Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Food Comas are a Real Thing


I know that it's all about timing, and that it's all about keeping your metabolism up until you fall asleep...but come on. Carbs are delicious, and they just make you want to curl up and die in your own flub of happiness. I have a total food baby now and thanks to my slowing metabolism, I actually have to pay attention to my habits now. Do you know what this means for me? No sleep until 11:30. No sleep until 11:30 pm, unless I want all of that stuff to just congeal and make me fat.

I know they all say that when you reach a certain age, your metabolism just goes "See you later, homie" but "LATER" NEVER COMES....? It's true. It is 100% true. A couple of years ago, I could eat anything I wanted and not gain a single ounce; now, I have a scoop of chocolate ice cream and my ass jiggles for a week.

Don't get me wrong...actually having an ass is pretty nice, especially when you go 20-something years without one. This has pretty much been the only time I have cursed my Asian genetics, which have otherwise blessed me with gorgeous skin, beautiful almond-shaped eyes, and thick and generous black hair. What good is all of that Pinoy heritage, though, if you don't have a juicy Spanish booty go with it?

Is there a way I can just take all of the excess flub from around my belly button and just skidge it over to my butt? No? Not without surgery? I was more thinking of some kind of yoga move, or reflexology thing I could do at home... I guess not. I guess I'll just have to stick with it, and maintain the fairly descent metabolism I have now by not falling asleep until the 2 hour mark has been reached.

This seems easy enough if you haven't had a giant plate of pasta with sauteed garlic for dinner, all buttery with dried basil(I dried that basil bunch I got from the Overland Park Farmers' Market  by microwaving it on 60% power for 45 seconds) and roasted tomatoes and cracked black pepper. It was so good. I slurped it up with my poached egg, which just added another thickness and ooey-gooeyness to my butter sauce. How can you not want to just curl up in a pile of pasta and fall into your cocoon of indulgence and feigned self-respect?

It's hard. That's why I'm blogging. Only half an hour more to go. Feck.