No more Snorting wine with a straw!

The headline read, "Twenty-One things we are learning to live without."

The article was obviously recession inspired. And, I'll admit; I was interested to see just how bad it had gotten for me. Was I living in a recession or was I wallowing in a depression?

I knew what all the "talking heads" thought, but here's the deal with those pie holes: They are still making the big bucks, with corporate health plans and big fat 401K plans.

And me? Well, not so much. I was not only missing all of the above; I was currently working for what I used to consider chump change.

It didn't take long to realize I'd have to change my drinking habits - gasp, choke!

Actually, that is a lie.

It took me far longer than was economically prudent. But then I think words like prudent, practical, and sober are words that apply to other people.

But it is tough to justify a forty dollar bottle of wine, especially when you practically snort it with a straw.

Why, oh why, did I have to get hooked on the "good stuff," when all along I could have been a Jack and Diet kind of gal?

So here it is... The first item noted on the list of things given up during these lean, and I use this term loosely, times, is Lattes.
Yeah, the old trip to Four bucks has taken a dive. More people are brewing their Joe at home. OK, I will give them that. But I think the real reason the coffee house numbers are down is that people are just sleeping in.

Why get all busy in the morning with no place to go?

The next item listed is extra calories. Now, hold up there, little buddy. Just who is giving up the extra calories?

My feelings and personal motto: When the times get tough, well, the chubbiest tend to get a bit chubbier.

Seriously, who eats less in times of economic stress? Recession-inspired pounds are a real thing.

This is how it works. I used to go to the grocery store and stock up on fresh veggies and lean meats.
But hey, that is pricey stuff. Hard to stay on your old wine budget, or any budget, when you're spending six bucks for fresh asparagus, right?

Giving up the "good stuff" (read: wine that can be swallowed without holding your breath) is tough when you're spending so much on healthy vittles.

But, and this is a tremendous butt I am working with here, friends; if you re-direct your grocery dollars and spend more wisely, your entertainment dollars will go much further. You'd be surprised at how many bags of Cheetos you can buy if you pass on the triple washed spinach and watercress.

The next item listed (drum roll please), was the gym. Hello, people! Just because I had given up the gym membership prior to this current economic meltdown does not mean I shouldn't get credit for proactive thinking, right? After almost two years to the day of paying the membership fee, yet never crossing the threshold, I came to my senses over a bag of frozen Cameo cookies. I spouted to all who would listen, "That's it! Don't you people know there's a possible recession lurking? We gotta hunker down, take cover. Cancel this costly gym membership."

So here I was scanning this list of 21 things I should have given up to ease into this bleak financial situation, and I found myself feeling pretty darn good.

I had already been doing my part. I had even given up things the article never mentioned.

For instance, I no longer use valet, unless it is raining. I now go 4.5 weeks between hair color appointments instead of four. I clip wine coupons. And before you start, there is no shame in using a coupon for wine or spirits. It's not like I'm hauling out my coupon wallet in the grocery store line, heaven forbid.

I no longer use curb side pick-up at my local OutBack. I recognized how much gas I was wasting, just idling, so now I park and walk inside.

Annoying yes, but the exercise is good for me.

So it is official now. I get it.

When they say, "Change is a coming," I can let them know I am doing my part.
Hey, I even undressed in the dark last night in honor of Earth Day.

If you give a girl a cookie...

If you give a girl a cookie, will she take a bite? This is my newest observational quest.

How many times have you been to a party or luncheon, taken one look at the food being served and thought to yourself, "Self, how much of a commotion will I make, if I shove the entire plate of three layer chocolate chip cookie cake into my purse?"

Or, how about when you spy an enormous bowl of sweet marshmallowy fluff crap and seriously think, "I need to be alone with this stuff."

Here's the problem. I will take one look at the offering and nervously chuckle to the OC wannabe housewives around me, "Gee, that looks delicious. Think anyone will notice if I take the platter into the bathroom?"

The looks I get. You'd have thought I looked like an escapee from Jenny Craig.

I just want to say, "Pipe down there and open wide, try a bite."

Shouldn't there be some sort of cut-off for anorexia?
Say by the time you hit forty, if you haven't yet reached your "goal" weight, shouldn't you try to focus on a hobby instead?

I am not saying go hog wild, but seriously ladies, someone went to a lot of trouble to bake up all those mini chocolate eclairs, shouldn't we at least eat them?

That is why I have always chosen my friends carefully.

There is nothing that bugs me more than to be with a group of my friends, order up the Nachos Grande and hear comments like "You're not going to eat that crap, are you?"

I'm just going to put it out there, ladies, if you cannot hang with the guacamole and sour cream crowd, step aside!

But there is no doubt in my mind that some foods are just better when eaten alone.

Take Cheetos, for example.

The perfect Cheetos setting would be an empty house, a TV with extended cable and a working remote control. Add a sippy cup with Jack and diet and nothing, or no one else.

If that makes me a man, so be it.

Because I am telling you, the minute you start sharing that bag of Cheetos, the annoyance factors start setting in.

While you may find all that orange pixie dust charming on your finger tips, it becomes downright annoying when someone else is wearing it and dipping their hands into your bag of Cheetos!

Make mine goopy.

"Get me something really goopy," I instructed my daughter. "Think about what you would order if you were on a diet and then do the exact opposite."

If you're wondering, "What the heck is goopy?" It's anything you shouldn't be eating, but are going to anyway. Oh, and with real, true goopy, you eat it all. In other words, you can't be some dainty little skinny thing and have eaten two cookies and called that goopy. Nope, real goopy eaters have killed for less and always finish the full sleeve.

This food group offers a sugar filled high and toe curling sensation. Like when you drive by the local Krispy Kreme and the "Hot Donuts Now" sign is flashing, and you weave through three lanes of traffic crashing your car, all in your quest to, "Get you some."

Usually, women understand this concept better than men. I have tested this theory on my hubby. He was making the grocery run and, I told him, "Get me something good, something - you know, goopy." He offered a blank stare and said, "Ok, but what is goopy?" Irritated that I have been married to this guy for two decades and he still has to ask me what goopy means, I said, "I think you know exactly what it is, so don't pretend you don't know and make me say it." "SOMETHING GOOD," I bellowed, "good and goopy."

He came back with fresh Florida oranges, crackers, cheddar cheese and a single hersey bar. I spit on the oranges and crushed the box of crackers. Grabbing the Hersey bar and shaking it in the air I cried, "This is it? I asked for goopy, and you brought home a single serving chocolate bar"? Some men, they just don't get goopy at all.

Sneak Attack!

So there I am, minding my own business, getting my mail, which by the way, I had to drive my car to my mail box- yes, I know it is right there at the corner, but lately I've taken to "event dressing" and getting the mail just doesn't qualify as an event. But it just won't do to have the neighbors recognize that, well... my "sleep to street" wear, is looking a little like yesterday's. Anyhow, I get the mail and right away I realized there was something wrong. First off, a typical mail day will be loaded with bills and threatening notes from people who used to be my friends. You know like the once really friendly people over at American Express, yeah, I guess they really didn't love me. Man, in the old days they'd send me little gifts- but they just dropped all pretense of late. Oh, and my old pals at the IRS, yeah they were only pretending to like me too. I feel so used, degraded and somehow, a little cheap. If that doesn't just show you who your real friends are, nothing will. Anyhow, back to the mail- there were no letter bombs, no strange white power leaking from the corners of the envelopes, there was just one single post card. It was from someone I knew years ago, but I'd managed to avoid since moving across state. You think you can hide, but somehow, someway, they manage to "sniff" you out. The card read that it was my "last chance". Last chance for what- right? Nothing gets me in a bad mood quicker (except when I run outta wine) then when someone tells me it is my last chance- final opportunity, blah,blah. So, back to the oversized post card, yeah, you guessed it, Weight Watchers was telling ME, that it was my final opportunity. Did they know something I didn't? Kinda made me look around to make sure no one was watching me stuff the card into the front seat of my car- right next to the bag of marshmallows, which was directly adjacent to the box of Rice Krispies. Imagine that, I was getting ready to make myself a "treat" and Weight Watchers stuffed their big fat face into my arena letting me know I was hanging by a thread. Well, I've got news for you WW, even with your final offer, I am just not budging. No, I've
had it with those meetings where you get in line and wait to get the bad news. The "counselor" glances at your current weight and then goes to open up your little card that you'd hidden so well in fear someone would find it and post it on Fbook, that you'd almost forgotten where you'd put it and then it hits you- you put it in a zip lock baggy filled with old meatloaf- no one was going there. Anyhow the counselor opens up that damp tri-fold card and lets out a little tsk, tsk. She looks up at you with her bright red lip stick, "Awe, honey, you had a bad week, now don't let that get you down and make you feel bad. A nine pound gain can happen and after all, you missed last weeks meeting, now don't you worry." Worry, I thought, this makes me wanna go pound some Cheetos. After all I'd sacrificed and I gained weight? Must be my thyroid...

Go Orange!

So, in my everlasting quest to someday be happy with my body- ha, I know shocking, I picked up a copy of Self magazine. On the cover it said, that "now is the time to take control of your body". I thought, why not now? Since every other aspect of my life is in chaos, maybe the fates are aligned and now for the first time in 35 plus years (yeah, I know, but I wasn't always a fat kid) I could do it.
I started with the recipe section, again, I know what you are thinking, but wait! While my thinking may be flawed, I thought that if I could find interesting, healthy recipes that I, as a cooking novice could master, maybe that would make a difference.
Well instead I opened to the perils of eating and cooking chicken-ugh! The article basically said that you are taking such a huge risk eating chicken that you might as well drink two bottles of wine and take a walk on 1-4 dressed all in black, at midnight. Now, I don't have any problem with drinking my share of wine, even at midnight and the wearing of all black, well refer back up to my 35 year plus battle mentioned above and you get the picture, but walking on 1-4? Are you crazy? I seldom even drive 1-4 anymore! No, I am not nuts. I have cleaned out my refridge and freezer of those offensive, once cute, fuzzy little chicks and decided I may die of a coronary, but I absolutley refuse to die from salmonella. My most recent trip to Publix found me with the latest copy of a juicy tabloid magazine, yeah, forget about magazines that make you THINK good, I want something that makes me FEEL good and a big bag of ORANGE...lest you think I have totally lost my mind in the produce isle...cheetos are people pleasers too and they are orange.