Author: Big Mama

I really can’t express how much I would rather eat a chocolate chip cookie than the orange I’m about to eat. In fact, I think I’m starting to have chocolate chip cookie hallucinations. The other night I saw a small Ziploc full of Quaker Oat Squares and for a moment it looked like a large cookie sitting on the kitchen counter. I almost pounced on it in my excitement. But it was Quaker Oat Squares.

And so I ate an orange.

And now I’m about to eat another orange.

I’ve eaten so many oranges over the last week that you may want to buy stock in some sort of Florida Orange Grower’s business. Not that such a thing even necessarily exists. I’m just trying to make a point. Get off me, I’m starving.

In the moments where I can hear my brain over my stomach I’m actually pretty pleased with my accomplishments. There were a few moments this weekend that tested my resolve, but I managed to meet my friend Melissa at a Mexican restaurant and only ate a handful of chips as opposed to the the two bowls I normally eat all by myself. And I ordered ceviche for my meal and only thought about taking off my boot and throwing it at the woman eating a bowl of queso at the next table a few times. That feels like a victory.

And then Saturday night Caroline and I went to eat Italian food with Mimi and Bops and I ordered the fish. Generally the only time I order fish is in the drive-thru at Long John Silver’s (Don’t judge me. Two piece fish and fries with malt vinegar sauce has been my weakness since the days when I still ate it while wearing one of those pirate hats made out of cardboard.) but fish seemed like a decent choice and I managed to stay away from the pasta. Sure, I cried bitter tears on the way home but I avoided the excessive carbs. I didn’t want to spend the night full of pasta and regret.

Last night I made a veggie frittata that my people and I actually really enjoyed. It was flavorful and easy and I may want to eat it every night from now on. Because what I’ve discovered is it’s so much easier to eat healthy when I’m at home and not at a restaurant hating people I’ve never met for all the delicious food they’re enjoying while I take small bites of my fish to make it last longer. Fish that has not been battered and deep fried and soaked in malt vinegar sauce the way God intended.

Caroline and I went over to Gulley’s on Saturday (P was hunting. I know this is shocking.) and Gulley and I talked at length about our healthy choices and eating apples and oranges. At one point her husband walked through the living room and said, “It’s like I don’t even know who y’all are.” And honestly, we don’t know who we are either, but having someone to commiserate with makes the whole experience so much better. Friends don’t let friends give up chocolate chip cookies alone.

The good news is I only have one more week that I’ll be this strict and then I’ll lighten up just a little bit. Maybe have a potato. Or six Cheetos. I haven’t really decided yet.

In other weekend news that is really much more interesting and exciting than my hunger pains, Caroline had a friend over on Saturday night. That’s not really the exciting part. But I made Caroline and her friend go watch T.V. in my bed because I could no longer ignore all the raves I keep hearing about the show Downton Abbey and was so excited to see it was on Netflix. (We can only watch Netflix in the living room. You don’t need to know this, but it explains why I wrote the sentence about the girls watching T.V. in my bed. In hindsight it probably would have been easier to just delete that sentence.)

As much as I’d heard about the show, I had no idea what it was about. In fact, I thought the name of the show was Downtown Abbey and assumed it must be about a group of nuns living in the big city. And given that preconceived notion, I was a little shocked that everyone loves it so much. I figured maybe it was like a modern day Mary Tyler Moore show, but with wacky, fun-loving nuns that were going to make it on their own in Chicago or something.

Well, it is not about nuns or a big city at all. It’s Downton Abbey and you really need to pronounce it with a proper British accent. Fortunately people compliment me on my British accent ALL THE TIME.

In case you’re like me and haven’t made the time to watch a show about nuns in the city, I’ll just tell you it’s actually a show about the wealthy Crawley family and their servants. And it’s set in England in 1912. That is very different than what I imagined.

But, y’all, it is so good. It took me a while to understand what they were saying because I don’t generally speak to many British aristocrats on a daily basis. I kept turning the volume up trying to hear better and thought about turning on the subtitles feature. Don’t get me wrong, the British accents are lovely. And I am not throwing stones at accents that are hard to understand, especially considering I once met a group of people who thought my younger sister’s name was “Jaime”(say that in your head like the Hispanic pronunciation) because they didn’t understand the way I pronounced “Amy”.

Anyway, I was hooked after the first episode and before I knew it I was on the fourth episode and it was way past my bedtime. But it made me so happy because there are few things I enjoy more than obsessively getting caught up with a newfound television love. (i.e. the summer I watched the entire first season of Alias in two days or last fall when I watched all of Veronica Mars in about a week or a month ago when I watched Army Wives without ceasing.)

So I’m on Episode 5 of Downton Abbey. The writing is brilliant and Maggie Smith as the Dowager Countess is unbelievable. And, best of all, Season two started Sunday night on PBS. That’s right. PBS. And when I set my DVR to record it, I was delighted to see that it’s actually under the heading “Masterpiece Theater”.

And somewhere in my head that makes me feel like I’m making up for all the brain cells I’ve lost watching various seasons of the Real Housewives.