Chick Fil A

That’s When Everything Went Dark


I started my diet again (yes, AGAIN and shut up, you naturally skinny bastards) today.  I don’t even deserve to whine to you good people about the weight I’ve put back on this year.  So I won’t.  Well, I kind of will.  Here’s how my day went in private thoughts, conversations and texts.  Upon review, I may have a love/hate relationship with Delta Burke and I may be willing to go to prison if I’ll lose weight.  Being fungry makes you do stupid stuff, y’all.

7:00 a.m. – Weigh in was good, I lost 2.2 pounds.  I got this shit on lock.

9:45 a.m. – (thinking to myself as I was getting dressed to take E to the airport):  When your Delta Burke panties don’t fit anymore, you are in some seriously deep shit.

10:30 a.m. – (still thinking to myself because E went all Sigmund Freud on me and told me to be ready at 10:00 a.m. when he really needed me to be ready by 11:00 a.m. and hadn’t even started packing yet.  This reverse psychology fuckery will not be forgotten, damn it):  Don’t judge me until you’ve waddled a mile in my Delta Burke panties.

11:00 a.m. (Headed out the door when E asked me why I had packed a small cooler):  “I have 4 bottles of water, an Atkins chocolate shake, and a cheese stick – in case of a fat girl emergency while I’m running errands today.”

12:30 p.m. (bargaining with myself by using everything I’ve learned from movies about talking someone off a ledge, literally):  Man, that Atkins chocolate shake was way too much.  I can’t believe that was only one serving.  I’m stuffed.

1:00 p.m. – That cheese stick is for an emergency.  Stop it.  Stop thinking about it.  Right now.

2:00 p.m. – Drink another bottle of water.  You’re not hungry.  You’re dehydrated.

2:30 p.m. – Oh dear God, thank you.  Sonic Happy Hour.

2:32 p.m. –  You will order the fried mozarella sticks over my dead, cushy, artery clogged body, you son of a bitch!

2:37 p.m. – Demons vanquished, I head to school pickup victorious sans greasy fried fat sticks but sucking on a Route 44 Diet Coke like it is literally the last dick on Earth.

5:00 p.m. – Eating every last crumb in my Chick Fil A nugget meal (small fries) because if I have to count this shit on my calorie log, I’m not going to miss a damned thing.  Also, I feel old as dirt and consider asking for the Senior Citizen Early Bird speical due to the fact that I’m eating before 6:00 p.m. because that’s what Bob Harper says to do.  Fuck you, Bob Harper.

6:00 p.m. – Returning three pairs of yoga pants to Ross and feeling stabby because 1)  They were too tight.  2)  How in the hell are YOGA PANTS too tight?!  3)  Does that bitch Delta Burke make yoga pants?  4)  Do they have to put every mother fucking package of cookies they have right in the God forsaken register line?  Son of a whore!

6:47 p.m. – How many Skinny Cows will make me a Fat Cow?

7:00 p.m. – I turn to my friend Lulu for help via Facebook Messenger.  I’m the blue text.



And that’s when everything went dark.  I did wake up with both of my tits, though.  Glass is half full, y’all.  You know that’s my motto.





I’m sorry for yelling at you when I was sleepy and fungry/hangry, E.  Lulu, thank you for listening to me and encouraging me to start doing meth.  I feel good about it and think it may work.  Fingers crossed.  And because once is never enough:  Fuck you, Bob Harper.  Also, make your panties stretchier, Delta Burke.  I don’t buy that shit for looks.

God, I’m fungry.

Rain Mom

I took my kids to Chick Fil A last week for a late lunch.  Everything about us is “late” during the summer.  It’s 12:32 p.m. right now and I’m just finishing my “morning” cup of coffee.  Don’t judge me.  That’s the schedule my kids are on and who am I to tell them their internal summer clocks are wrong?  Not me, brothers and sisters.  Not me.

Anyway, I’ve been attempting to enforce a “no cell phones while we’re eating” policy.  All three of us are guilty of it, as E continually points out.  He never does it, though.  Never.  Especially not during football season.  Cough cough.

On a side note (all caps alert because that is how excited I am over this little factoid):  COLLEGE FOOTBALL SEASON STARTS IN NINE GLORIOUS WEEKS!  NINE WEEKS, PEOPLE!

Now that I chased that squirrel, back to the story.

So, I’ve noticed that when we put our cell phones down, something miraculous happens.  We make eye contact.  We converse.  With real words, not text.  It’s crazy, I tell you.  Something else happens also.  Completely random, what the hell just happened kind of conversations.  And those are my favorite.

It was raining outside, not sprinkling and not raining hard, just a steady stream.  If you were made of sugar, you would’ve definitely wanted an umbrella when going outside (I had one in my purse, so relax, everyone).  In the silence of enjoying our lunch together sans modern technology, I heard a Mom tell her kid as they were leaving that it wasn’t raining outside.  Gracie heard it also and this  transpired:


Gracie:  Why did that Mom just tell her son it wasn’t raining outside when it IS?

Me:  Maybe the kid is blind and she’s playing a trick on him.

Gracie:  Mom!  That’s awful!

Me:  Hey, I’m not the one.  Okay?  It’s her.  Take it out on her.

Gracie:  (No words, just looks shocked and dismayed and very confused about how I could possibly be her Mother)

Me:  That’s a really awful joke to play on a blind kid, though.

Gracie:  (Can’t overcome speechlessness, just shakes her head in disgust, sighs and looks out the window at the rain)


I think this “no technology at the dining table” policy rocks.

Old school, yo.

Old school, yo.

What about you?  Do you have any rules about phones, tablets, etc. at the dining table?  Tell me in the comments below and have a great week, y’all.  Be safe this holiday weekend!