Last night I had a dream about cookies. Specifically generic brand “duplex” sandwich cookies, not Oreos. You know, the ones that are vanilla on one side and chocolate on the other and oh so tasty?. So, in my dream I was trying to ride a bike from New Orleans to Orlando with members of my family being pulled in a trailer behind me. I got about halfway to Orlando when I realized I was starving and pulled over onto the shoulder of the bike interstate. Realizing that I hadn’t packed a lunch for myself, I asked my family what they had and someone handed me a baggie of duplex sandwich cookies. I ate the hell out of those cookies and when I woke up I really really wanted to eat the hell out of some in my waking life.

So today at lunch, after managing to perform a miracle and get my power turned back on, I stopped at the grocery store and bought a healthy meal of chicken tenders and a pack of duplex cookies. This was lovely except for one small glitch: did you know that stores only sell duplex cookies in packs that are two pounds in size? Two pounds! That’s a lot of freaking dream cookies. In fact, I don’t think I even ate two pounds worth of duplex cookies in my dream and you know I burned two pounds worth of calories towing my family from NOLA to Orlando. Somehow I showed restraint and only ate three cookies from the pack. At this rate the remaining duplexes will be soggy and stale long before I finish the pack. I should have saved them and strapped the whole pack to my back for my marathon. Instant cookie dispenser and I wouldn’t have needed a single gu for the race. I would surely bet the Kenyans with this plan.

On a note that I’m going to pretend is totally random and unrelated to the fact that I have two pounds of cookies staring at me from my desk, my bras are feeling a bit tight in the cup area, which is normally a sign that I’m chunking up a bit, but this time I don’t think it’s that. Because I am in denial. I think my boobs are getting bigger because they never re-pressurized from our plane ride home. My boobs are suffering from some kind of ill pressurized jet lag. And so help me, if you try to tell me differently, I will come over there and smack you upside the head with my pack of cookies.

Last night jparks and I went up to San Francisco so I could run Bay to Breakers this morning. We left our house last night and had to turn around to get my hydration pack, which I had left on the couch. We got to our friend’s house in SF and went to dinner, where I had a second serving of rice covered in coconut milk (got to carb load! Okay, not really for a 12k, but mmm coconut milk rice) and then we promptly went to bed so I could get a full night’s sleep before my big race day.

This morning, before my alarm went off, I sat up, turned to jparks and said “I don’t have a sports bra.” Not sure why that thought didn’t occur to me the night before or why that was the very first thing I thought of in the morning but let’s say I wasn’t thrilled with this realization.

I know B2B wasn’t a super long race and it’s not what I’m training for, but I was really looking forward to running it. It’s one thing to run 7.46 miles on my own, but to run it on a course, with other runners, and people that are cheering (not necessarily for me, but I can pretend) is something special. It’s fun. It’s motivating. It makes getting up 5 days a week at 6am and running around my cold neighborhood worthwhile. And thanks to my absent-mindedness I couldn’t experience any of that. Stupid boobs.

After deciding that I wasn’t walking the race (I only had my spandex running capris and wicking mesh shirt with me. And while those are okay to run in, I have no desire to walk the streets of SF looking like a total tool) I told jparks that bacon and mimosas would help ease my pain. So off to Crepevine we went where I indulged in some therapeutic bacon and a sweet crepe that was served with ice cream. Yes folks, I had some ice cream for breakfast. And a glass of fresh squeezed oj mixed with some bubbly. Missing the race sucked, but brunch really did help it suck less.

Ice cream!

Nom nom nom

Let the real healing begin!

One time I sent jparks to the grocery store while he was hungry and when he brought back a bunch of random items I made fun of him for the rest of the evening. (He bought salad dressing, but not anything that you could throw together to make a salad.) Well, this evening I went to the grocery store while I was hungry and I’m willing to admit that I deserve whatever jokes he throws back at me.

Here’s what I bought:

• Frosted Flakes (a huge box. And I hate sugar-y cereals)
• Saag’s British Bangers (the only time I’ve ever had bangers was in London. I’ve never even considered making them, yet somehow they ended up in my basket. Oddly enough I bought no potatoes to make them into bangers and mash.)
• Frozen rolls (because buying fresh rolls would have meant the oven could stay turned off and why would I not want to heat up my kitchen when it’s only 100 degrees outside?)
• Corn Pops (I don’t think I’ve ever eaten Corn Pops. But it came with a free glow in the dark Indiana Jones spoon!)
• Frozen Fish Filets. Actually these didn’t make it home with me. Somehow my brain kicked in and I put them back, because eww.
• “Fresh” Tortellini. This was the only thing that made any sense as I actually had stuff at home to make this a legitimate dinner.
• 2 Bottles of SoBe Lean. They were on sale! And who doesn’t love fake sugar beverages?

Jparks is never going to let me hear the end of this. Although he may see the sugar-y cereals and forgot about the rest of the crap. That boy sure does love him some nutritionally void foods.

Recently I’ve noticed that my kitchen is starting to resemble an ice cream parlor. (or is the correct term scoop shop? ice cream bar? ice creamery?) It started slowly with some vanilla to top a cobbler, expanded into some small pints of extra rich haagen-dazs, grew a bit more when someone left hot fudge and caramel toppings at my house, and now it must end because I can’t handle the line of people on my porch that are demanding better mixins or else they’ll find another ice cream emporium to frequent.

How much ice cream is too much for one house? 2 large cartons, one square carton, 3 pints (in all fairness, 2 of those pints are soy cream, ice cream’s bastard child from her one night stand with that vegan she met at a Phish concert), one pack of skinny cow peanut butter ice cream sandwiches, one box of skinny cow fudge dipped ice cream bars, one jar of caramel, one jar of crushed pineapple, 2 jars of hot fudge, one large tub of cool whip, and a jar of maraschino cherries. And honestly, I don’t even like ice cream enough to warrant that much of it in my freezer.

Don’t get me wrong, I like ice cream a lot, but mostly if it’s paired with something, like a brownie, some pie, or cookie dough. It has to be an earth shattering flavor for me to go for it all on it’s own (a perfect example is gelato from Whole Foods, but only the flavors they make in store. Hello avocado gelato, I want to mouth kiss you)

So here I am with a enough ice cream to easily make me 3 clothing sizes bigger and a strong desire to not just throw it away. Aren’t we in the middle of a global food crisis? It would be criminal for me to waste all of this frozen cream. I think my best disposal option is an ice cream social. You in?

And, in case you want proof of ice cream before committing, here ya go (click through for notes if you can’t locate all the ice cream in the pictures, which I bet you can’t do. Some pints are hiding better than Waldo):

Last night I ran my five miles, drank a ton of gatorade, and ate dinner. Then I spent the rest of my night puking. Seriously, WTF people? Didn’t I spend a night puking just the other day?

The good news was that I had a pre-existing doctor’s appointment this morning. The bad news is that the doctor felt that my puking was the result of bad food from last night. After telling him that I only had salad he suggested that I had probably eaten bug eggs. B.U.G.E.G.G.S. I ate them. They were in my belly. Kill me now.

Why am I the one that always get sick? Why doesn’t jparks ever wake up at 3am to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet? Why doesn’t he ever eat bug eggs? Life is not fair.

Serious Eats (a fun food blog. Go check it out, I’ll wait. Hi, welcome back) has a running set of posts called Paula Deen Is Trying To Kill Us. Today they featured The Lady’s Brunch Burger. I shit you not, when I saw this burger I freaked out. I started checking my list of online friends, desperate to share the link to the recipe because I felt God whispering in my ear “Spread the word about this burger.” And who am I not to follow God’s orders?

So what would have to go on a burger to make it so majestic that I’m dedicating a whole post to it? Two words: doughnut burger. Topped with a fried egg. And bacon. Have you fainted from the joy of knowing that such a burger exists on this earth?

Now let me state that this is not a burger I would want to eat on a regular basis. And that I would be fine leaving off the fried egg. But it is something that I really really want to try at least once. And it is something that jparks can live his whole life without eating. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is yes, he is really a man and not a little girl.

His reaction to The Lady’s Brunch Burger was one of total disgust. “You would eat that!?!” might have been uttered a couple of times when I confessed to salivating over it. His final judgment on the burger was “That’s a white trash burger!” To which I say “Sign me up for a double wide trailer because I’m going to eat that burger someday!”

After much arguing back and forth I finally told him “I’m putting it to the blog council!” So what say you, blog council, is the doughnut burger disgusting or tasty looking? If I were going to host a Doughnut Burger Party, would you want to come? Are you on Team Doughnut or Team Girly Man?

And for the record, my ideal white trash burger would be doughnut, meat, cheese, bacon, doughnut in that order.

Thank you so much for the email and comment suggestions about photoshop. Perhaps soon I shall grow some balls and give them a shot.

And since I see that everyone is feeling helpful and willing to offer up such great advice I have another question for you. I need recipes. (okay, so that’s not a question. my bad.)

I want to cook more at home, but the recipes that I have on file are all very time intensive and require fancy, hard to keep on hand ingredients. I don’t mind using gourmet recipes on weekends, but on a daily basis I would love to have a stockpile of simple, tasty recipes.

So, (here comes the question!) do you have any recipes that I can have? I don’t care if it’s for a side dish, a main dish, something that has to be baked, crock potted, stir fried, or microwaved, I really want the recipe. Cookbook suggestions are also welcome.

Did I mention how pretty and/or handsome you all are? I mean really, you must have started doing yoga or something because you are smoking hot.

It’s been a long day today. Earlier, I was in the middle of writing a blog post when I hit save and firefox crashed. Of course, when I got firefox back up the post was gone. I was almost in tears because it was a serious post as opposed to a not serious post like this one.

Add in that I’m extremely tired today because someone was at work until 1:30 last night and repeatedly woke me up when he got home and you get one cranky girl who is thisclose to tears for no reason.

So yeah, it’s been a long day which is why when jparks came home with a burrito from Chipotle for me I told him “I’m going to eat the hell out of this burrito!” And boy, oh boy, did I ever eat the hell out of it. And it was good. Amen.

I have food poisoning. This means that when jparks comes home from work I’m going to have him take me out back and put me down, because I do not want to continue on for another second feeling like this. I’m a pretty seasoned puker, but this is unlike anything I have experienced before. My stomach feels like it’s tied in knots and even water won’t stay put. I think my body has rid itself of anything that was lingering in my intestinal tract from the past ten years. Crap came out that I don’t remember ever eating. Delightful, isn’t?

Since I haven’t moved from my bed all day, except to go to the bathroom, I’ve been entertaining myself with a Top Chef marathon and google searching “food poisoning”. Perhaps looking that up was not the best idea since I’ve now learned that a common type of food poisoning comes from contamination with feces. Poop! I might have eaten poop! Oh my god, kill me now. In all fairness it could have been caused by some bad meat but my coworker, who had lunch with me yesterday and is also sick today, had beef while I had pork. I’m thinking all signs point to poop!

And to make you all feel extra sorry for me here’s a picture:

All together now, “awwww”

You’ll need the following:

1 person
1 pizza
1 order of bread sticks
3 little to go tubs of ranch dressing
a pinch of stupidity

1. Get your person really hungry. Preferably have them do 3 hours of exercise with no snacks.
2. Order them a pizza, and while you’re at it why not get some bread sticks too!
3. Have the hungry person, who is probably not thinking clearly, go pick up the food.
4. Make sure the pizza place gives them permission to take as much ranch dressing for dipping as they need.
5. Once home, allow hungry person to eat bread sticks until they can’t eat anymore. Once they reach “full” remind them that they have pizza they haven’t touched.
6. Watch the person eat a piece of pizza. They may seem skeptical and look like they know this is a bad idea, but that won’t stop them.
7. Allow a little bit of time to go by (probably about 4 hours). Place bread sticks back in front of them. Don’t forget the ranch!
8. Encourage the person to eat way more bread sticks than they even thought they could.
9. Watch as the person realizes that they have consumed almost all of the medium pizza sized order of bread sticks. Don’t they look a bit ill?
10. Now point out that two tubs of ranch dressing are also missing.
11. And remind them of the greasy, gooey cheese on the bread sticks.
12. Don’t let them forget that they ate some pizza too.
13. Viola! Your person should now be curled up on the floor in the fetal position, clutching at their stomach, while moaning incoherently. Job well done!