10.7.10 — DICK'S!

If having an ass load of fried chicken and all the fixin's wasn't bad enough today, the agency held a little party for one of our coworkers who is very pregnant (dilated at 3cm and holding — yes, her dilation amount has been announced over the agency intercom). What do you feed a woman who is about to pop any second?

Dick's, of course.

I think there were many implied jokes. Dick's taste good in your mouth, everyone craves some Dick's every once in awhile, who can say no to a pile of Dick's, she's pregnant so we already know she likes Dick's... really, this stuff writes itself.

For me, this was as hard or harder (yes, I know, going for the low hanging fruit there) to resist than Reuben Tuesday. I'm unafraid to say I love Dick's. I used to gobble up Dick's whenever I could. I'd get 2 Dick's, a couple fries and a chocolate shake - throw in a couple tartars for good measure - and then race home to eat it all. You have to be quick with Dick's because if the fries get cold then you're left with a limp lump of flaccid potato-shaped grease. It was also usually a good idea to not look to closely at the ever-growing grease stain on the bag. But, I can tell you, grease or not, Dick's do indeed taste good in your mouth.



Dick's shakes — any flavor you want so long as it's chocolate, strawberry or vanilla.



You thought I was kidding about the grease stains. Look at those puppies. The burgers aren't wet. It wasn't raining while they were being brought into the building from the car. They weren't accidentally dropped in the sink. No, all that "wetness" is pure grease. Yummy.

Oh, and just for the sake of full disclosure, my "normal" Dick's order came to just about 2100 calories — about what I eat in a day now.

9.9.10 — Late Night with Ivar's

Working late and the coworkers are deciding between the Dirty Bird (aka Red Robin) or the Walk-up Fish Bar (aka Ivar's). Both hold a special kind of doom for me because, while I won't ordering, the mere fact that French fries will be near at hand might be enough to send me over the edge. I've had a long and stressful day, and my resolve is at a very low ebb. I'm cranky, tired and ready to chuck it all because I'm at work past 8 pm for the second night in a row. That crap puts me in a foul mood and fries might just be the balm for that hurt.

But no. They decide on the fish. I decide to hold my ground and let that hurt join the already fierce ball of black hate that has settled into my lower intestine. One day, it will break free and you'll see the news reports of a freshly skinny man, raving madly through the streets, rubbing thick-cut steak fries all over his body with one hand while spritzing himself and horrified onlookers with a squeeze ketchup bottle with the other hand.



Also, someone left this powdered cinnamon roll on the table behind me in my cubicle row. Eh. Easy to resist.

Total weight loss: 188.5 lbs.