'Tis the season to be jiggly.

I bet any insomniac knows who this guy is.

Dan made his first batch of fudge of the season and left it in a plastic tub on our kitchen table...all day...in the same apartment where I live and work and often seek distraction. I had no less than seven pieces. I had to finally ask him to get it out of here. "Put it in your car if you have to!"

I know my limitations. Resisting fudge is just not something I'm capable of. The one-inch cubes are so small that I can actually convince myself that I didn't really eat anything because something that small doesn't count and couldn't possibly do harm. It's not like I'm swallowing a heaping ladle of sugar. (That's exactly what it's like.) As the days shorten, my body starts doing that carb-craving thing (pretty sure fudge is a 'good' carb) and in the past few years, as womanhood has become me more and more, I've noticed a fun little pattern of putting on winter weight. (Oh, the fun of estrogen never ends!) I'm really trying not to do that this year. Tubs of fudge---delicious, fresh, creamy fudge made on my own stove top---don't help.

So far it's just been about 4 o'clock sunsets and spaghetti and meatballs but next week marks the start of the holiday season (the goddamn, mother-fucking, hap-happiest season of all) and that's when things get really hard. What am I supposed to do then, skip all the parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting and caroling out in the snow? (Let's be honest, I haven't hosted a party since I was 20 and the only hosting duty involved knocking on the neighbor's door to let her know we'd be loud---nothing short of a Valium could get me through one now---and aren't marshmallows more of a summer thing?) But even if I skip those, there will still be almond crescent cookies for yumming, peanut butter balls for gumming and gigantic piles of blow.

The pressure is unbearable. How am I supposed to not drink wine when it's just sitting there in someone's cellar waiting to be uncorked? Who do I look like, Candy Finnigan? (Such joy every time I am able to use her name on here.)

In this month's O Magazine, Dr. Phil told me to say this to my loved ones when facing holiday eating pressure or cravings (HEP-C): "I have a lot invested in what I'm doing, so please don't take offense if I either bring my own food or turn down something you've worked hard to make. This is really important to me, and I appreciate your support." I'll let you know how that goes down with my foodie family...

The fact is that I want to indulge. I want to play. With all due respect to my digestive tract (which will certainly make its opposition to this known) I'm going to bend some of my own rules. The days of no gluten, no eating after 8, and no spiked nog before noon will have to return after the new year. I could use some holiday cheer and by that I mean holiday cheese. Everything in moderation---blah de bloo de blah blah.

But, though I want to loosen the reins, I don't want to loosen my belt if I can help it. I've learned too much and worked too hard to get a giant ass for Christmas (especially since I wanted a pony). (I like this one better.)

So, with the start of the holiday season comes the start of a new exercise routine: Tony Horton's Power90 Boot Camp. It's absolutely as cheesy as it sounds. It's a 90-day at-home video program. I alternate between a cardio video and a weight-lifting video, six days a week. I'm starting off at level 1-2 of the "Sculpt!" and "Sweat!" videos (as well as the "Ab Ripper 100"...I swear to gawd!) but eventually will move up to the level 3-4 videos (as well as, you guessed it, the "Ab Ripper 200" video). I'm not the gym type (except for when I had a $10/month membership and went one time because I lost power in my apartment and didn't want to miss Ellen) so at-home videos work for me.

(If you think that's dorky, you should see my unitard. My mom used to do Jane Fonda videos, it's genetic. I promise a care-package of fudge to anyone who can find me an online video of the song "There's so much more to you than meets the eye" from the Jane Fonda "New Workout" video. I don't think Jane is the singer as I seem to remember another brunette taking center stage, but it's foggy. I looked all over and couldn't find anything. Seriously, I'll send you fudge.)

I officially started Sunday so the program, if I stick to it, will bring to me February...just in time for bathing suit season. If I can figure it out I'll try to chart the progress here. I'm not sure I'm up to talking weight (I once got kicked out of gym class rather than let my P.E. teacher, a man whom I loved and still consider a conquest I'd like to land in this lifetime, weigh me) but maybe I can do some sort of pounds lost kind of thing. (This, of course, assuming there are pounds lost which, considering the whole calories in/calories out concept, might not happen until January.)

So, now that I have a plan, who's coming with me? I said, WHO'S COMING WITH ME?! C'mon, you know you've seen the infomercials and were thinking of buying the videos anyway. I already tried to get Dan and my sister Bec on board but apparently the week before Thanksgiving isn't the ideal time to solicit exercise partners. Who knew? I suppose I'll have to rely on cyber-support from the message boards.

No matter what, it's on. I wrote it here. That means it's in stone. Wait, wasn't there another promise I made here that involved a three-month commitment?

Melliterary Spew

The 12 days 'til Bookish are such a pain to me! I'm going to need fuel. Since the days of smoking butts are over (four years on Christmas Eve---holla!), whatever shall I use?



Seriously, can you blame me?