Oh What a Night!

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Day 116- Chicken Piccata

It turns out that Trisha Yearwood is more than just a wonderful singer.  I saw her on tv recently promoting her new cookbook, and the foods looked absolutely delicious.  I don't mean to be rude, but after looking at her husband (Garth Brooks), I decided that I just might be able to trust Trisha as a cook too.  She also said something that went straight from her mouth to my heart, "Butter.  The thing that makes my food so tasty is lots of butter."  Since the time my roommates caught me drinking a bit of garlice butter in college and made fun of me/were totally disgusted by me, I am constantly on the lookout for vehicles to deliver delicious buttery goodness into my diet. I gushed about the cookbook so much to Tom that he was nice and surprised me with it last week.  What a guy (although there is something in it for him too)!  We couldn't help but oooh and ahhhh at just about every picture on just about every page as we flipped through. ...
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Me, Myself, and Thighs

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    Despite having the appetite of a truck driver and an intense aversion to vomit, I was diagnosed with having an eating disorder numerous times. I was never diagnosed by a doctor because I never actually had a disorder, but that didn't really matter to the number of people who came to their own conclusions anyway. This diagnosis was made by the critical eyes of strangers and the unkind whispers behind my back from “friends” and people with “concerns” who voiced their opinions through most of my teenage years. Up until that point, I had experienced enough unconditional love from my parents and “Ah, I remember the glory days when I was that thin… was I ever that thin?”comments that I had a healthy sense of self-confidence in my “skinny minnie” status. As a teenage girl, however, the things people said about me became who I was and how I saw myself. The confident toothpick turned into a blubbering mess in a dressing room being lectured by her mom that she would never love the ...
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Day 143- Mom

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    I stood there glaring at myself in the fitting room mirror. I’m not sure how it’s possible to dislike a scared little 90 lb. girl so much, but I did. I saw a girl who no one would ever have a crush on or date or love. I saw a girl that no one could possibly want to be friends with because she was such a dork. I saw a girl who didn’t look good in anything, couldn’t do anything, and most certainly wouldn’t be anything. My mom and I had been so excited when The Gap opened at our mall, and we were even more excited to see that they carried a size zero that might actually fit my tiny little eighth grade frame. But, there I stood, the pants hanging off of me, loathing myself. I wasn’t just a size zero. I was a zero. I tiptoed out of the fitting room with tears in my eyes, hoping that my mom would see me quickly before anyone else could, so she could agree that these pants were horrible too, and we could just go home. Instead, she followed me back into the fitting room. ...
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