T.M.F. (Too Much Food)

I've been trying to figure out lately why it's so difficult for me to diet, why, when it comes to food, I completely lack the willpower to "just say no." And like most Americans who are confronted with their own inadequacies, I've decided to blame my parents. Mostly my dad.

See, when I was little, I had without a doubt the Greatest Dad Ever. Not that he's not a great dad now, but back then, he could have won awards. But the problem was, he was always FEEDING me. I am not lying when I say that, at the age of 8, I was consuming around 4,000 calories a day.

Let's take a typical weekend, because that's mostly when I lived with my dad. (My parents had joint custody.) On Friday afternoon, he would pick me up from after-school care around 5:00, and we would head straight to the McDonald's, where I would get a super-sized order of fries and a Coke, to eat on the way home.

As soon as we got home, Dad would begin preparing dinner, maybe something like spaghetti. I use that example, because it brings to mind the gigantic plastic bib that my father made me wear whenever I ate spaghetti, until I was at least old enough to drive. Anyhoo, despite having just polished off a five-pound order of fries only an hour before, I would probably clean my plate.

Sometime during TGIF on ABC (which, of course, was that era's must-see TV), Dad would begin fixing milkshakes and popcorn, which was always our go-to evening snack. I would inhale this like a child who hadn't eaten in a week.

Saturday morning meant two things, and no, one of them wasn't cartoons. First, it meant breakfast, probably eggs and bacon and blueberry muffins. Second, it meant ice-skating lessons, because, leave it to my parents to have enrolled me in the most expensive, impractical sport there is. After puttering around the ice for a couple of hours (I was never very good), I was probably famished, so Dad would have to take me to lunch, usually either at Quincy's (R.I.P.) or Arby's (because Lord knows I needed another milkshake). Saturday afternoon would consist of me either playing outside or torturing the cat, probably both, while Dad tried to watch the football game.

Saturday night meant another home-cooked meal (Dad was quite the homemaker), followed by dessert and more popcorn. If he was feeling up to it, he might even have baked some peanut butter cookies.

And on Sunday morning, we'd have another big breakfast, maybe homemade waffles or pancakes this time, since we'd had eggs on Saturday. Oh, and I forgot to mention, not only did Dad cook for me, like, constantly, he also pretty much waited on me hand and foot. This was especially evident at lunch, which I preferred to have served to me at the coffee table, while I watched TV.

When it came to lunch, I had two favorites that I alternated between. The first was the Swanson TV Dinner with the two pieces of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, and a brownie. I have no clue what that brownie was even made of, but God I loved it. The second was a very precise combination of foods: a bowl of Campbell's chicken rice soup, Ritz crackers with peanut butter, sliced pepperoni, and pickles.

Seriously, who the hell eats those foods? And much less together? You certainly wouldn't have thought I did by looking at me. Hell, I don't think I even weighed 80 pounds until the 8th grade.

Sunday dinner would be yet another home-cooked meal, and before bed, Dad would be sure to prepare my lunch for Monday, which undoubtedly would consist of about 14 different items.

So you see, this might be why I have such a problem with "cutting back" when I need to lose a few pounds. And although I may have had a sky-high metabolism as a child (I mean, I must have, to have eaten like that), these days it's a little more normal, and I therefore have to stick to a more reasonable intake of calories.

And I blame Dad for making that so damn hard for me to do.

Random Thoughts on a Wednesday

1. On one of my Sick Days, I read Chelsea Handler's book, Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea. And I say "one" of my Sick Days, because it's a pretty quick read. Nevertheless, I highly recommend it. I laughed out loud at least a dozen times.

2. Speaking of books, you know what I was thinking the other day? (I'm sure you don't.) I was thinking that all 8th graders should be required to read S. E. Hinton's The Outsiders. It's one of the best books I've ever read, and it absolutely blows my mind that S. E. Hinton was only fifteen when she started writing it. The themes in that book are as relevant today as they were forty years ago when it was published, and I think all teenagers would benefit from reading it. Not that anyone cares what I think.

3. In the past two days, I have heard Justin Timberlake's song What Goes Around Comes Around on the radio three times. And I've only been in the car (ergo, listening to the radio) for about thirty minutes total. Is karma trying to tell me something? I guess I'll have to wait and see.

4. On that same note, it seems that my ex-on-again-off-again boyfriend of many years, Bud Heavy, has finally moved on. Honestly, I can't remember a time when I didn't have Bud to "fall back on." For years after our tumultuous two-year relationship ended, we would go through periods of pseudo-dating (usually when one of my other relationships hadn't worked out), which involved doing all of the things that dating couples do, but never actually being official. And despite my attempts to "be honest with him," I don't think Bud ever gave up hope that he and I would end up together. However, after our last falling out (in early August), we haven't spoken at all, and after perusing his profile on Facebook the other day (typical), it looks as though he has a new woman. Part of me is very, very happy for him (the "good" part of me), because, as someone who knows him better than almost anyone else, I know that he has grown up a lot during the past few years, and he deserves to be with someone who makes him happy (and also whom he can make happy). Of course, the selfish part of me hates the thought of Bud loving someone else and wants him to carry a torch for me forever, but I'm doing my best to suppress those feelings. I'm not gonna lie, though. I'll miss having the security of knowing that, no matter what happened, I always had Bud.

5. I've been eating a lot of soup lately (due to being sick and all), and I've become a huge fan of these. Particularly the squash and broccoli varieties.

(Yes, I realize that I just jumped from ex-boyfriends to soup, but that's the order in which they came to mind.)

Slightly Incoherent

I'm back at work today, finally, after being sick for what felt like FOREVER. Seriously, it's as though an entire week of my life just went away, and here I am on October 28th thinking, where the hell did October go? That's what having a 101-degree fever for five days straight will do to you, I guess.

Anyhoo, aside from being delirious during a lot of the past week, I also had some time to think, and for me, that can be an exhausting activity, as my mind seems move at cheetah-like pace (in stark contrast to my body, which moves at a turtle-like pace, and not just any turtle, but one who has smoked too much weed). As a testament to the quickness of my thought-processing, if you know me in real life, then you know that there is almost always a list written on the inside of my wrist, a list of random words that, to anyone else, makes no sense whatsoever. Is it because I'm considering getting a tattoo and want to see how ink looks on my skin? No. It's because my poor brain moves so quickly that I can't ever seem to remember anything, so instead of trying to keep track of it all, I just write everything down. And I figure that if I make a list on my wrist, then there's a very slim chance that I will lose it.

I'm wondering if other people are suffering from this kind of information overload, or if it's just me. Sometimes I wish I had lived in the 1950's or '60's (which, maybe I did, in another life), when things weren't quite so...complicated. At least I would have been able to keep smoking, although with my luck (and tendency to develop strange afflictions), I would have gotten lung cancer at the age of 29.

Do I seem medicated right now? Maybe that's because I am.

Okay, so one of the things I thought about while I was sick was that I am 26 years old now, and for all intents and purposes, that makes me an adult. I mean, hell, in the eyes of the law I've been an adult for 8 years, and in the eyes of my parents, I've been an adult ever since I graduated from law school, moved back out of their house, and stopped eating all of their food. (Well, for the most part.) But, there's something about staying single well into your twenties (and at this point, I am WELL into my twenties) that keeps you from feeling like you've really "grown up." You still feel like a kid, only you're a really cool kid who always has money and never has to be home by curfew.

Sure, I have "adult" responsibilities. Every morning, I have to get my lazy ass out of bed and make it to the office before anyone notices I'm not there, and I also have to make sure my bills get paid on time, so my credit doesn't go all to hell. But other than that, it's a pretty responsibility-free life: no husband to keep fed and watered, no children to keep from hurting themselves, heck I don't even have a pet to keep alive. Easy breezy. (Beautiful CoverGirl....)

Of course, there are downsides to being so free of responsibility. I just can't think of any right now. (Kidding.)

Some would say it's a lonely life, being a bachelorette, but with my "revolving door of boyfriends" (as one friend so eloquently put it), I tend to find enough companionship. No, my problem is more of the "What Next" variety. I've done the school thing, and that was wonderful, and I've secured a job, which ain't so wonderful, and now I'm trying to figure out where I'm supposed to go from here.

In fact, I'm not even sure I'm supposed to be a lawyer. I like to argue a lot, and I can write good (hehe), but I just don't know if I'm cut out for billing by the hour. Heck, I'm not even sure that the 8-5 life is for me. At least not the 8-5-at-a-desk life.

I can remember being in high school and absolutely hating the fact that I was trapped there from 8:30-3:30 every day. When I got to college and could actually come and go as I pleased during the day (between classes, of course), I felt like I had died and gone to Heaven. I was free!

Even in law school, while most people stayed in the building between classes to study, I would duck out between classes, and most of the time, during classes, to eat lunch, do errands, or even, God forbid, to study somewhere other than the law building. Even though it had been four years since I'd escaped the prison that they call high school, I never got tired of being free during the day. It still felt forbidden and, for that reason, fun.

But now...it's like high school again. I feel trapped at the office. And it's not that I don't want to work; actually, if I didn't have some kind of work to keep me occupied, I think I'd go crazy, and certainly broke. It's just that I don't like having to be in the same place all day every day. I need a little more freedom.

Even people who meet me tell me that they just can't picture me sitting behind a desk all day. It just doesn't feel like me.

On the other hand, I know that I should feel thankful that I even have a job in this shitty economy that we have right now. And it's not like my bosses are difficult to work for; in fact, they're the exact opposite. A little cheap, maybe, but not difficult.

So...where should I go from here? What next? I guess this is what they call a quarter-life crisis.

Honky Tonk Tennessee

Okay, so here's the thing about dating a guy from L.A.: You have to be okay with the fact that he is probably going to dress better than you, dance better than you, and quite possibly have dated a few famous chicks. On the plus side, he will be fascinated by your real boobs, and will tell you again and again that you do NOT need implants. (As if you ever thought you did.) Some girls might be a little intimidated by all of this, but luckily for me, I'm just conceited enough not to be.

However, it has become entirely clear to me that, not only do Cal and I live on different sides of the country; we live in different worlds.

And mine is called Honky Tonk Tennessee. Which is what Cal thought we were all singing, when the DJ played Rocky Top at Hanna's on Friday. Good ole Honky Tonk...Honky Tonk Tennessee! Honky Tonk Ten-uh-seeee.

So close.

I'm not going to go into all of of the details of Cal's visit (because that would bore even me), but I will share some pictures from the weekend, along with a few interesting tidbits:

Here we are at Sassy Ann's on Cal's first night in town. And I'm not sure if you can tell from this picture, but that's a fedora on his head. Yes, a fedora. I liked it, and so did the drunk guy who accosted us at Toddy's. Not only did this guy tell Cal over and over again that he loved his hat (while frequently reaching out to touch it), but he also told Cal that he was "gorgeous" (not a word guys usually hear, in reference to themselves) while rubbing himself on both of our legs. And the thing is, Cal would have asked him to leave us alone, if he hadn't thought that I knew the guy (I didn't), based on the fact that the guy repeatedly told me that I "always look good." As if I had ever seen him before. Let me just say that this was definitely the first time I have ever been out with a guy and met someone who hit on both of us.

Welcome to Knoxville, Cal!

Cal took this one while we were driving through the Smokies on Friday afternoon. Unfortunately, the weather sucked that day, but I still wanted to show him what East Tennessee has to offer, in terms of tourist destinations (i.e., Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg). Upon seeing the first wedding chapel in Gatlinburg, Cal immediately suggested that we get married, pointing out that I was already wearing white! I turned him down, reminding him that he had his chance to marry me in Vegas, on that drunken night when we first met (okay, not really), and he probably won't get it again. I don't think he believes me.

This is Friday night at Hanna's, shortly after the DJ played "Honky Tonk Tennessee" and Cal tried so hard, bless his heart, to do the "whoo" with everyone else (Vol fans know which whoo I'm talking about), but the poor guy was about three bars late every time. Look, you either are a Vol or you aren't. You can't fake it.



Cal's first trip to the Cracker Barrel. As you can see, he is highly amused by the name.



This was taken at the UT-Mississippi game on Saturday night, which we only stayed at 'til halftime, because damn it was chilly that night! However, I was quite proud of myself for getting such good tickets, as you see from the picture. No corner-of-the-end-zone seats when I'm playing hostess!



At midnight on Saturday night I turned the big 2-6, and as I'm sure you can tell by the photo, I was completely sober. Because, I wouldn't have to have been drunk at all to decide that I wanted to have my very own dance party, about fifteen feet from where everyone else was dancing, in an area that was definitely not considered "dance floor." That would be totally normal for me.



And finally, here are the flowers Cal bought for me on my "actual" birthday, which was Sunday (the 19th). He didn't want to buy me roses, he said, because "too many other guys have bought me roses before." Damn me, for being such a hussy. (Actually, I loved these; they're beautiful.)

And that was the visit! On Monday morning, I shipped Cal back to L.A., with promises that it would be me who would make the next trip....

Although, now that I've been sick for almost an entire week (and had to miss work), it's looking like it might be awhile.

Sick as a Dog

I know y'all have been waiting to hear about Cal's visit to Knoxville, and I'm sorry for not posting sooner, but I have been very, very sick since Tuesday. Like, 102-degree-temperature and unable-to-get-out-of-bed sick.

Definitely not my best week.

However, I did have a great long weekend with Cal, and I promise to post some pictures soon, just as soon as I have the energy to sit up. (I'm currently typing while lying on my back...not the easiest thing to do.)

Be back soon.

Political Garbage

My father and I have never seen eye-to-eye on politics. At least not since the late 80's, and even then, the only thing we really agreed on was that I should be the first female president. Dad even helped me write a letter to President Bush (the first one), informing him of my intentions.

So, I was rather surprised this morning, when I received an email from him (Dad, not Bush), reminding me that early voting had started. What, I responded, are you trying to get me to go cancel out your vote???

This sparked a lengthy discussion about our conflicting views on politics, which even included some poetry, courtesy of Dad:

While saying he wants all to gain,
Still it’s Joe he proposes to drain,
So Obama will tax to the ground,
For his goal to spread wealth around,
Our solution is Palin/McCain!

Though Obama can out-talk the best,
He avoids each and every behest,
He'll tax us right into the ground,
For his goal to Spread Wealth Around,
And for what sake? Political quest!

Unfortunately for Dad, I tend to find prose much more persuasive. Or maybe a nice jingle.

To be honest, though, I haven't really decided who I'm going to vote for. Or, for that matter, whether I'm even going to vote. I was an ardent Hillary supporter, even going so far as to buy a t-shirt that said Bill Clinton for First Lady in '08!, and I'm still a little bitter that she didn't get the nomination. Heck, even Dad says that Hillary got the short end of the stick.

But...here's what I told him, and it may or may not be all that accurate, but then again, I've never purported to be any kind of political junkie.

The two main reasons I would vote for Obama:
1. I would rather have him nominating the next Supreme Court justice(s) than McCain; and
2. There is, like, a 50% chance that McCain will die in office (sounds awful, but it's true), and even though I'm looking forward to having a female president, I don't really want it to be Sarah Palin, by default.

I know that Obama is not as qualified as McCain, experience-wise, but Obama is very intelligent. Eight years ago, we (and by "we," I mean the Supreme Court) chose a man who had experience "running something." But, by all accounts, he wasn't (isn't) very intelligent. And look where it has gotten us. Maybe we should give the smart, albeit less experienced, guy a chance. He catches on quickly.

Moreover, I just don't know that I can be “for” an economic plan that involves buying up all of the bad mortgages. In many of those situations, the people who have lost or are about to lose their homes didn’t have any business buying those houses in the first place. Or, even if they could have afforded to buy a smaller home, they were greedy and bought more than they needed. Why should the rest of us bail them out?

As someone who has no mortgage, McCain’s plan doesn’t benefit me directly. Obama’s does. (I am part of that “middle class” he keeps referring to.) If McCain decides to buy up all of the student loans, I might change my mind.

On the other hand, I certainly see the problems with Obama. And I’ve NEVER been one of his "extreme" supporters…it seems like people have been fanatical about him from the get-go. I’m very cautious about ANYTHING that inspires fanaticism.

Luckily for me, it doesn't really matter who I vote for, because Tennessee will go to McCain, regardless. I'm really just interested to see how it all pans out. One things for sure, though: I know exactly which t-shirt I'll be wearing on Election Day! I'm nothing, if not loyal.

Birthday Wish

Dear Mom,

My 26th birthday is coming up, and you know what that means. It's time to buy me that cookie cake that I've been asking for since...oh...2005.

On my 23rd birthday, you "forgot." On my 24th birthday, you went to the grocery store and bought some piece-of-shit-single-serving-cookies-and-cream PIE from the deli, and then looked at me like, What, biotch? You asked for a cookie cake, right? On my 25th birthday, we were at a casino in Indiana, so I (once again) forgave you for not getting me a cookie cake, even though I did find out on that same day that I had passed the bar exam and it seems like one of those occasions warranted a damn cake.

So...this is your last chance. If I don't have a cookie cake waiting on me when I arrive at your house for my birthday dinner this Sunday, you're going to the nursing home. I ain't kidding this time.

Love,
Me

Checking In

Wow, have I really not posted since last Monday? Pitiful.

In my defense, however, work was especially hectic last week, and then this weekend...well, it was a typical Legally Brunette weekend. Wine on Friday, beer on Saturday, and housework/detox on Sunday. Who has time to blog with that kind of busy schedule? Not me, apparently.

Yeah, and so much for my pseudo-diet. After drinking margaritas on Thursday (at Chez Guevara, so you know they were good!), an entire bottle of wine at home on Friday (and no, I was not drinking by myself), and Lord knows how many beers at the Brewers' Jam on Saturday, I think I've had plenty of calories, thankyouverymuch. So much for losing a couple of pounds. Add to that the delicious brunch that I had at The Bistro on Saturday and the 17,000-calorie lunch that I had at Chandler's Deli on Sunday, and I'm fairly positive that I won't be wearing my skinny jeans anytime soon. Oh well...I mean, I could have stayed home and eaten Lean Cuisines all weekend and maybe lost a pound or two, but how boring would that have been? I had much more fun binge-drinking-and-eating with my friends.

And the anti-diet is only going to get worse during the next week. Tonight, I'm going to a Beer Dinner with my friends Ed and Eddie (think Wine Dinner, where you sample different wines with each course, except here, we'll be sampling beer!), and on Thursday, Cal will be arriving! LaToya and Zed will also be here this weekend, and the Vols are playing at home on Saturday, AND my birthday is on Sunday. Needless to say, my liver will be getting a good workout.

Speaking of liver workouts (punishment), Brewers' Jam turned out to be everything I had hoped it would be, despite the fact that my dumb ass forgot to bring my driver's license with me and had to run back home to get it. Seriously, people, who forgets their ID on the day of a beer festival? I'll tell you who: the girl who got tipsy drinking Bloody Mary's at brunch. Whoops!

Anyhoo, the weather was beautiful, albeit a tad on the warm side; the beer was great; and Teeny and I ran into all kinds of people we know. And there's just something about a bunch of people getting together and drinking good beer that makes everyone...HAPPY. Except when they're waiting in line for the port-o-potty. Then, the true colors come out.

Now that I'm back to the Real World (temporarily), I cannot BELIEVE that it's only three days until Cal gets here. I've never gotten to "show" Knoxville to someone! I've been making tentative plans for a few weeks now, but according to weather.com, it's looking like it might rain, at least for the first couple of days he's here.

I'm curious, though. I know what I want to show off about my hometown (Toddy's, of course), but if you had a visitor coming, who had never been here before, what would be on your "Must Do" list?

So Much to Say

Oh, goodness. So much going on around here. I don't know why, but October always seems to be a crazy month for me. Crazy in a good way, though. Crazy-good.

Since I have several random topics that I want to write about, I'm just going to make a list.

1. I decided to go blonde. It's an experiment, really, to find out whether blondes do, in fact, have more fun. Not that I wasn't having fun to begin with (um, can we say Vegas?), but I'm interested to see what all the hubbub is about. And no, I'm not, like, platinum, but more of a dirty blonde. I plan to go lighter soon. Let the experimenting begin!

Oh, and I realize that this makes my blog title sort of ridiculous, but, at this point, there's not really anything I can do about it. Now that I have sooooo many readers, I can't very well change the name, right? Philly said she saw Glenn Reynolds (Instapundit) on the news the other day, and that he said he gets something like 400,000 hits a day. I think I'm pretty close to that. (Riiiiiiiiiight.)

Seriously, though, when I chose "Legally Brunette," I was in law school (probably not paying attention in class), and I had decided that I wanted to write a "law school" blog. I definitely had no idea that I would be stuck with that name for all eternity.

But, I guess it suits me. I am, after all, a brunette at heart. (Whatever that means.)

2. I have become a TV-aholic! I'm not kidding; I have a whole schedule right now, that completely revolves around my favorite television programs. I have the shows I can't miss, like Boston Legal, Grey's Anatomy, True Blood (great new show on HBO), and Entourage, and then I have the ones that I watch whenever I can, like Mad Men (which is available On Demand, thank goodness), Dexter (which I have to go to my parents' house to watch, 'cause I don't have Showtime), The Hills, 90210, and all of those E! shows about celebrities' "real" lives. Whew! I have never been this into television.

And speaking of Entourage, did anyone see last night's episode? I loved it. E, eating that peanut butter sandwich, was priceless. I was cracking the f* up. Anyhoo....

3. I haven't mentioned Cal in awhile, but things with him are great, or at least as great as they can be, when two people live 2200 miles away from each other. But, the good news is, he's coming to visit in ten days! Yaaaaaay! He's coming to Knoxville for a long weekend (4 nights), and he'll be here for my birthday! Good times. I'm so excited about getting to show him East Tennessee! L.A., schmell-ay.

4. Brewers' Jam is this Saturday! I just bought my ticket, and I am sooooo looking forward to it. It's an excuse to drink beer for an entire day! (As if I don't do that every Saturday.)

5. I've been doing really well with my running so far, and I think I'm going to enter a 5K in November. I've also been trying to diet a little bit, although for me, "diet" is a pretty strong word. Whatever calories I'm cutting out by eating less, I usually just make up for, by drinking more. Damn football Saturdays.

I did buy some Fiber One bars, though, because Teeny, who's been losing weight like it's her job for the past few months, recommended them. So far, I've tried the Oats & Chocolate (which are Teeny's favorite) and the Oats & Peanut Butter (because I love anything peanut butter-related), and I've liked both of them. So, if you want a snacky-type thing that will definitely make you feel full (they have 35% of your daily recommended fiber), look for these in the cereal aisle, with all of the other granola and cereal bars.

I guess that's all for now!

Here, Kitty, Kitty

So, Philly was out in the garage this morning, going through some old boxes and trying to find material for her latest "project" (she usually has something that she's working on), and when she looked up from whatever box she was rummaging through, she came face-to-face with a cat. Who, apparently, had been there for awhile. (At least overnight.)

It scared the bejesus out of her, as I imagine it would anyone who doesn't actually own a cat.

Upon further inspection, she determined that the cat was quite skinny ("sunken in," even), so she fed it some cat food that she and Ron had never thrown away after Missy died.

And...this is what makes me think that Philly has truly lost her mind...she even picked it up and held it. This is a woman who hates cats, who literally loathed poor Missy, whose only crime was jumping up on the kitchen counter occasionally, for a snack. (Granted, Missy was a little shit. But some of us loved her anyway.) Anyhoo, now Philly's hoping that the cat doesn't belong to anyone, because she kind of wants it to stick around.

We've even come up with a name for it, assuming it's a girl. (Philly has inspected the cat, and she didn't see any "package," but we're still not sure.) The cat has long black hair, so we named her after another chick with long black hair: Cher.

I guess we'll have to wait and see whether Cher decides to stay. Or, for that matter, whether Cher is even a girl.