B and I are staying at my parents house this weekend while we're home in Philly for my lover-friend Lauren's wedding. One because it's an awesome chance to squeeze some quality family time in during this quick trip. And two because B and I are too pathetically broke to rent a hotel room for the wedding. I haven't lived in my parent's house full-time since high school and just like high school, I anticipate awkwardly calling my parents for a ride home on Saturday night. Only instead of picking me up from our regular hang out spot at Lauren's house, one lucky parental winner will be picking me up from Lauren's wedding because I think we all know that I won't be in any condition to drive by the end of this little evening. Am I right or am I drunk already?
One of the best things about visiting home -- again, besides all the much needed Mommy-Daddy time because that's what it's really about -- is the food. Opening up the refrigerator here is like unwrapping presents on Christmas morning. I never know what's going to be inside that magical box, but I know it's going to be packed with awesome, name brand things that I'm too cheap to buy myself.
Wednesday night as soon as I walked in the door, I dropped my bags in my old bedroom -- which, by the way, has been conservatively yet tastefully redecorated as a guest room (R.I.P. Dave Matthews posters) -- ran to the kitchen, threw open all the cabinets that usually contain food, grabbed the pack of Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies and shoved about six of them in my mouth before I even said hello to my father. Do you even know how expensive Pepperidge Farm cookies are? Those things are like gold. Sweet, buttery GOLD.
B and I don't keep many snacks in our house. The snack variety in my parents' house however, is astounding. Yesterday I walked into the kitchen and there was a giant bag of yogurt covered pretzels sitting on the counter. Yogurt covered pretzels? AM I IN HEAVEN? And it's not just junk. Even the fruit tastes better here. Apples, pears, oranges, bikinis, zucchinis, martinis, no weinies. The way I inhale food here, you'd think I'd never actually had a Dorito before.
The one downfall to my pure eating enjoyment however, is the fact that my parents don't have a dog. At home, if I drop something on the floor, I don't even have to bend down to pick it up because my dog-shaped vacuum cleaner is always at my feet ready to inhale anything that falls from my hands. Here, I actually have to pick shit up. Life is really hard sometimes.
On a slightly related note, one of the reasons I've been committing the sin of gluttony on a near daily basis these days is because my marathon training is in full swing so I'm almost always starving. At some point today I have to run 17 miles. Which sucks because what I feel like doing is staying on this couch all day and eating yogurt covered pretzels while watching a True Life marathon on MTV.
Feel like keeping me motivated, off the couch and away from the yogurt covered pretzels? Help me raise money for Back on My Feet! Just kidding. Not even Jeebus himself could keep me from those pretzels.