Cheeses Squeezes! Look what I found on Facebook!

Now I don't often open Facebook for reasons I've detailed in previous posts, like this,  this and this

But when I was told my sister-in-law posted a link to THIS I couldn't control myself.

Turns out my addiction to cheese has been scientifically documented.

That's right.  doc-u-ment-ed!

Check out this link:  http://totalsororitymove.com/youre-so-addicted-to-cheese-because-your-brain-thinks-its-a-drug/

Or better yet. .  . read on for I have quoted verbatim . .  .

Grilled cheese. Pizza. Cheese fries. QUESO. If you’re anything like me, you can — and do — say that you’re literally addicted to cheese. I commonly refer to my standard order of cheese enchiladas and queso at my go-to Tex-Mex place as “cheese wrapped in carbs, covered in cheese, with a bowl of melted cheese.” We crave it. We need it. We can’t. stop. eating. it.

Now, science has finally explained why. We crave cheese because our brain literally thinks it’s a drug. Cool.

Thanks to the people who actually study in school, the University of Michigan has discovered that cheese has a high concentration of a chemical called casein. When your body digests casein, it breaks it down into smaller opiods called casomorphins that lock into your opiate receptors and interact with dopamine. Let me make it simple for you: when you eat cheese, your body acts like it’s an opiate — think those crazy drugs you were on when you got your wisdom teeth pulled — and then rewards you by making you feel how you do when you’re falling in love. Your body likes this feeling, and it tells you to do it over and over again by eating more cheese.

Now you have an excuse to keep eating all the cheese you want – if your body demands it, who are you to say no? Bring on the cheese whiz and the cheddar popcorn – who needs a man when your body is literally telling you that it’s in love with cheese? Keep on ordering those quesaritos, ladies – your body will love you for it. It’s #science..

Let's face it,

there are no words sweeter to hear. . . 

.

[via Mic.com]

Thwarted!

Should I even admit this to you?

And, if so, where do I begin?

Now this particular story begins with the mother's milk of everything good in my life - macaroni and cheese.  And not just any run-of-the-mill-work-a-day-macaroni-and-cheese, my friends, it begins with this. . .

 

And the reason it's allowed to begin with this is that tomorrow is my birthday.  

Yes, tomorrow is my birthday . . . and birthdays happen only once a year, you know. . . and what's more Drip Dry was scheduled to be out of town on a business trip. . . and that only happens like twice a year. . . so that made today. . .the birthday eve. . .  like a magical day!

A magical birthday-eve-business-trip-day.

A day made even more magical-er because I could schedule my once-a-year-velveeta-pig-out.

Yes, a  magical birthday-eve-business-trip-once-a-year-velveeta-cheese-pig-out day!

With no one looking, mind you. ('Cause I'm convinced that Drip Dry would start divorce proceedings if he ever thought I was eating something as disgustingly unhealthy as velveeta cheese. . .)

And so it was that I dragged my life-threatening ingrown toenail to the grocery store after work to procure the necessary ingredients. . . all the while a wee-bit-uneasy because Drip Dry's departure from the state was timed for 4:30 p.m. and I had not yet had confirmation that his wheels were in motion.   

But I soldiered on none-the-less and trudged home to put the water on to boil - decidedly salivating at the thought of a glorious fun-filled night of cheesy goodness.  And I was debating the possibility of cooking only half the box in the hopes that it would only be half the calories when my phone rang. . .

And I'm sure you can guess the rest of the story from the title of this blog post.

The magic ended.

The much-heralded pig-out thwarted.

Drip Dry came home for dinner.

And if he ever wondered exactly how his pedicure-wounded wife had that spinach ravioli boiled and cooked for him so quickly, he never asked. . .

and, God knows, I never told. . .

My Bad

I don't know about you carnivores (because I never was what you might call a healthy eater until I became a reluctant vegetarian) but every once in a while I get sick of things that are good for me.

Let's face it. . . how long can a macaroni-and-cheese-addicted woman live on bowls of lentil stew before the craving for the ultimate "bad" food takes over???

Oh, I'll tell you how long a macaroni-and-cheese-addicted woman can live on bowls of lentil stew. . .

42 days.

Because that's when I last had a fix.

On the way out of town from my family vacation. . . the vacation where I ate nothing but healthy food. . . but then stopped at the Wawa when no one was looking. . . .and proceeded to shovel that cheesy goodness in my mouth as I drove up the Garden State Parkway. . . .silently thanking the Good Lord for Jersey weekend traffic. . . yet smearing a cheese-stain on the driver's seat belt none-the-less.


All of 42 days ago.

And now, my friends,  I find myself jonesing for another.

And let me tell you that not getting the exact badness that a girl craves, when she craves it, makes her eat some funny things.

For it was the jonesing that made me eat those little pasta pearls for breakfast instead of adding them to my soup at lunch yesterday.  And it was the yearning which drove me to eat a half block of cheddar cheese at 3:00 in the afternoon for no good reason.  And it was my very craving that had me discard my brown rice for mashed potatoes at dinner.  And it was my very addiction which had me tossing and turning all night wondering how. . .  when. . . under what circumstances. . . I could get my next fix of that creamy-cheesy-lip-smacking-goodness that I live-and-die for.

You heard me.

I live-and-die for. . .

Forbidden Love. . .

Oh how I long for you each lonely night!
Desire - seems so wrong, but feels so right.
Your first brief brush against my waiting lips,
will leave my heart and stomach doing flips.

And though I crave your presence endlessly,
my secret love, I can't let others see.
For others judge - and they don't understand,
just how your cold heart melts on my command.

You are no good for me, my daughters cry.
But love in pure form cannot be denied!
They warn me you will crawl under my skin,
and one day I sport a double chin.

But nights when Drip Dry travels far from home,
I find myself weak, stranded, and alone.
And soon I find I simply can't ignore
the heaven waiting on my freezer door.

Wisconsin's finest! Caught up in your lair -
your tangy goodness wafts upon the air.
Enveloped elbows, dripping with cheese sauce.
I consummate our love - the battle lost.

And afterward? I deftly hide the truth -
for Drip Dry would have made a wonder-sleuth.
The proof of our affair cannot be found -
with bowl and spoon licked by the family hound.

And hours after my illicit binge,
I start to feel an old familiar twinge.
My burdened stomach, like a lover spurned,
begins to twist, burn, tumble, toss, and churn.

Oh gluttony! Oh excess food imbibed!
I take antacids just as they're prescribed!
A tummy ache? Just one small price to pay. . .
For I have sampled Heaven for a day!

Don't worry . . . Drip Dry's back tomorrow.

The Pizza Place Chick

Pizza Place Chick (Hereafter known simply as PPChick) Hello. . . Your Local Pizza Place. Can I help you?

Me: Yes, I'd like to place an order.

PPChick: Will that be for pick-up or delivery?

Me: I'll pick it up, but will you stand outside and throw it in my car so I don't have to park?

PPChick: Okay, sure. What do you want?

Me: I want a large order of your macaroni and cheese. I've seen it on your menu but I've always been ashamed to order it. . . but you see . . . the rest of the family won't be home tonight. . . and I always save my macaroni and cheese pig-outs for when I'm all alone and no one can judge me . . . you know what I mean?

PPChick: Yeah, I know. . .

Me: And - truth be told - I've had a really bad day . . . and I need that comfort food now!

PPChick: What was so bad about it?

Me: Well the first thing my eyes were drawn to when I went downstairs this morning was a parking ticket magnetized to the refrigerator . . . compliments of Ponzi, I'm sure. . . and then I purposely arrived at work a half-hour early but the people I was meeting showed up forty-five minutes late. . . throwing off my funeral timing completely . . . and I mean . . . completely. . . . it was the last of five funerals. . . knock wood. . . and then the office worker who I thought was coming never exactly showed up. . . and then there was a lot of turf warfare going on. . . very un-church-like if you ask me. . . and then when I got back home there were dishes in the sink. . . I ask you. . . is there no one in the family who can put a dish in the dishwasher?. . . not one?. . . well . . . anyway. . . then the pizza-resistance (pardon my pun) came when I went to the mailbox and received yet another rejection letter from a literary agent in the mail . . . I don't know why the hell those people have no taste. . . I could make millions for them. . . but I guess you don't want to hear all of this from me now. . . do you?

PPC: So. . . about the macaroni and cheese. . . when do you want to pick it up?

Me: Well, when will it be ready?

PPC: I don't know! We haven't made it yet! I've been on the phone with you the whole time!

Me: Will you just call me when it's ready?

PPC: Yeah!

Me: Do you need my number?

PPC: No. . . we have caller I.D.

Me: Okay. . . You'll call me. . . right? You won't forget? Promise me you won't forget???? 'Cause I'm not giving you a tip if you forget. . .

PPC: No, I won't forget!!!

Me: So how much will that be?

PPC: Let's see. . . with the family discount, it comes to exactly three dollars.

Me: That's it?

PPC: Yeah, Mom! That's it! Can we get off the phone so I can place your order now?

Me: Okay. . . Bye honey. . .

PPC: Bye Mom . . .

Me: And Trigger?

PPC: What?

Me: Are you always this fresh to your customers on the phone??? No wonder no one's been putting any money in that tip jar!!!

My trip to the health food store

If I told you what I did yesterday, could it be our little secret?

Perhaps I was feeling a bit on the healthy side. . .or perhaps I was feeling a strange sort of simpatico with my vegetarian daughters. . . or, most likely, perhaps I was just too tired from trying to run my brain on four hours of sleep to think about what to serve for dinner. . . so after work I took a trip to the Whole Foods store in the next town. (A health food store that sells wine? No store can top that - unless, of course, it happens to be a health food/liquor store/drive-thru.)

And so I headed straight to the prepared foods section, and there I bought a little something for everyone. . . a container of Chicken Tikka for my husband, some veggie burgers and pasta salad for my vegetarian daughter, and some buffalo chicken wings because I failed to understand that the one daughter who still eats meat thinks that chicken with bones attached is Disgusting! these days.

And then I saw it.

The gooey, cheesy, pasta-induced goodness they call Macaroni and Cheese.

Now, I tend to like macaroni and cheese for its sedative properties. Whenever I'm tired, anxious, stressed-out, or mad at my husband and children (and yesterday I was all of the above) a good dose of macaroni and cheese will always make me feel better.

And I will admit that I also think macaroni and cheese is good any day, any time, and for any reason. And yes, I like it . . . in a house, and with a mouse, and in a box, and with a fox. . . . and I would eat it in the dark, and on a train, and in the park, despite the rain . . . and I will eat it here or there.. . .Yes, I will eat it ANYWHERE!

And so I did.

I ate the first half-pound sitting right there in the Whole Foods parking lot. And I ate the second half-pound while I was driving home.

Now, I've decided that it's not like I ate a whole pound of pasta or anything. The cheese, milk, and butter must weigh it all down. So pound for pound, it's not really as bad as it sounds. Is it????? (And I worry about a daughter having an eating disorder?)But, please don't tell anyone. . .

. . .not in a box, not to a fox. . . while in your house, don't tell a mouse. . . not on a boat, or you will bloat. . . not on a train, it drains your brain.

For in a car, at least to me, it is so good. . . YOU LET ME BE!!

The day I started blogging

I'm home from work "sick" today.

You see, I suffer from a disease called Kinetosis.

a.k.a.. . .Motion sickness.

And the reason I'm home from work? Let's just say that life has been moving a little too fast for me lately. And besides, whenever I shed a tear or two anymore my eyes puff up, leaving me looking like the Pillsbury dough boy. Why is it that I can't have a good old-fashioned cry anymore without having to wear a badge of shame the next day? Much better to be home "sick" - sleeping, reading, eating and plotting my revenge against my husband and daughters.

And how have I spent my day?

First, I took the load of dark clothing I lovingly washed yesterday, and "accidentally" dropped all of my husband's clean clothing so that it simply had to go back in the laundry hamper again . . . . .

And then I strolled through the house picking up all of the gum wrappers, soda cans, water bottles and used teeth whitening strips my darling teenage daughters have left in their wake, making a conscious decision to rifle through every receipt, note, and ticket stub I could find to catch them in some form of deceitful behavior . . . .

Next, I gave the dog stealth lessons before I sent her outside in order to hide the fact that I had stayed home from my neighbors (i.e. my parents, my sister, and her family) which would only invite questions about my illness that I didn't want to answer. . .

Then, I decided to consume an entire box of Kraft macaroni and cheese only to find that the only box in the house was organic. . . .

And when I tried to hide the evidence of my organic binge by taking the kitchen garbage to the garage, I was surprised to find that my car had not been where I thought it was all morning, but instead proudly displayed on the driveway for all to see. . .

That was the moment I decided to enter the world of blogging. So here I am writing my first blog. And although the blog is intended to be about raising teenage daughters, no one could ever write such a blog without complaining about her husband and life in general, could she?

Well, it's clear I can't anyway.