Ate Skittles...Peed a Rainbow

I think I'm dying whenever I eat anything that contains anise oil.  See anise oil turns everything - I mean everything - a bright Wicked Witch of the West green.   I'm warning you now.  It isn't easy being green!

Master...Ba[k]ing

I've always loved baking - not cooking - baking.  "Cooking" implies slaving over a hot stove while your impatient husband and bevy of children (envision "Children of the Corn") gnash their steely teeth at the formal dining room table (1970s dark, stained oak or maple inclusive of a china cabinet).  I'm not into cooking.  I'm into baking.  Tarts, pies, cakes, cookies, trifles, etc.  Being a diet baker is akin to being a celibate orgy instructor (my dream career).  You just have to dip your hand (or other dangling extremity) in once in awhile.  Today I baked a lattice crust apple pie (I pour cream into the pie the moment I take it out of the oven).  The aroma the baking cocoon of fruitiness created was something I cannot adequately describe.  If there ever was a "sex pie" - this was it.  I ate a piece then smoked a cigarette - it was that good!

Pieces of Me

Sure, I've been MIA for several months now.  I reached my weight goal and completed the OptiFast program.  Yay me!  I've lost the equivalent of two carry-ons and one large garment bag.  I still have lots of emotional baggage, though.  Satan's food beckons to me daily, like some inner city hooker.  You know if you indulge, you're going to regret it (and maybe require a dose of penicillin) after the one brief shining moment of euphoria slinks away in disgust.  Such is the life of a woman who loves food - and most women love food more than sex.  Really - we do.  Nothing against the old bump and grind but food makes us feel - well - loved.  I know, that's fucked up.  But it does.  Warm, gooey cheese, voluptuous mounds of  mashed potatoes, erect Italian bread sticks.  Does the trick every time.