I’ve always been an eater. I eat like a good Italian girl should. Pizza, pasta, cheeses, vino, … the list goes on. Unfortunately, eating [like crap] makes it difficult to keep a decent figure once you’re 30+ even if you work-out. And a decent figure will satisfy me, I guess, but I read wayyy too many gossip magazines, and I wanna look like Jessica Alba,,,,or my current celeb crush Mila Kunis!
What I don’t want to be is a frumpy 30-something mom – which speaking of 30-something, this a total side note – but I discovered this amazeballs blog (oh double side note,,,,um… ‘amazeballs’ apparently is on the list of words to be banished in 2012, wtf, I just started using this word?!?).
Sorry,,,back to the amazeballs blog. I randomly discovered this blog Thirty-Something Fashion and LOVE it! So check it out if you have a chance! Carly is one hot mom! 😉
So, anyways, normally I try to eat fairly healthy by eating five small meals throughout the day and drinking lots of water, but I do drink my wine and occasionally splurge in moderation. That said, over the holidays I went a bit overboard.
For one, the months of October, November and December were soo busy I rarely made it to the gym. Excuses, excuses, I know. For two, what with it being the holidays and all I let myself splurge a little more than usual with the ‘ole “new year, new me” saying going through my head every time I picked up a cookie (or 12) to eat.
Coming up on NYE, and Hubs and I are deciding whether to go out for the evening. We’re kicking around some options and keep going back to hanging out at home with the Chiquita and ordering pizza. This sounds like a solid NYE to me, honestly, my Juicy Couture jammies, some red wine, good ‘ole Dan’s Pizza and the two most important people in my life.
BUT, after lots of hem and hawing we decide to go out. We decide on this nearby bar for $50/person all-you-can drink from 7-midnight plus a pizza buffet. I bought these amazeballs (lol, sorry I had to) sequin pants and couldn’t wait to get done up for a fun night out.
We get to the bar at 7 on the dot, we’re not going to waste a second of free booze and free pizza, and we find out that the pizza buffet doesn’t start until 10:30 pm. Thank goodness I ate a banana at 6:30 pm or I would have been starving. I was already hungry.
I ordered a glass of cabernet; Hubs ordered a vodka. I knew I had to keep my drinking under control – we didn’t want another “JUST STOP TALKING” moment – so I was sipping rather than chugging. Not that I chug wine, but believe me, I can toss back a glass to get a buzz on. 🙂
I was actually pretty hungry and our friends were, too. They decided to order some apps. I asked the hubs if he wanted to order.
“No,” he said, “We paid $50/person for a pizza buffet so we’re going to eat pizza!”
LOL, I make us sound sooo cheap!
Our friends order calamari and shrimp and lots of yummy items. My stomach is growling, and I’m trying to drink my cab. I’m having one of those nights where the drinks just aren’t flowing for me, but I do have a buzz.
At 10:30 my girl whispers to me that the pizza buffet is ready upstairs. We go up to this small room with a few tables which are already occupied by other drunken party goers. There is a long banquet table full of pizzas – cheese, sausage, pepperoni, and veggie.
Hubs fills his plate full of pizza and says, “I’m going to take this downstairs and see if the others want any pizza,” as I grab a couple pieces of cheese.
I don’t really want to go downstairs and eat in the middle of the party, I think, as I grab a mozzarella ball at the end of the buffet line. I dip the mozzarella ball into marinara sauce and pop it in my mouth. Mmmm, that’s amazeballs, I think. 🙂
“Well, I’m going to go downstairs,” Hubs says again.
I nod, as I’ve already stuck mozzaball #2 into my mouth. “OK, go ahead; I’m going to stay up here.”
“What do you mean you’re going to stay here?” He asks.
I take a bite of mozzaball #3 and say, “Yeah, I’m going to eat up here. I don’t want to eat in front of everyone.”
At the end of the buffet table is a TV plus a small unoccupied table with no chairs. The room is full of loud drunks all chowing down on pizza. I prop my rear against the table, and I’m in the perfect position directly across from the TV and the mozzarella balls. There is a HUGE tray of them.
Hubs looks at me with a perplexed look on his face. “You’re really going to stay up here all by yourself?”
“Uh-huh,” I nod, as I pop #4 into my mouth.
Hubs goes downstairs, and I finally feel free. I put about 10 on my plate, but for some reason continue to take them directly out of the tray. Who cares about these other drunks, I think, I’m not even drunk anyways, just slightly buzzed and frickin’ starving. Booty still perched on the table I pop #5, 6, and 7 into my mouth.
After #s 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 20…I finally go downstairs. Looking back I wonder if those other party goers were watching the girl in the sequin pants stuffing mozzaballs into her mouth.
I get my 3rd glass of cab and sit by Hubs. He’s finishing up his pizza and still has two mozzaballs on his plate. “Are you going to eat those?”
“Didn’t you eat enough?” He asks.
I smile and stuff them in. It reminded me of the movie Elf when Will Farrell was popping cotton balls and stuffing spaghetti in his mouth.
About a half hour later my tummy is not feeling so good. In fact I can’t even bring myself to get back on the dance floor; I’m literally stuffed, and pretty sure that mozzarella is expanding in my size 2 sequin pants. In fact, I can’t even get up off my chair or finish my glass of cab.
My friend comes up to me, “You’re being lame!”
“Dude, I just ate 22 mozzarella balls. I feel sick.”
“What? You ate how many mozzarella balls?”
“I seriously ate, like, 22 mozzarella balls. Mozzarella is expanding in my stomach,” I say, as I push out my stomach at her.
She grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd. “You just need to take a crap.”
We escape to the bathroom, and I tell her, “No, I don’t have to take a crap, I’m seriously about to birth a mozzarella ball. I feel f*cking sick!”
I wash my hands and remind her, “G,,,I ate like 22 mozzarella balls! Seriously.” (Now, there’s another word that needs to be banned.)
The girl at the sink next to me looks over and says, “Ohmigosh, those mozzarella balls were amazing!” (Another word for banishment.)
I go, “I know. I just ate like 22.”
“Don’t worry, I ate like 15,” She says and walks out.
I look at G. “I’m not joking, I seriously ate like 22.”
We go back out to the party, and I look at the clock. It’s 11:30 pm. I seriously wonder if I’m going to make it to midnight I feel that sick.
G is talking to some other peeps, and I look at Hubs and say, “I honestly don’t know if I can make it to midnight. I seriously feel so sick. I ate 22 mozzarella balls, you know.”
“I know,” he says, “You’ve told me. 100 times. Let’s just make it to midnight and then we’ll go.”
“OK,” I say, rubbing my tummy. “But, at 12:01 am we’re out the door. I’m about to birth a mozzarella ball.”
I barely managed to choke down my 3rd glass of cab and am desperately waiting for midnight to arrive. At 5 to midnight they are passing out glasses of champagne. I take a glass thinking I’m magically going to feel better when the clock strikes 12.
We count down 10, 9, 8…this literally feels like forever. Finally 3, 2,… “Happy New Year!”
Hubs and I kiss. Everyone around us is shouting, kissing and toasting. Balloons are falling. Noise makers are ringing. I have no idea where our friends are. I look at Hubs and say, “Grab your coat, let’s go!”
We make our escape through the door at 12:02 am. By 12:10 am we are at home. I’m sitting in my living room knowing that something inside me is not right.
Hubs goes out to smoke a cigar. “I’ll be back, baby,” he says as he pats my head.
And then it happens. 12:15 am. I jump up. I run to the bathroom, sequin pants still on. And I vomit. Yes, I vomit up 3 glasses of cabernet and 22 mozzarella balls.
Happy New Year! Don’t you wish you were my friend?!?