Day One, Part One

Look at me! I took a shower, I am wearing real pants (not pajamas), and I am in a coffeeshop, AKA the Real World. I'm not bawling like a baby in a dark corner somewhere! Also, I am eating the fattiest scone ever conceived by the mind of man and drinking a Monkeytail, which is a 4-shot Mexican mocha.

Look!

SO EFFING GOOD

This is the place I used to go all the time when I was alone in Boise with Charlie, back when he was a tiny little infant. Six months of solitude, that was. Hard.

Anyway. Coming back to Boise is strange. Like I said, I thought that the time I was here without Dust was more like two months until we talked about it a few weeks ago. It was a hazy time. Coming back did give me that familiar feeling of "Me Against the World," though. Which... well, I mean I guess it's better than "Everyone Against Me." Or "Overwhelmed and Unable to Cope."

SIGH THIS IS GETTING ME NOWHERE.

Anyway, I am going to finish this shit, or at least try to eat some of it, and then go walk around stores for a little bit, until I can be alone with my thoughts again.

Make a Run for the Border

I am 100% unashamed to admit that one of my absolute most favorite foods on the entire planet of Earth is a Crunchy Supreme Taco from Taco Bell.

I have never had one with this many tomatoes.

I KNOW! The wafer-thin taco shell! The indistinguishable "beef product," spiced just enough to remind you of enchilada sauce that you know it is supposed to be an American interpretation of Mexican food. The cursory shreds of nutritionally-vacuous iceberg lettuce! The strangely dusty shreds of American cheese (oh the irony!)! The slathering of sour cream, the four morsels of pale pink tomato! Not to mention the rusty orange trail of grease that snakes down your arms, pooling in the bottom of the tortilla shell if it is not devoured within exactly 2.5 minutes of manufacture! And the vaguely vinegary HOT SAUCE, squeezed out of little foil packets onto the taco as you drive down the road!

Holy mother of mercy. These things are so incredibly delicious that I think my salivary glands are going to malfunction if I don't get a stick of gum or something. Hang on.

OK. So for real, though. Taco bell Crunchy Supreme tacos. When I go to the drive through, I order more of them than most deem appropriate. I remember the first time I went there with my then-boyfriend, now-husband. He asked me what I wanted, and I paused for a second before saying, "Um, I guess... six crunchy supreme tacos." And his eyes bugged out from his head a little bit, and he said "WHAT." And I said, "Yeah, no, better make it eight." This was massively cut back from the number I wanted to say, which probably would have given him a straight-up coronary on the spot, and that would have been the end of that relationship.

This is what they actually look like. NOMNOMNOM GET IN MY MOUTH

I try, now, never to order more than four. Well, OK, five. And usually I will try to get someone else in the car to order more than they actually want, "Because you never know if you're going to be extra hungry, and what if we are ten miles down the road and all you want is one more taco, and we can't come back? It's only $1.29. It's worth it to get an extra just in case." And then I take their extra one, because OF COURSE they didn't want another one, most people can't even stomach three of these things.

I don't know, maybe my stomach is made of iron, a little bit. Something about those tasty little morsels calls to me, though. Whenever I go to a town that has a Taco Bell, I make a belabored point of getting my tacos.

SO! Tomorrow, we are going to Twin Falls, the city that is home to the nearest Target. It is about 70 miles away, or something. I am not good with distances. It takes a little over an hour to get there. BUT! There is a Taco Bell in Twin.

Tomorrow, however, is going to be a sad day. I am still on this CUNTPUNTER of a diet, so I can't eat six tacos with a combined caloric content of 13409283325098, 4250923458 of those calories from saturated fat. So I am driving OVER AN HOUR to a place that I visit maybe FOUR TIMES A YEAR, and I am MISSING my chance to gorge myself on tacos.

I am almost literally depressed about this. I am literally sad. Like, I kind of don't want to go, just because I don't want to have to drive by the Taco Bell without stopping. It is going to be all I can think of tomorrow.

FUCKING FUCK GUEWIOFHW:?IGH WOIGHWEGF"OIHFUCK.

I had better be smoking hot by Christmas, or my Christmas present to myself is going to be a 24-pack. Of tacos.

Thanks to Google, I found this. I am torn between horror and understanding.

Work It, Baby

So this is how I usually try to lose weight.

1. Plan some sort of diet when none of my clothes are fitting.
2. Get sick of waiting for all of my diet planning to be done, set a date.
3. Miss deadline for starting.
4. Start the next day.
5. Workout so vigorously that I can barely tie my shoes.
6. Tell everyone about my new workout/diet program later that day.
7. Never workout again, eat pizza that night.

So I was going to come in here and complain about how I almost died today lifting for the first time in a YEAR, and how hard core I am for being a motherfucking champion beast when it comes to losing weight, but that does not seem to have worked out so well for me in the past.

Instead I am just going to say that I am bodily tired. That driving was nearly hazardous, as lifting my leg off of the gas pedal required near-Herculean effort. And that if I do end up not posting for the next few days, the most likely explanation is that I died and the Lunges were the ones that killed me.