It's 82 degrees in Houston, Texas and feels like 90. It's 49 everloving degrees in Chicago, Illinois and feels like 45 (I'd say 35 but I suppose people would trust Weather.com more than yours truly...). I hope someone passes the word along to the S/O's mother that come next Friday, she'd best pack (or buy. Do native Houstonians even have winter clothes? Please, these are the big questions in life) her winter clothes. It's supposed to get up into the 70's starting next Wednesday but I'll believe it when I see it. In the meantime, rain, rain and more rain.

In other news, we have to be the only people who celebrate the S/O's fifty plus pound weight loss by ordering a large Popeye (spinach, mozzarella cheese and basil) stuffed pizza from Giordanos and finished (actually, began) with butter pecan (moi) and apple strudel (him) ice cream filled waffle cones. Yeah. I'm actually scared to get on a scale although Henry and his little girl friend (not like that) swear I look like I've lost weight and that, really, I should consider wearing "real clothes" instead of t-shirts and sweatpants 24/7. Right. Eh, I wouldn't mind a new pair of jeans, otherwise I'm happy with my t-shirts. I need to find something to eat for lunch before the S/O gets home. Speaking of food (when am I not talking about food? Hm. More on that in a second) I made penne with pesto and sauteed chicken breast topped with goat cheese last week along with a pecan-apple salad. So. Damn. Good. I think I'm going to make it again next Friday, it was fairly easy to make and it'll impress everyone that eats it.

I wish I had some sort of horrible affliction to blame my weight on, you know, a thyroid issue, slow metabolism, an inability to get off my fat ass and move (some days... but no) or SOMETHING. No, I just love food. Too much. Well, I guess in all theory I could blame the predisone therapy because that's when most of the weight piled on and then it never really came off. But still, let's be honest, I eat stuff that is so not good for me and I refuse to stop eating it. But I do believe in moderation, it's not like I'm always eating junk food or crap, hell, I buy lots of fresh fruits and vegetables and try to have a salad with dinner at least two or three times a week. I only drink Diet Pepsi, water, fruit juice and the occasional Mug root beer. I rarely eat dessert and I lay off the red meat. So maybe if I enforced more of that moderation and even more exercise (I want a Stairmaster, damnit /whine), that weight might come off. If it doesn't, or in the amount that I'd like, well, then I suppose it's time to eat as much damn butter pecan ice cream as I want. There's my motivation in a nutshell - lose weight and stop worrying about having too much junk in your trunk or accept the fact that you're a lard-ass and eat yummy butter pecan ice cream for eternity. It's a win-win situation.

before & after