So this is my first week off from school and I am dizzy from trying to figure out what to do with all of the time I had previously spent studying. Apparently the decision had already been made for me over the Thanksgiving holiday because when I went to put on my jeans Tuesday morning, they seem to have shrunk in the closet. WTF? Oh wait, I know. Must have been that Ben and Jerry’s/pumpkin pie with “Cool HWhip“ (you have to watch the whole thing!)/rum balls/chocolate chip cookies with walnuts/coffee with pumpkin pie spice creamer or maybe that extra helping on sauteed spinach I had. Plus, for some reason when the holiday season hits, I turn into Betty Crocker/Paula Deen and start baking and cooking like I’m in contention for Top Chef. Seriously. I’ve made rum balls, two different kinds of chocolate chip cookies, homemade meatballs and tomato sauce, roasted corn and garlic potato soup. No chef worth their salt wouldn’t taste their creations as they go, right?

I know, I know, it’s not like I don’t really know how that happened. Anyhoodle, the bottom line is this bottom ain’t fitting in the jeans. I swear, I’ve been singing this song for as long as I can remember, but more to the point, seems like the free time has now become gym time.

Truth be told, I like going to the gym. I like working out and feeling strong. I get kind of pumped when I’m doing the assisted chin ups/dips (yeah, emphasis on the assisted) and see my triceps bulge like a ‘roided up bodybuilder. I get my playlist in my iPod going and before I know it, it’s time to start the cooldown. Of course, by the time I leave the gym, I’m dying for something good to eat. I’ve started bringing an apple, extra water, maybe a Fiber One bar (eat at your own risk) to munch on and I do pretty well throughout the day. Then, dinner time hits and I am like the Tazmanian Devil at an All-You-Can-Scarf buffet. It’s like a hole opens in my stomach so that anything I put in my mouth goes straight from my throat through the stomach and into the wooden leg I seemingly have acquired. And me being short-waisted and only 5’3″, you’d think the leg would fill up quickly. *sigh*

I refuse to turn myself in to WW again — unless LibbY does it with me because misery loves company. Maybe I should since LibbY found an ad with me in it — if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. I’m resolving to get it together and get those jeans back on sans the muffin top. Mmmmm, muffins. . . .