Last week was a great week. I stuck to my workout schedule, brought my lunch everyday. Even flossed regularly.
Then I went to the Stevie Wonder concert on Saturday night.
Oh, sure the concert was awesome. Got to spend the beautiful evening outside, meandering through a big, friendly crowd at Taste of Chicago. The Wonder played for 3 hours - vastly outperforming the younger acts I've seen in recent years.
Sidenote: I went to see Th' Legendary Shack Shakers a few weeks ago, and I patiently sat through way too many songs from The Lawrence Peters Outfit before finally seeing the Shakers' 60 minute - albeit mindblowing - set. The opening act wasn't unbearable or unenjoyable; it was just long, and I had the runs, and I wanted to see the main event. Point being? I was at the venue for close to 3 hours, and I only got to see the headliner for 60 minutes. Suck.
But Stevie Wonder. Was. Amazing. I went with Shana, and we nearly chickened out on account of the claustrophobia-inducing masses. But...we made it in, decided to tunnel through the people, ended up in a spontaneous "electric slide" line that grew exponentially throughout the song, "Superstitious." We chanted with our new dance partners, "Ain't no party like a Chi-town party, cuz a Chi-town party don't stop!" I felt like I was in an urban step battle.
It was the concert of the year! So far!
Then we decided to go to the loop for ribs, because we didn't want to get suckered into the Taste of Chicago prices. That's where I met my food demise.
For $13, I got a rib-tips lunch box at Ronny's Steak House - a kind of soul food cafeteria. Sounds meager, right? It's just rib tips, right? Not like it's a rack. And it came with vegetables: a baked potato and side salad. That can't be bad...unless the potato is served up with the butter already melted into a yellow oil, and the salad comes with a quarter cup of ranch dressing. My tray weighed more than 10 pounds. I betcha any money. But...it did all come on some heavy dinnerware.
And it? Was good. Oh yes.
I couldn't finish it, so I took the leftovers home and prayed that I'd run into a homeless person I could foist the guilty evidence upon. Wouldn't you know it? The ONE time I need a homeless person in my path, I can't find one. I even took a long route from the train to my apartment, passing 2 liquor stores, the burrito house where I'm always accosted late at night, and a few of their camping zones. Nothing. I guess I had to keep them.
I got home and took a sominex to come down from the excitement. Mistake. I slept until 3 the next day, and I felt like I could sleep some more. It was like the kind of Sunday that follows a night of heavy drinking, though I hadn't had a drop of alcohol in a few weeks. I felt lazy. I felt like I wasted a day. I felt...warmly sleepy. I needed to wake up, though. I needed to eat something, didn't I? So I nuked the ribs and they were perfect.
Then I decided I needed more ribs. Having told Shana that my favorite place for ribs - named, believe it or not, Art of Pizza - has a rib special every Sunday (an offer I have taken advantage of occasionally....every other Sunday), I had rib special on the brain. Fall off the bone rack of ribs for $9.95, with fries and a side salad, delivered straight to my door.
So I let a few hours pass, hoping the craving for ribs would leave as silently as it arrived. It didn't. I called it in. I ate those bastards up in mere minutes, my cuticles red with the tangy, peppery evidence of food sex.
This of course started the slippery slope. Yesterday I went out for Potbelly subs for lunch, though I chose the turkey instead of the standard wreck. And I know I had something else "terrible" that I can't put my finger on. BUT I didn't surpass my calorie budget, and I worked out.
Today, though...today was BAD NEWS. Amy and I went to the food court in Chicago Place mall on Michigan Ave. I didn't know a food court like this existed so close to me for so long. It was like a dream only the suburbs could make come true. You know what I had? Great Steak and Potato Company. Chicken Teriyaki Sub (it's just chicken, right?), hand-cut fries (split 80/20 with Amy; guess who got 80?). This was a trip down memory lane, to Penn Station (same company) on Sundays in college, when calories were for adults. I savored every moment of it.
And we had coupons for frozen coffee beverages from Seattle's Best in Borders Books that expired TODAY, so we HAD to take advantage of them, right? Now, I'm a Frappucino Lite girl at my best, but what would it hurt if I got the full sugar/fat milkshake for grown-ups?
It would hurt. A lot.
Immediately after leaving Steak and Potato, I felt like I was sweating fry grease. After my first sip of frap crap, I could feel my innards roiling. Bad News.
Once back at the office, I checked out the companies' websites for nutrition information.
The it's-just-CHICKEN sub? 900+ calories, 50+ grams of fat. The fries? 600+ cal, 30+ grams of fat. The frappe? 400+ cal, I'm passing out now grams of fat.
You know that part of the Goonies when Chunk tells the story of making a batch of fake puke and taking it to the movies?
Hoo-AHH, Hoo-AHH, HOOOOO-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
That's what I felt like. Not in the bulimic way, but in the "there are over 100 oily grams of fat in your system right now and you haven't had that much fat in one sitting in quite some time so your bowels are treating you, well, like shit" kind of way.
Long story short, I got a long walk home tonight.
So there's that,
Lovely Dinner Date
3 hours ago