Grillin'

All is well again.

I gots me a Weber Q200 grill! Then I gots me $100 worth of meat at Costco!! Rib eye, babyback ribs, skirt steak, drumsticks, sausages...

I wanna invite Ron Swanson over. We'd have ourselves a MeatFeast!
Alright, gotta go. Can't talk...Eating!

You Really Got Me Now

There's something freeing about admitting that I am in an abusive relationship. Sometimes Food abuses me, but mostly I am the one afflicting the abuse. Either way, we have come to an understanding. I may throw tantrums, I may threaten to go on a hunger strike, I may run into the arms of Vodka. (Incidentally, love this title: Are you there, Vodka? It's me, Chelsea.) In the end, I come crawling back and Food knows just how to comfort me.

Now that my unhealthy relationship is out in the open, here's another confession. It may not come as a surprise to you...I'm a closet eater. But I'm a controlled closet eater. I know there is no such thing, just let me live in my dream world. I can't help it. The Fat Girl Inside screams "Feed me!" like Audrey II and it must be obeyed.

I am that Fat Girl who cuts a pat of butter and licks it off the knife. Then goes back for more. I am that Fat Girl who eats a dozen glazed Krispy Kreme donuts. I am that Fat Girl who eats half a Costco-sized bag of King's Hawaiian sweet rolls. I am that Fat Girl who eats the leftovers as soon as I get home.

Sometimes I shed a tear, other times I'm too deep in my food coma to care. Sometimes I hate Food, other times I hate The Fat Girl Inside. But all of the time, I continue to think about and long for Food.