Close your eyes and repeat, "Bacon is amazing."

I’m back on the wagon.

I’ve fallen off for quite some time now. I seem to have vaguely remembered making a previous statement about not turning into one of “those girls.” The ones who get completely comfortable in a relationship and pack on the pounds. I’m not there yet, but I feel like I’m teetering. It has nothing to do with getting “too comfortable” and everything to do with feeling too tired and stretched too thin, and wanting to comfort myself with pizza on the couch with my boyfriend. Or enjoying far too many fancy dinners out and not enough planned dinners in. Or staying at his house, which is a fat-kid factory—Doritos, Totino Party Pizzas, Mac ‘n’ Cheese, chocolate cake and ice cream—and a bacon, egg and waffle breakfast cooked every Saturday and Sunday morning.

Who knows. Tomato, Tamato. But, I’m back on the wagon.

Of course, when you’re a woman who’s fallen off the wagon, it takes precisely one day to decide everything that might be able to instantly solve your 5- to 10-pound problem. “I’m going to buy a yoga mat!” “Sign up for a new gym!” “Cut out carbs and sugar for two weeks!” “Start running again now that the weather is nice!” “Avoid all the candy and crap at work!” “Open my cookbooks again and make something!” “Buy the latest, stupidest diet craze book on the New York Times Bestseller List!”

If you’re me, you do all seven within a 24-hour period.

As I previously mentioned, I’ve been reading, “Skinny Bitch.” Usually I avoid these type of books like the plague because they’re mostly chocked full of common sense. And I abhor any sort of quick-fix diet that girls think will solve all their problems. (Such as the cleansing bullshit or cabbage soup thing.)

But for some reason I’m reading this damn book, and I really wish I wouldn’t have even started it. It has some really good stuff in it—like all those aspartame facts that I was just dying to read. But, it also has a lot of really gross details about why you shouldn’t be consuming meat or any animal products—even milk.

Some who’ve read the book call it, “Vegan propaganda.” But, whether it’s half-truths or whole truths, suddenly the prospect of meat is grossing me out. I was hoping to read this book to maybe curb my feelings of Hawaiian pizza on Friday nights, Taco Bell at 3 a.m. or the occasional Dick’s Deluxe. You know—just refocus my eating habits and reiterate that putting this kind of crap in your mouth does eventually add up. (It’s amazing that someone as intelligent as me has to spend $14.99 for a little dose of common sense.)

I didn’t buy this book so my stomach could turn every time I added ham or turkey bacon to my morning scramble, or chicken to my salads.

I mean, H-christ. All I think about is the slaughterhouse details I read on the bus this morning on my way to work.
The contaminated meat, piss, puke and fecal matter, slicing off a pig’s face and throwing salt on it, cutting off a cow’s head, hanging it up by a hook in it’s butt or boiling chickens—all while they’re each alive.

It’s enough to really kill a lifelong bacon craving, that’s for sure.

Currently Feeling: Sassy in my new fuchsia work dress and black trench!
Currently Anticipating: Leaving work at a decent time tonight.
Currently Hating: Cell phone companies—they really blow!