gobble gobble

In honor of Thanksgiving, I'd thought I'd share this gorgeous wedding board designed by Tastefully Entertaining. If The Fiancé wasn't convinced Fall was the season of death, I very well could be getting married this month [seven months is enough time to plan a wedding, no?]. But what am I thankful for? The ability to pig out instead! [Okay, and a few other things...]

Have a happy, healthy and restful holiday, everyone - see you on the other side.

bear market or bear blanket?

The Fiancé and I are shopping for a home together right now. We can't decide whether to buy or rent. The irony is how difficult this decision - whether to buy, what to buy, where to buy - has become, when viewed in contrast to the decision to marry each other. The Fiancé actually gets the credit for pointing this out. According to him, "I guess I should feel good that I'm way more torn about whether to buy than whether we should get married."

Ummm.... YEAH... Anyway.

I, for one, am not that perplexed about the real estate decision [I mean, I am, but at the end of the day we'll live with whatever choice we make]. More critical to me, is the decorating decisions that shall follow.

You see, The Fiancé and I don't technically live together yet. We each have a fully furnished apartment. Which means that in no small amount of time, we have to blend. Not just lives, but furniture. And, more frightening to me: We have to agree on a design aesthetic. [What? This doesn't keep You up at night?!] Maybe some people don't worry about this. They. Are not me.

Because, Dear Readers, let's look at the evidence... During the recent election, The Fiancé proclaimed that this was the coolest couch ever:

As if that's not enough, it's important for You to understand one thing about our differing personalities: I, like to update, redecorate, buy new. Often.

The Fiancé? Likes to keep things forever. So, while I may buy a lovely couch and tire of it in 5-7 years, The Fiancé and his beloved taxidermy?! Yeah, we might have that forever. See why I lay awake at night?

to be or not to be?

So I bought this dress recently from BCBG, thinking it was a rehearsal dinner contender... And it arrived... and it's cute... but it is not right for the rehearsal. First of all, it's yellow. And yes, I knew this when I bought it. But I thought, "oh maybe..." But my colors are green and black. Not yellow. And I don't think I want to be yellow at my rehearsal dinner afterall, regardless of the prettiness of the frock. But I still think I like the dress. Not love. Like. And in this economy, should I keep a dress I like, not love, for an unknown event? It might be good for the wedding of a friend in the Spring. But it's a silk/wool blend, so it needs to be a brisk day when I wear it, lest I itch my stomach off.

Thus, I need your votes - to keep, or not to keep... that is the question... And if "to keep," then for what, pray tell?

(front)
(back)

Vote in the comments section...

WEEEEEEEEEEE!

I want a wii Fit. 'Nough said. This is me hoola-hooping to my heart's content if I get one:
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

dear so-and-so

Amy Jean over at The Relentless Bride provided one of the most helpful posts (I think) here and I'm reposting, because (1) I'm a lazy blogger today... [which translates to a busy attorney]; and (2) this way I selfishly can store this information for myself for later use... Hope other brides find it as helpful as I do! Thanks TRB!

morning delight

I heart Etsy.

I can no longer recall when I stumbled across this site-better-known-as-bliss, but it had to be some time during this Wedding Saga. A variety of blogs cite to Etsy as a source of all things unique, handmade, beautiful. My real obsession over Etzy stems from the fact that it far exceeds wedding-related items. There are a ton of interesting new clothing designers. Today, the featured seller - larimeloom - is re-donk-u-lous. Her stuff is striking its its creativity. Check her out. But don't buy up everything - leave a few peices for me...

*gasp* this last piece... wow. I want.

busted

There's a little shoe shine/shoe repair shop right by the train stop I disembark from every morning. I've walked by it almost every weekday for almost two years. Today, I actually went inside for the first time. My mission: to see if they could repair a beloved pair of boots whose zipper has lost their way.

This, my friends, is momentous. See, in years of old, I would have simply discarded the boots and bought new ones. It was hard to justify in this instance, however, because the boots are relatively unscathed, save the errant zipper. And I really like them. I am trying to be more "green." You know: reuse, recycle, some-other-"r"-I-can't-remember...? So I figured why discard when I can repair?

There was this darling little man behind the counter, who treated my patent leather stiletto boot as if it was an objet d'art [...I sort of agree...] He picked it up so gently, turned it around, thumbed over the zipper, nodded appraisingly... And declared it would be no problem to fix before Thanksgiving [What, you don't wear stilettos to Turkey Dinner?]

I smiled appreciatively, my heart filled with warmth at the ease of this transaction and the vision of my soon-to-be-just-like-new-boot.

Till he said, "Thirty dollars."

Wh-what?! He was joking, right? Thirty bucks for a new zipper?! Mother effer.

For thirty dollars, I could do some damage at DSW! For thirty dollars, I could make a whole new boot myself.

Oy.

Too bad I like those boots... I honestly stood there for a moment. Paralyzed. Looking at my reflection in the beautiful patent leather...

"O-kay..." I said tentatively. It's just $30, right?

Next time, however, I'm just gonna discard, demand new, and say damn it. That's my three letter resolution. I never was very "green" anyway.

snip snip tuck

Yesterday was one of my bosses' birthdays. [I work in a law firm, as an associate. Thus, I have a lot of bosses]. In celebration of his birth, his assistant provided a feast of calories [otherwise known as cookies and brownies and snack mix and candy and fruity bread oh my]. Aside from the one mini-pack of Sweet Tarts I snagged, I managed to walk by this caloric spread 20,000 times yesterday without deviation [his office is near mine; his assistant's spread was placed just steps from my door...] and I. was. so. proud. of. myself.

Then. Today, I come to work, only to discover she has placed the leftovers back out again. As if having to walk by temptation for 10 straight hours yesterday wasn't enough?! Who does she think I am? Gandhi!?! Oy. I can hardly stand to get a glass of water today and risk walking by the sweets and salt and yumminess... I swear those day-old brownies ARE TALKING TO ME. Temptation is a cruel cruel guest.

On a related note, last night I asked The Fiancé if I could have plastic surgery...someday. Just a tummy tuck; we're not talking facial reconstruction here. The thought occurred [not for the first time] when I was in the locker room at my gym, having just completed my obligatory strength routine, followed by a 4.5 mile run [go me!]. I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I attempted to regain normal-coloring in my face [in other words, I prayed the bright red face would diminish so I wouldn't look like I was about to have a heart attack...] Despite the punishment I'd just inflicted on my body and the countless calories I'd surely burned, my stomach refused to accurately reflect what I think it should look like. Yet, a thought occurred to me: this is the best it's gonna get. I'm at my lowest body-fat-percentage since my college soccer-playing days... I am shirking evil-brownies-who-are-calling-my-name... and still there is that stomach staring back at me, mocking the crunches I inflict upon it. Clearly age and children are not going to make this situation better... Thus, my inquiry to The Fiancé: tummy tuck maybe?!

Being the astute man he is, he conceded the decision is mine. Then outlined the reasons for my absurdity and even managed to inflict a good dose of Catholic guilt ("Why would you risk something so unnecessary?")

Did I mention I'm an attorney? I remind You of this as an explanation for how and why I was able to quickly digest and discard his arguments. Until he stumbled across something I hadn't considered: I am more obsessed with my physique lately simply because of the amount of time I'm spending focused on it in my quest to obtain 30-year-old perfection. When, by contrast, I've spent my time in less healthful endeavors (sitting on couch, eating cookies, etc...) as a matter of course, I've hardly cared what my stomach looks like. (And, bless his little heart, he claimed he loves both versions of me- the slob and the obsessor).

Which begs the question: maybe I just shouldn't work out at all. Then I'd be satisfied... maybe even happy... with the mirror's imperfect reflection...

Now about those brownies...

ugh!

I used to think they were hideous and could not understand why anyone would trouble to wear them. Then, in a fit of conformity, I tried a pair on. And suddenly, I got it. It had nothing to do with their inelegance. The fact of the matter was, they were the bloodiest damn things I'd ever put on my feet. And thus, my love affair with Uggs began.

I've even gone so far as to buy my mother a pair.

And while I've only bought three pairs for myself, I can't help but dream of a new pair each year, when the temperature dips below thirty [read: right now], and snow flurries flitter through the sky [read: during my walk home last night].

I can count on one hand the number of things I like about Chicago in the winter. One of them, however, is the ability...dare I say, the necessity ... that one wear Uggs. And though I bought a pair last March [end of year sale, my friends], I can't help but want to run out and buy a new pair this weekend... I mean, us Chicagoans should get something for our wind-burned troubles, no?

Besides, the Uggs of today are a far cry from the Uggs of old.... Today's Uggs are actually cute. That picture? Can You believe it... Is the latest pair of Uggs. UGH!

Boot credit: The Raya by Ugg. Mmmm....

love is patient, love is kind

Before seeing this picture, I'd never heard of the Wayfarer’s Chapel, which sits on the cliffs above the ocean in Los Angeles. The engraved stairs leading up to the alter are breathtaking... if You're in to that sort of thing [which I am].

I love places of worship that introduce unique and novel ways to inspire. This particular photo, in this particular setting, both subtly and impactfully remind me what love and faith, and a wedding (at least our wedding), are really all about.

Source: Photography by Lisa + James

It is difficult to plan a wedding that avoids all the usual clichés and stereotypes. I was speaking with my friends this weekend about whether or not to use First Corinthians, Chapter 13, as one of our readings... I love the reading, but feel as though its message has lost its novelty by overuse in every wedding I've attended the past ten years. Maybe that's just me.

This picture reminds me that there is a beauty in reinvention of what we know and are used to. The challenge is figuring how to incorporate familiar elements into a wedding ceremony in a way that manges to be familiar, but avoids being a cliché... Though, I don't suppose our church will permit engraving "Love is patient..." into its 137-year-old alter, huh?

skinny jeans

Something very exciting is happening today, as You read.

I, am wearing my very first pair of Seven jeans, purchased circa 2000. I still remember when I bought them, when it was considered insane to spend over $100 on jeans. My, how times have changed...

They are eight years old, and I love them. And they are roughly two sizes smaller than the Joe's Jeans and the Rock & Republic jeans I've purchased this year [I heart designer jeans...and rather speedily got over my hesitation about their ridiculous price tags...I mean, what object of Your wardrobe do You wear the most?!].

And here's the important note: They fit. Again. They are not snug. They're pretty darn cute actually. Did I mention they are eight years old and two sizes down?

This whole working out thing is fan-friggin-tastic. I love my jeans.

(And, no the picture is not of me, it's of a Nordstrom's model. My butt looks better.)

musings

Last night when he arrived home, one of the first things out of The Fiancé's mouth was "So what's this deal with Jennifer Aniston saying something about Angelina Jolie?"

With the exception of our mutual love of The Hills, it's safe to say I am the celebrity gossip whore, whereas The Fiancé, by contrast, would rather spend his time studying the macroeconomics of developing nations.

Thus, upon his inquiry (literally five minutes after opening the door!), two things were reinforced in my heart: (1) I love him; and (2) The fact that this tidbit of celebrity gossip has penetrated his pop-culture awareness means this. is. really. big. news.

And, upon further reflection (I had a long ride on the train this morning...), I've concluded that it should be. I, for one, entirely agree with Ms. Aniston. The poor dear had her man stolen right out from under her, and if that weren't enough, she has to see him parade his brood of children around the world with his new love on every magazine, and, has to read about how he fell in love...with someone else... while he was still married to her! ["Uncool" is not the first word that comes to my mind...]

I recall reading (years ago...) that Brad and Jen (when they were married) said something about not believing that any relationship is meant to last forever. In their [humble, yet studied] opinion, one should just enjoy the moment, for time and love and sentiments can change. They didn't know if they'd be together forever. But they figured they were meant for each other at that particular time in their lives.

Hmm.

I've been around long enough to know that everyone does, and everyone should, have differing opinions on romantic love. Nonetheless, I can say that I am thankful for two things: One, that I have found someone who is as scandalized by this very public conversation between Jen and Angie as I am, largely because of his (and thus, our) opinions on love; and

Two, and more importantly, that I have found someone that shares my belief that there is such a thing as a soul mate. And when you find them, you promise to each other to not only love one another for the particular time period, but interminably into the future.

in my other life I'm a personal trainer

I am an avid devotee of Real Simple. Today their topics made me especially excited - they posted a few videos of quick and easy workouts to do at home - that only take 15 minutes! Now, I love to exercise as much as the next gal (she likes to, right?), but sometimes there's. just. no. time. between lawyering and blogging and pre-cana'ing and living, etc.

These routines look interesting and doable - I'm excited to try them, though, I confess, I am a visual learner, and I wish Real Simple offered a link to where you could print out pix of the exercises to follow along with while you workout...



There's also a How To: Do a 5-Minute Workout if fifteen minutes is just too tiring...

are You kidding me?!?!

Favorite. Bridal. Photo. Ever.

Thank you, Lillian & Leonard (again).

This manages to encompass beauty, love, style, expediency, tenderness, light (...of spirit, and of physicality). In short, it is everything I would want to shoot if I were an artist. Wow.

why shoes are important.

" Fashion can be bought. Style one must possess. "

— Edna Woolman Chase

Which is why I have determined that the bride who wore these is a friggin' style diva. All images are courtesy of the talented eye of Marie Labbancz and came via her blog, Art of Love.

fetish?

There's a place for people like me.

It's called the shoe asylum.

I. just. can't. leave. well. enough. alone.

Despite having found the perfect green shoe, I haven't managed to stop searching for the perfect designer wedding day shoe.

Till maybe today. Around 3:00. When I found these (they kind of fell into my lap... after typing "search" and "perfect" into Bluefly.com).

Granted, they are not these, but then again, they do appear to be a bit more, shall we say, wearable... And I plan to wear them for one very long day. And do a wee bit of dancing. And did I mention I have a bad knee? And a bum ankle? Making 4 1/2 inch heels sadly less appealing when strapped to me.

Anyway. They're on their way. To me, that is. To try on. And maybe not ever take off.

what's that They say about hindsight...

The Fiancé came home tonight and asked me if I felt "used" in light of the most recent post...

And I realized...

...AHH! The horror!!! I do!

Ouch. Can I delete it?!

Too late.

Let's just hope some new visitors stop by because of it! Ahh, the incestuous world of blogging and the things we do to be a part of it. I suppose deleting it would defy some code that I don't know about.

Anyway.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Tomorrow night: We return to the scene...Pre Cana meeting, part deux! Stay tuned!

i've been tagged...

...by Engaged and Enraged at I Hate Planning My Wedding!

First, here are the rules I must follow for being tagged:
1. Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by including links to their blog.
4. Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog!

About Me! I,
1. hate mushrooms.
2. find the Economist oddly entertaining.
3. want to hike Mt. Kilimanjaro, despite what The Fiancé thinks.
4. am terrified of spiders...especially ones with hair.
5. visited the Galapagos Islands by boat...a little tiny boat (think: capsizable), in the big bad ocean.
6. swam with sea lions during 5.
7. wonder every day if I chose the right career. Doesn't everyone?!

Now, I tag:
1. Polka Dot Bride
2. My Name is on the Invite Too
3. A Lovely Morning
4. Perfect Bound
5. The Preppy Wedding
6. An Atlanta Bride
7. Soon to be Mrs. Gentry!

I apologize profusely in advance if any of the above have already been tagged (I could only search so much through your blog to verify...)

And, it appears that Engaged & Enraged also nominated me for an "Uber Amazing Blog Award" too! Here is the information for that one: The Uber (AKA Super) Amazing Blog Award is a blog award given to sites who:
Inspire you...
Make you smile and laugh...
Or maybe gives amazing information...
A great read...
Has an amazing design...
And any other reason you can think of that makes them uber amazing!

The rules of the award are:
1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate a minimum of 5 blogs.
3. Let them know they received this award by commenting on their blog.
4. Share the love and link to this post and the person you received your award from.

Thus, I hereby nominate the blogs linked above for this little ditty as well!!

Now, I'm off to comment on the blogs I've nominated... I hope you enjoy checking them out! Please leave a comment if you have other blogs that I (or my readers) should check out. Cheers!

registry take two

Friday night, The Fiancé and I took crack number two at registering for gifts (yep, folks, get engaged and this too can be Your Friday night!). This time we headed to Macy's. Which. Was. Overwhelming.

I thought Crate & Barrel was hard?! It doesn't hold a candle to the Macy's on State Street here in Chicago (a/k/a the second largest department store in the world). The store spans an entire city block and shoots up several stories into the air. I thought this would make it a great place to register, given the amount of options.

Big mistake.

Over 450 patterns of crystal and china = no idea where to go first. The Fiancé and I literally wandered around with our scanner-gun for an hour before we made our first click (on an electric can opener, after I bemoaned, "Just click something!")

I don't recall the details of what we registered for. I do recall wishing desperately for my mother at some point. I think that was in the pots-and-pans section. I don't even know what "Anodized" is, much less if I need it. And why are there SO MANY POTS AND PANS to choose from?!

I remember there were several moments of sheer terror (on my part). The Fiancé kept telling me how much he loved me, as if I was undergoing some sort of adverse medical procedure just by being in Macy's. I'm not entirely sure why I hate registering so much, considering how much I love to shop otherwise. It is perplexing, and inexplicable.

Like most things in my life that I don't like to do (clean the bathroom, grocery shop), I wondered who I could delegate this task of registering to ... Unfortunately, I don't think my cleaning lady or Peapod can be persuaded to take this task on for me. I'm holding out hope that my mother will help guide us when we show her our dismantled list. *fingers crossed* Yes, I realize the absurdity of a 30-year-old woman needing her mother's help. I'm over it. And fine with it.

Beyond the pots and pans, there was the inevitable dispute about how much is too much to expect guests to spend? The Fiancé thinks $10.00 pans are fine. I think: These are meant to last us our whole lives; I am not, I repeat, not, doing this ever again, so these bloody pans better withstand World War III and therefore should cost a bit more... *sigh*

Ironically, in the knives section, The Fiancé was okay registering for a $600.00 block set, while I thought the $199 version was just fine. I suppose this contradiction shouldn't surprise me.

Meandering over to the bedding section, it became glaringly clear that The Fiancé's and my aesthetic is very. very. different. He thought a certain bedding collection was perfect for our room - it involved florals and pastels and some sort of quilting. I'd post a picture but I have desperately tried to destroy the vision in my mind and can't bear to look it up. I just remember seeing it, and thinking no no no no. eww. eww. eww. A thousand times over eww. I shudder to think The Fiancé thought this was remotely related to anything I would put in our home. *sigh*

Thankfully, we eventually compromised on one thing: registering is hard and should be done in small doses. Maybe next time with alcohol. So we eventually left the biggest-scariest-store-ever (once we figured out where the door was... If You've ever been to this particular Macy's, You appreciate that it is not self-evident...We were like two little rats in a maze, smelling the cheese but unable to find it...We ran into the same obscure elevator bank twice...and I could never seem to find a bathroom...it was scary, I tell You. Scary.) and had a nice dinner (with lots of wine) instead.

i wish i was a size 12

Why would I want to go several dress dress sizes UP, You might ask? ...So I could buy this little beauty from BCBG to wear at our rehearsal dinner... Size 12 is the only size remaining, and I am so. so. sad. It's perfect. Glamorous. Sophisticated. Mature. Perfect to go from church to dinner and exude that party mood. *Sigh* Maybe I should just eat more cookie dough ice cream after all so I can wear it?

on the road to post cana

Last night The Fiancé and I had our first Pre Cana meeting. According to Wikipedia [because it is the source of all my information, and because The Church neglected to tell us], "Pre-Cana is a course or consultation Catholic couples must undergo before they can be married in a Catholic church. The name is derived from John 2:1-12, the wedding feast at Cana in Galilee, where Jesus performed the miracle of turning water into wine."

But enough about the Bible. It's not as if us Catholics read it anyway.

For Pre Cana, we had our choice of giving up [I mean, spending] an entire Saturday at a random church in the boondocks, or attending four week-night sessions at the home of a host couple in our lovely neighborhood. We chose the latter. Whether this was wise or naive is yet to be determined.

The day started out with me already fearful that The Fiancé would be late. This was not without justification, mind You. For our first marriage preparation informational meeting at the church we attend, he was late. He says five minutes. I say twenty. It was somewhere in between. Regardless, for at least ten [because I can assure You, it was more than five], fifteen or twenty minutes, I was the only single person sitting in a sea of couples clutching each other as if they were about to fall into the Catholic abyss. When I signed in, the church lady at the desk looked perplexed and confused, as if I didn't understand English when she asked what I was there for. A quick flash of my left hand was lost on her. Upon being seated in the church sanctuary amidst the sea-of-couples-clutching-each-other, I felt as if there was a bright, hot, uncomfortable beacon of light shining down on me, illuminating my singular-ness. It was like being the only single girl at the prom. Only worse. Much. Much. Worse.

Anyway.

This is all a precursor to why I was apprehensive about our first Pre Cana meeting and what I was sure would be my imminent arrival sans The Fiancé. Thankfully, he made it home from work on time [...It may have had something to do with my fit in the morning about how we should just scrap the whole thing (the Pre Cana, not the wedding) if attending meetings on the preparation of our marriage were too difficult to be on time to.... but um... I'm sure his timeliness was just good fortune...].

The meeting was two parts awkward, one part interesting. I find it awkward and unnatural to discuss relationship conflict resolution, family planning and finances with complete strangers. Then again, we generally don't discuss that stuff at dinner parties with our closest friends either. Maybe we should - it could be enlightening.

The one part interesting stems from the voyeuristic opportunity that Pre Cana unwittingly provides. For two hours, we heard about the way other couples interact and handle various issues. I wish I could tell You the examples of things we heard, but alas, that would be breaking Rule #1 of Pre Cana: What happens in Pre Cana, stays in Pre Cana... for the obvious reason to avoid it being blogged about by some silly bride the next day, I presume. [To confess, I wrote an entire witty entry deliciously summarizing the best comments made last night...then I remembered Rule #1 and had to delete the whole thing. I can assure You it was hilariously funny and brilliantly written.]

When driving home, I bemoaned the lack of liquid courage [aka booze] at the meeting... The Fiancé brightly pointed out all the reasons this would be a bad idea, not the least of which being, the potential for one of us to get loose lips and share something we shouldn't with a strange crowd...

I'm sure he was referring to himself, not me.

love is

...when The Fiancé leaned over and said "I love you," when President-elect Barack Obama called Michelle "my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life" during his emotional speech before an estimated crowd of 240,000 people in our home town.

You see, The Fiancé and I are on different sides of the political fence, most of the time. This added a complexity to last night that made the results somewhat bittersweet. But, believe it or not, our political differences do not mean our values are fundamentally at odds with each other. It is our shared values that brought us to where we are. My hope today? That more people appreciate how much we really have in common, on this, The Day After.

photo source: People

this post is not about what you think it is

...But since this Blog purports to be loosely about "style"... I must confess: Michelle Obama?! I have such high hopes for this fashionista, but what. was. that. dress. last night?! Accents in all the wrong places... oy vey. I am so looking forward to her fashion choices over the next several years...but this is not the way I envisioned her starting it out.

*Hmmpff*

See, You thought I was going to go all political on You.

Nope.


UPDATE: Check out the Chicago Tribune's summary of this unfortunate fashion incident here.

remember why today is a big deal

" Democracy is…the conviction that there are extraordinary possibilities in ordinary people. "

— Harry Emerson Fosdick

food as enemy #1

So, I'm trying to be healthy this week. Well, I'm trying to be healthier as a matter of course, but this week in particular because on Saturday (seven days from today), I have a weigh in at my personal trainer's. No, I am not the next welterweight champion. I'm just a bride, trying to get in shape [with the help of an extravagant but priceless - if one can be both - assistant, i.e., the personal trainer). If I were self-motivated, I would not have to pay some one to tell me to work out more and eat less. But. I am not. So those in desperate times must take desperate measures.

All that being said, the experience has been a good one. I do feel better. I can run 40 minutes without being short of breath, and power through 20 push-ups (the real kind, not the girlie-on-your-knees-kind) without too much effort. I've changed gyms to one that's a mere block from my office and therefore unable to avoid. I've bought a bosu. Yep, my very own. And PowerBlock weights. And a jump rope (which, I confess, sadly I actually didn't really know how to use four months ago... that whole both-feet-off-the-ground-at-once thing was troubling...but the obstacle was surmountable and now I'm a jumping whiz...for 30 seconds at a time or so...) And, more importantly, I actually use all of the above several times a week. Yes, this surprises even me.

The harder thing, for me, is not the exercise, it's the eating. Try as I might to be a better eater, I find the task not just daunting, but outright impossible. As part of this Weigh In '08, the trainer provided me and my work out buddy [read: friend I roped into doing this with me] with logs to record what we eat each day. I've done this before, and I get it. When forced to write something down, You're forced to think about it. Do You really want to eat that cookie when You have to tell someone else about it? In theory, it works for me, for a time. That time [that it utterly ceases to work] is from about 6:30 p.m. to 10:00 p.m.... during which, I suddenly become incapable of ceasing the mad devouring of food... the log becomes a litany of snacks, adding up into one huge tummy ache and a feeling of defeat. My typical daily log reads something like this:

7:00 a.m. - oatmeal [I am so healthy! Yeah, me!]

8:00 - coffee [must have addiction... it's fat free]

9:50 - granola bar [still on a roll...]

11:30 - handful of almonds [so, I can have as many of these as I want, right?]

12:30 - soup & half-sandwich [I miss pizza.]

2:45 - box of raisins and some more almonds [healthy healthy healthy]

5:00 - apple [yum. *sarcasm*]

6-7:00 - Work-out [I rock.]

7:30 - salad w/grilled chicken [still on work-out high]

8:00 - pretzels w/hummus [damn, salad did not satisfy...]

8:15 - bowl of Special K [still just a little bit hungry...]

8:25 - grapes [must. fight. hungry. feeling.]

8:35 - Halloween candy [WILL THIS HUNGER NEVER CEASE?!?!]

8:45 - cookie dough ice cream... [screw it, I worked out today]

9:30 - glass of red wine [I am never going to overcome my inner calorie demons]

10:00 - glass of Bailey's Irish cream [oh, You're having one, Honey? Okay, I will too...]

ARGH! And thus the cycle repeats itself. Every day. And I wonder why I just can't reach that picture I've drawn in my mind of what I could look like, if only I were better able to fight the Food Demons that live in my pantry. Does anyone else wage this same battle with The Evil Pantry?!

On that note, I better go for a run now... to offset the calorie intake I'm sure will ensue later today...