I'm in New Orleans. Justin has a conference to attend and I'm attending, well, for the booze.
I had packed my suitcase full of good intentions. Contents included workout attire, Jillian Michaels DVDs and hand weights. My good intentions have gone unused.
Instead, I've been quite busy sleeping, shopping, drinking Hurricanes, and eating my way through The Big Easy.
Jillian can suck it. I'm sucking down liquor.
Last night, however, I hit rock bottom of the binge. After a night on Bourbon Street, we came back to the hotel and I
passed out went to sleep. I thought Justin was doing the same.
Time passed and Justin woke me out of my coma and handed me three White Castle cheeseburgers. I ate them laying in bed half-awake. After all, it would've been rude to refuse. I woke up this morning and found a crushed burger box beneath me.
Ugh - really? Apparently, yes, really. According to my burger dealer, it didn't take much convincing to get me to eat them.
The burgers wouldn't have been so bad if they stood alone. However, they had company. Earlier in the evening I managed to find some nachos, french fries, and Bananas Foster all washed down with lots of fruity mixed liquor.
I'm headed home tomorrow morning, no doubt a few pounds heavier. But it's not always the size of my ass that matters (most of the time it is), but sometimes - just sometimes - it's the size of my soul - and my soul feels full, fat and happy.
I'll count on Jillian Michaels to fix the rest.