. Hopeful, even. Until Pizza Hut sent me this email today:
"Happy Birthday! To celebrate your special day, dessert is on us! We're giving you a free single order of HERSHEY'S® Chocolate Dunkers™ when you order any large pizza at menu price at PizzaHut.com during your birthday month. Just click the Order Now button to have this great deal automatically added to your order. Make a wish!"
April is the ripe deflowering of our true natures. Plain and simple.
There's an evil thorn inside each of our rosy hearts, and April presents both the beautiful side, and the ferocious, appetite-driven side. Temptation. It's my birthday in April, it's everybody else's birthday in April. The last five years I had a maelstrom of April birthdays occurring around me. There's cake and Mexican food one night, cake and Italian or Thai another, cake and cake and more cake three days a row at work. The sexual equivalent would be T.I. and Justin Timberlake showing up at my door right now because they just had to have a three-way with me, now, come on, let us in.... But instead, it's chocolate dunkers and fried chicken, tamales and fine desserts from the best bakery in Burbank coming round my door looking for love on the down-low with me.
That's what April is. It's a month of groping, grappling, and out-hustling the competition. All the while smiling like a pretty flower.
One year during this god-awful gauntlet of birthday food, I happened to be worried I was having a heart attack for about two weeks there. At one friend's birthday party at Outback (yes, you) I tried to order something healthy.... fish, vegetables, something like red potatoes, perhaps.... When I ordered, I felt good about my choices, until it came and they had slathered everything with butter.
Don't get me wrong, this was a fun party and I liked all these people. It's just the chest pains were a distraction. And the prospect that I might keel over at her birthday dinner and thus destroy this good friend's birthdays for the rest of her now-cursed life weighed heavily on me. It was a `So, other than the chest pains, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the entree?' kind of night.
See last fall I was attempting suicide by eating heart bombs whenever possible. Talk about self-destruction, I was living the high life as one of those meathead motherfucking stupid guys on the Carl's Jr. ads. I had given up and given in to the fat/fast food industry's easy and decadent seduction, that great big, attractive mother's breast that it is. You just drive up, hand over some paper, and relax. Fat and sweet will be delivered to you momentarily. You can go infantile every night on your drive home from work.
And driving is automatic, until something happens that requires more immediate concentration. With the radio telling me bedtime stories, or the NPR version of bedtime stories, and McBurgerDelInAndOutKFCBellRally's,Jr. feeding me fat and sweet and num, num caffeine, I would simply regress for forty minutes during the evening commute. Listen to horror stories about the disintegration of the world economy. Remember, the wolf ate Grandma in Little Red Riding Hood. It's a scary world out there, and sometimes you just got to suck on a big fat chocolate shake from McDonald's and let the easy sway of bumper to bumper traffic ease you into a sort of driving sleep.
Heart bombs every night. Heart bombs on the weekend. Heart bombs deep into the night. I ate heart bombs for breakfast sometimes, too. Heart bombs.
When I first moved in here, last October, I celebrated by ordering a big ass pizza, deep crust, cheese-injected, fully loaded with the works. Big ass as in a large pizza, in case that wasn't clear. For dessert I ordered those HERSHEY'S Chocolate Dunkers mentioned in the above offending email. And a two liter bottle of Diet Pepsi because I wouldn't want my sugar coming from just anywhere! It had to come from Hershey, Pennsylvania in the form of what is basically a CHOCOLATE PIZZA. So I ate a small farm on my first pizza, and then followed it up doing my best Homer Simpson with an entire box of Chocolate Dunkers serving as my second pizza of the evening. I think I was dunking it in milk. The only thing missing from this decadent scene are a few orgy-istic details that would make Nero blush, I know.
But such is the thing we call a binge. At least the version of a binge that I laid down.
So now there it is. This enticement to indulge in what I will absolutely, flat out admit was the most heavenly experience on the face of this earth since Eve first breast-fed Cain, or Abel, whichever was first. If I could eat chocolate pizzas every day, I might feel like the heart attack was worth it when it finally came...
One day. As one day it likely will. Life is life and this shit happens. Every heart stops one day. Heart attacks and chocolate pizzas, taxes, death, birthdays, and Aprils. They come, they go, they happen.
But I said I was going to go ahead and just give in and like April this year, didn't I? Yes, I did. And so, I have to admit that it is my second December, another holiday month, and remember that the key thus far to my weight loss has been to remember that I'm just observing. I let my weight go up and enjoy eating when the occasion fits, and this is okay. It's about living the kind of life where I'm able to lose weight, not directly about losing weight.
So I'm starting April around 31 pounds down from where I started the year, and while I'll admit there may be a chocolate pizza in my immediate future, there won't be burgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner any longer. Things have changed.
Now, about conjuring up those experiences that would make Nero blush....
"Happy Birthday! To celebrate your special day, dessert is on us! We're giving you a free single order of HERSHEY'S® Chocolate Dunkers™ when you order any large pizza at menu price at PizzaHut.com during your birthday month. Just click the Order Now button to have this great deal automatically added to your order. Make a wish!"
April is the ripe deflowering of our true natures. Plain and simple.
There's an evil thorn inside each of our rosy hearts, and April presents both the beautiful side, and the ferocious, appetite-driven side. Temptation. It's my birthday in April, it's everybody else's birthday in April. The last five years I had a maelstrom of April birthdays occurring around me. There's cake and Mexican food one night, cake and Italian or Thai another, cake and cake and more cake three days a row at work. The sexual equivalent would be T.I. and Justin Timberlake showing up at my door right now because they just had to have a three-way with me, now, come on, let us in.... But instead, it's chocolate dunkers and fried chicken, tamales and fine desserts from the best bakery in Burbank coming round my door looking for love on the down-low with me.
That's what April is. It's a month of groping, grappling, and out-hustling the competition. All the while smiling like a pretty flower.
One year during this god-awful gauntlet of birthday food, I happened to be worried I was having a heart attack for about two weeks there. At one friend's birthday party at Outback (yes, you) I tried to order something healthy.... fish, vegetables, something like red potatoes, perhaps.... When I ordered, I felt good about my choices, until it came and they had slathered everything with butter.
Don't get me wrong, this was a fun party and I liked all these people. It's just the chest pains were a distraction. And the prospect that I might keel over at her birthday dinner and thus destroy this good friend's birthdays for the rest of her now-cursed life weighed heavily on me. It was a `So, other than the chest pains, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the entree?' kind of night.
See last fall I was attempting suicide by eating heart bombs whenever possible. Talk about self-destruction, I was living the high life as one of those meathead motherfucking stupid guys on the Carl's Jr. ads. I had given up and given in to the fat/fast food industry's easy and decadent seduction, that great big, attractive mother's breast that it is. You just drive up, hand over some paper, and relax. Fat and sweet will be delivered to you momentarily. You can go infantile every night on your drive home from work.
And driving is automatic, until something happens that requires more immediate concentration. With the radio telling me bedtime stories, or the NPR version of bedtime stories, and McBurgerDelInAndOutKFCBellRally's,Jr. feeding me fat and sweet and num, num caffeine, I would simply regress for forty minutes during the evening commute. Listen to horror stories about the disintegration of the world economy. Remember, the wolf ate Grandma in Little Red Riding Hood. It's a scary world out there, and sometimes you just got to suck on a big fat chocolate shake from McDonald's and let the easy sway of bumper to bumper traffic ease you into a sort of driving sleep.
Heart bombs every night. Heart bombs on the weekend. Heart bombs deep into the night. I ate heart bombs for breakfast sometimes, too. Heart bombs.
When I first moved in here, last October, I celebrated by ordering a big ass pizza, deep crust, cheese-injected, fully loaded with the works. Big ass as in a large pizza, in case that wasn't clear. For dessert I ordered those HERSHEY'S Chocolate Dunkers mentioned in the above offending email. And a two liter bottle of Diet Pepsi because I wouldn't want my sugar coming from just anywhere! It had to come from Hershey, Pennsylvania in the form of what is basically a CHOCOLATE PIZZA. So I ate a small farm on my first pizza, and then followed it up doing my best Homer Simpson with an entire box of Chocolate Dunkers serving as my second pizza of the evening. I think I was dunking it in milk. The only thing missing from this decadent scene are a few orgy-istic details that would make Nero blush, I know.
But such is the thing we call a binge. At least the version of a binge that I laid down.
So now there it is. This enticement to indulge in what I will absolutely, flat out admit was the most heavenly experience on the face of this earth since Eve first breast-fed Cain, or Abel, whichever was first. If I could eat chocolate pizzas every day, I might feel like the heart attack was worth it when it finally came...
One day. As one day it likely will. Life is life and this shit happens. Every heart stops one day. Heart attacks and chocolate pizzas, taxes, death, birthdays, and Aprils. They come, they go, they happen.
But I said I was going to go ahead and just give in and like April this year, didn't I? Yes, I did. And so, I have to admit that it is my second December, another holiday month, and remember that the key thus far to my weight loss has been to remember that I'm just observing. I let my weight go up and enjoy eating when the occasion fits, and this is okay. It's about living the kind of life where I'm able to lose weight, not directly about losing weight.
So I'm starting April around 31 pounds down from where I started the year, and while I'll admit there may be a chocolate pizza in my immediate future, there won't be burgers for breakfast, lunch and dinner any longer. Things have changed.
Now, about conjuring up those experiences that would make Nero blush....