Okay, so I'm not in Las Vegas or planning to go, but couldn't resist putting it in the title to mimic Hunter S. Thompson's Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas (and I've only seen the movie, not read the book).
First, the food. I made another one of Roni's recipes last night, Mexican Pie, and it was tasty. It took a bit longer than I thought it would, about 45 minutes of prep work (of course, I'm a slow chopper since I'm such a novice in the kitchen--your mileage may vary). DH would have preferred it to be made with ground sirloin (his story is that he ate a lot of ground turkey when he was in his 20s and poor, so he is eternally anti-ground turkey now, which is a bummer because I love it and cook with it a lot). But otherwise he loved the flavors, and I do to. I had leftovers for lunch with a salad on the side. I froze the rest of it in individual plastic serving containers; hopefully it will freeze/reheat well.
I have loved everything I've made from Roni's website, and it's become my go-to source for new recipes. If you haven't been over there, you should visit. (And I'm not promoting her for any other reason than I love her stuff.)
Last night when I really wanted something junky to eat around 10 p.m. while watching season 1 of "The Wire" (holy cow, McNulty should be renamed McHottie), I instead peeled an orange and got my sweet on from the Florida goodness. Surprisingly I was satisfied and didn't need anything else after that. Go figure.
Now for the loathing, er, clothing.
So this morning, I experienced what most American women do on a regular basis--I hated everything in my closet. A closet full of clothes, with nothing to wear.
I didn't shave my legs this morning so I had to wear pants and my spring pants options are in short supply. I put on my only pair of khaki's and a form fitting brown print t-shirt, and of course had to check out the backside view. You know the pose--stand with your behind facing the full length mirror with handheld mirror held strategically so you can see how your ass looks.
Holy crap, talk about disappointing. Seriously, there are times when I swear it doesn't look like I've lost a single pound and the size of my behind is exactly the same as it was 50 pounds ago. And this morning in those khakis was a big ole wake up call. My butt needs a lot of work. It is still way too freaking big.
So I stripped everything off, pulled out my brown pants and a white blousy eyelet shirt, and was relieved to see that the darker color and the blousy-ness of the shirt helped camouflage my saddlebags and size of my hips.
It's so hard to know what the reality of your body size and shape are. I'm constantly trying to compare myself to other women--is she bigger than me? am I smaller than her? what does 155 really look like?
We all know the camera lies. Clothing designers utilize vanity sizing (which, personally, I enjoy). And when you see everything through fat-colored glasses, even the mirror doesn't reveal the truth.
I wish I had the nerve to find someone I think is my size, then ask a neutral third party to tell me how we compare.
Maybe that would put these demons to rest at last.
Or maybe I'd be sorely disappointed yet again because, yes, indeed, I am still the bigger girl and exactly as fat as I suspected I am.
The scary part is, that's not really what I'm afraid of. My true fear is that someday I'll reach my dream weight (whatever the hell that is) and I'll still see a fat ass in the mirror, regardless of what size it actually is.
Obviously I have a lot of work still to do on my fat head.