Summertime and the livin’ is busy

Love a party where you eat from a pile of food.

Well I feel gross.

The weekend took me down a little. Or rather, I let the weekend take me down. I have found myself back in my old pattern of ginormous weekend consumption followed by super strict eating and lots of exercise during the week to make up for it. And it’s only Monday. Sigh.

So, ok, yeah, I get it already, it’s summer time.

I don’t know about you, but I’m booked through July. No wait…August. Yep. There is an insurmountable mound of parties and projects before me and I’m going to tackle all of them. And this weekend, I realized, I’m gonna need a better plan.

On Saturday, I officially kicked off summer at the 5th annual Crawfish Boil hosted by friends, and attended by more friends than I knew I had. What’s this crawfish boil, you ask? It’s a party where they throw buckets of boiling crawfish onto a table and then you eat them. And then you drink beer and wait for the next batch of boiling hot crawdads to be dumped onto the table. Super fun. Last year I got big into the beer pong (if you don’t know what beer pong is, then you clearly were not in a fraternity in college in the 90’s or later), but this year it was all about the pie eating contest.

Yes. You heard me. The pie eating contest.

You guys, I really thought I was going to win the pie eating contest. I mean, I really thought I was going to win. How could I not? I can take down anything, right? I am a formerly fat girl. And if I have to live with my fat-brain, then the least I can do is be the best at having fat-brain and win a damn-ass eating contest. That fat-brain mentality took me down this weekend, but it wasn’t the pie eating contest that did it. Because I didn’t even come close. People told me later that it looked like I was taking dainty nibbles of crust. I thought my brilliant strategy of going crust first was going to win me the prize (was there even a prize?) until about 7 bites in when I realized I might puke. It was about at this moment when I also realized the 6 foot tall muscular man down the table from me was clearly going to win this contest and not I. So I licked my whipped cream and tried not to yak until he was declared the winner. And though I truly was shocked that I had not only lost the pie eating contest, but lost it big, I was also really excited that I didn’t win.  Because somehow that meant that I was officially a skinny girl. It’s a little crazy up here in my brain.

Eventually my fat-brain crazy prevailed.

The steamy dump.

But it wasn’t the Crawfish Boil with the keg of beer and the piles of food on the table that got me. First of all, crawfish (or “crayfish” as labels it) are very low in points (1 pt for 1/2 c of Crayfish). And once they are poured onto the table, you have to do the work yourself to get the meat out. Now, I don’t like to elbow people for food. It makes me feel like I’m waiting for  samples at Costco, like I’ve never tried a Hot Pocket before, and get out of my way little old Asian lady, because I must have that corner of said Hot Pocket in a crinkly white food cup. If I even got a spot at the crawfish-table, I still had to pull off the head of the crawfish, peel away its legs, and wipe the poop sack on a paper towel before I could put the tiny half-inch of shellfish into my mouth. I don’t do well with food that looks alive in the first place. I was once served a whole lobster in a very nice restaurant, only to require someone else to crack it and remove the meat because it’s eyes were looking at me. I swear they were looking at me. So the piles of lean protein (which, by the way, are dumped out along with mushrooms, potatoes and corn) weren’t exactly the problem.

It wasn’t the yummy red beans and rice made by my friend Anjali, or the tiny piece of butter cake (whatever that was, it was good) that I broke off, or the beer (I drank lots of water too) or the pie eating contest. It was the onion rings I had for dinner that night. And the nachos I had for lunch the next day. And the soft and squishy dates that I ate too much of last night.

It was my fat-brain. The same fat-brain that told me I could realistically win a pie eating contest. The fat-brain that said, “Whoo-hoo! It’s summer! Let’s throw caution to the wind and enjoy ourselves! I don’t need a plan! It’s summer!”

It’s the fat-brain I have to combat, not the pie.

It’s summer. There’s going to be a lot of parties. And whether I like it or not, I’m going to have to make more plans in regards to my mouth. Not just a plan for the party, but a plan for the meal after the party, and the day after the day after the party. I’m going to have to stay on top of it. My fat-brain does not like this. My fat-brain is currently throwing a temper tantrum because I don’t want to have to think so hard. But my fat-brain will get over it. Because if I had had a better plan for the rest of the weekend, I could’ve proudly said today that I had fun at a pie eating contest and I still feel good about myself.

Instead, I’m going to take a 2-hr hike and eat nothing but kale all day. Lesson learned. For now…

I am the worst pie eating competitor ever!


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