Just call me Cheaty McCheaterson. I went out last night. I totally had a couple of Guinesses. They were lovely, and the company was lovely, and the prime rib was freaking awesome. Have I told you, my lovely interwebs, that prime rib is my most-est favorite-est meat? It is. And one day, Colbey is going to teach
me BRIAN how to prepare it so that I can enjoy it in the comfort of my own home…
… by eating it in bed like George Costanza would.
Yesterday’s dinner (minus the beer, of course) was paleorgasmic:
(I cried a little bit when I realized I’d eaten all the sweet potato fries, and I considered — seriously considered — putting in a second order for more. But I held strong … and ordered a second beer instead.)
It appears as though I’ve settled into a fairly reliable one day on, one day off cycle. So I vowed that today I would not cheat, and cheat I did not. However, tomorrow is the first day of Brian’s birthday week (he is FORTY on April 1!!), and we’ll be eating out with his grandmother in Baltimore. She often insists on sangria with lunch; she is wonderful.
three yam and apple pancakes topped with blueberries
coffee + almond milk
a really really good book that I highly recommend.
(I feel compelled to say that I didn’t really eat the book.)
half a grilled chicken breast, half an onion, a crap load of portabellos, and 5 brussels
dried cherries and almonds
some veggie chips
one apple, 2 celery stalks, a dollop of almond butter, and 20 raisins
No WOD today; rest. And rest I did. The only moving I did was to mosey around Wegman’s. Had to get a refill on my brussels, you know.