The question I get asked the absolute most by people is, “Do you really drink as much as you say you do?” The answer is no. Of course I don’t. I could never write about how much I actually drank or my kids and house and liver would be taken away.
The second question people always ask is how I maintain this mannish figure after thirty nine years of livin’ and vaginally birthing four children. I’ve decided it’s time to share my secrets. It’s just not fair to the rest of the world not to.
Summer is a time of showing lots of flesh. I stopped caring long ago. With a baby-oil-fueled-killer-tan and enough booze, anyone’s reflection in the mirror can look amazing. If my bathing suit could talk it would say, “Zero F*cks”.
I have an aunt, who shall remain nameless. She’s a great cook. But whenever you ask her for a recipe and make it, it never turns out as good. Because she likes to leave a thing or two out so that hers is always the best. But I promise you, I won’t leave anything out. I want you to have the exact same results as me.
I will use this past holiday weekend’s meal plan as an example. Rule Numero Uno. I don’t use holidays as an excuse to fall off the wagon. If anything, I add a couple horses to the wagon and giddy up.
Stay with me here. In order to get this rounded out zero look you need to pay attention closely and follow step by step. Now I’m not a total stickler for eating the exact sames things over and over. I like variety. But I do tend to stick to similar food types. Here’s an example of some of my faves you might like to try.
Friday night- I got to the cottage and stuck a fork right into the brownies I made. No need to cut first. And not just any brownies. But the cookie dough, oreo, brownie brownies that my brother-in-law, Jeeve, made last Christmas Eve. And I have dreamed about every night since. See what I mean about keeping it real during the holidays?
After that, I drank a bottle of wine. Actually five cans. That’s when I remembered I bought the makings of queso fundido. For those of you who aren’t familiar- it’s chorizo fried up with chihuahua cheese and served on flour tortillas. A smooth midnight snack that really settles your stomach before bed.
The beauty of this meal was that I was already in a black out and don’t remember eating it, so it doesn’t count. It’s almost as if I worked out.
Saturday- I woke up early. In the afternoon. To the aroma of three pounds of bacon sizzling downstairs. Nothing gets me out of bed like bacon. Accompanied by toast, eggs, and pancakes. With butter and syrup.
Now being at the cottage is like being a chain smoker. You need to actually start the next meal while you’re still finishing the first. So lunch was being prepared as breakfast was ending. The way food was meant to be eaten.
There was actually a moment where we had breakfast, lunch, and dinner going at the same time. I believe it’s called the trifecta fatass. But that’s a blog for another time.
Lunch consisted of turkey and bacon (more bacon) and cheese rolled up in a flour tortilla (more tortillas). With a dollop of chipotle. I like everything I eat to be portable. Sometimes you have to walk and eat. And flour seems to be the secret to keeping my midsection so bloated.
After lunch it was time to hit the beach. Because who doesn’t feel like putting on a bathing suit after that? So naturally, we packed a cooler full of chips and dips and crackers and cookies. And cheez-its.
I settled in at the picnic table. After I made damn sure there was more weight sitting on the other side. That’s all I needed was that table flipping and all of my snacks going every which way like the scene in A Christmas Story when the nuts and bolts go flying into the roadway. “Oh Fuuuudge”.
After more cheese than any human should consume in one afternoon, I managed to guzzle down six Vodka LaCroix’s. It’s really important to stay hydrated. Especially in that heat. And let’s be real. Vodka and LaCroix and ice is basically water.
Before you know it, it’s time for dinner. Just some light fare. Pork chops and chicken and CHEESY potato casserole . Hotdogs and CHEESEburgers and homemade macaroni and CHEESE.
I should poop any day now.
Then we washed it all down with some cake to celebrate all of the July birthdays and a pinata full of candy for good measure.
This is when I knew I needed to switch to wine because I was so full I was never going to be able to get drunk on vodka alone. Besides I really needed to forget all of the day’s indiscretions.
Sunday- It was like a scene out of the movie Groundhog Day. I awoke with a whiff of bacon. And the song God Bless the USA playing on repeat on the iPod in my head.
I. Can. Not.
But I rallied. I did it for me. I did it for my family. I did it for my country. And for people at cottages everywhere. Because I’m an American. Not an American’t.
Sunday and Monday were an absolute repeat of the previous two days. I started having trouble breathing. And moving my bowels. Nothing a pack of cigarettes couldn’t handle. I was a mess. A big fat sloppy sweaty mess.
Maintaining this physique is hard work. You have to have consistency. You have to be willing to work at it day in and day out. No exceptions. You can’t skip one day. Not even a holiday. Not even America’s birthday.
Tuesday- I was driving along in the golf cart when a tire blew. It was officially time to go home. The only thing more deflated than that tire was my self worth. Especially after my uncle told me he thought for sure the tires were made of solid rubber.
Luckily it was still so hot out since the only article of clothing that actually still fits is my bathing suit.
The only thing missing from this perfect weekend, besides all my loved ones that have gone before me, was some mini hot dogs wrapped in crescent rolls. But I swore to myself when I was shopping that I wasn’t going to consume any wheat this weekend. I wonder what happened to the fruit I swore I was going to eat.
***this diet plan comes with a money back guarantee. If you don’t look like me after a long weekend you’ll get a full refund. Paid out in ham sandwiches.