foodie

The only thing more terrifying to a food addict (or as I call them a foodie) who is trying to recover than a free buffet is a hotel mini-bar that doesn't require a key. There is a bag of sea salt potato chips and chocolate toffee sitting above it. Along with individually wrapped boxes of nuts. You have honey glazed peanuts in the first box. Cashews in the 2nd box, chocolate covered almonds in the third, and the fourth are pistachios. The cute thing is the card next to them that reads the prices of each item. I could get full meals in California for those prices.

However things really fall apart when you open the fridge. You open the door and you are face to face with not one but two snickers bars. You turn your eyes away to see a single can of Pringles (in the fridge right wtf). You look down but now you are eye to eye with chocolate chip cookies. You gaze shifts once again and there is the typical assortments of wines, beers, and mini bottles of booze in the fridge. Not once but twice during the height of my depression in 1997 did I clean out fridges like this. Once in Maastricht and once in Munich I took down the entire mint bars, bottle by bottle and snack by snack. I'm no stranger to taking mini-bars. No stranger at all. 

So the question becomes “How can we possibly maintain?”

This is the nightmare of the food addict. He feels weak and helpless on one hand and ashamed and defeated on the other. It's as if the gods want to be tempted. What to do what to do.

As a foodie I assume normies don't have this issue. A normie is a person who isn't a foodie. We call you normies because we perceive you are "normal" or have a normal healthy relationship with food. Right or wrong I don't know. Who am I to judge such things fairly?  I am the delirious addict typing about having an open mini bar and nuts and chips on the counter. 

Anyway a plan forms. You'll call the front desk and ask them to take away the food. Yes. It's almost a genius idea. You cook up a story to tell them about how you don't want to get stuck in your room binding when you could be out on the casino floor gambling. This is Vegas after all and they want to take my money.

However when you call the front desk it all goes wrong. They don’t understand your strange request.  They can’t comprehend.  They say that is out of their hands.  I ask is there no one who can take this god damned food out of my room.  They say no.  That if I don’t want it I don’t have to eat it and just leave it alone.  I tell but weight you don’t understand. I am a god damned junky and the shit won’t be here in the morning if they don’t do something about it.  I said all I am asking you do to do is lock the god’s damned mini bar.  So I can’t get into it.  Then they say “Oh, well we can do that.”  You say thanks and hang up.  The phone rings but no one is there.   Then you hear something coming form the fridge and gods be damned if they didn’t lock the mother fucking thing.  It won’t open. 

The next challenge comes at breakfast. You see the oatmeal that you know will satisfy you, but then you also see pancakes. You love a good morning cake. Hell your fat you love all cakes. However there is something about pancakes you really love. Could it be the maple syrup or the side of extra crispy bacon that you love? Who knows but you love them.

You are going to eat alone on your room looking out onto Vegas. No one but you room service and the waiter will know what you ordered. No one will know. This is Vegas and I assume that much like everything else here room service orders stay in Vegas.

So why is there a question? Order what you want! Feed the monster.
No one will ever know.  You have lived most of your life in a lie.  Lying about what you eat and when.  How you eat it. What points you have and have not counted.  What calories have and haven’t been counted.  You can come up with something else for the blog.  They don’t need to know. 

To lie here would defeat the entire purpose.  Wouldn’t it?  I mean it would, right.  I mean as I have said in the past there are things I must keep quiet.  As an example, my schemes for one must remain silent.  Things people ask me not to speak of remain quiet.  However, the essence of this blog is truth.  My truth or the world seen through my eyes, therefore, I was to order the lumberjack sandwich I have an obligation to the reader to share with them the failure along with success. 

You’re on the phone with room service.  Now comes the moment of truth.  What will you get?  What won’t you get?  You even ask the lady what you should do.  Then, you look into the reflection coming off the TV and you see the man, no that is not right the mammoth standing there.  At this point you know.  You know what is right and what is not.  So, you order.  You walk to your window and look out on this strange and wonderful world they call Vegas. 

You know that you are better.  The scale doesn’t show it.  The mammoth in the mirror or in reflections don’t show it.   But you are.  You are changing.  Little by little, you are getting better.  Better and better.  Better and better.  Each day. One step at a time.

Lunch yesterday was a Green Goddess Smoothie. I am used to Rachel’s, oops, I mean RG’s green smoothies.  They are good.  The right balance of green and fruit, so they are sweet.  What I got yesterday, I am 100% convinced was ground up grass.  The motherfuckers gave me a ground grass Goddess.  I can say for sure the Green Goddess was not green goodness.  But I did my duty and powered it down. 

Ok, I better get back to the conference and stop slacking off…

Breakfast yesterday:

 

 

 

Lunch:

 

Oh it was awful, but as I said I powered thru:

Dinner last night was Tapas... and it was good and I didn't over eat and left before dessert.  no picks other than me and Murch rocking out, i love this dude, we have been rockstaring it up in Vegas....

Breakfast this a.m.