Vacation rules?

Tonight, my husband declared that since his work week is over, vacation diet rules are in effect. Of course, he also used this to justify a very off-the-wagon binge on Monique's Hawaiian meatballs and jasmine rice, proving that there is most definitely one thing that would keep me from going completely veggie. Those meatballs would be my dying wish, and Monique, the sweetheart, has taken to making extra to send home from the office when she makes it for meetings. And it's not a complicated recipe, but I couldn't make it like her (just like no one there can make my cookies like me). And I wouldn't want to, because I'd eat them everyday and be the size of a Baltimore row house, which is, ironically, what fat people look like jammed next to one another on the metro.

Actually, I think I'm still within my calorie limit for the day, though I have no real way of knowing. And, quite frankly, I don't care. If a girl has to have one splurge, and she can't get it all the time anyhow, it's not an issue. So while I was standing in the kitchen trying to justify diving into meatballs and rice, Jere declared vacation diet rules. Meaning we eat what we want and worry later. At which point I reminded him that wasn't going to work for me, since I will basically be on vacation for the next whole month. Though I wonder how one could sustain a strict diet in Ireland? Unfortunately, I can't worry about all that, and I'll just have to throw some extra exercise in, because I want my damn yellow sun dress to fit without a fuss by April.
Two full bowls of meatballs and rice later, I passed out and slept for three glorious hours. That's what white rice does to someone who hasn't let it or any other crappy carbs slip by her lips in two solid months. I woke up feeling like hell, which is a good reminder of why I don't eat like that. Maybe I can try making brown rice to go with the rest of them. Certainly not the same, but it's a compromise (Jere will laugh when he reads that, because he knows I wouldn't ruin perfectly good Hawaiian food with brown rice, and will give in to the jasmine rice to keep the integrity of the dish; brown rice would be an insult to Monique).

I'm determined not to become a whale on this cruise. I gained three pounds on the one Karalyn and I took last year, and it was shorter! Fortunately, I've pinpointed the problem: fruity umbrella drinks and 7Up. I must cut back on 7Up! Yeah, like I'm going to give up my favorite part of cruising.

At least I'm packed, or as packed as I can be at this point. And the suitcase is already pretty tight, but Jere has assured me there will be room in his suitcase if I end up needing it. Good man. Tomorrow I'm taking him tie shopping so he doesn't look like my dad. I took inventory of Jere's ties, and yes, they all look like my dad's, which isn't a bad look....for my dad. But it creeps me out. They're almost the same age, they don't have to wear the same ties. *shiver* I know I married someone very much like my father, as they're both extremely smart about the same things, are only two inches different in height, both have a strange sense of humor. But I draw the line at ties.

I printed out all our travel documents today, and I have just one thing to say to the cruise line: stop using all my damn blue ink!

Today's lesson: Falling off the wagon is GOOD for you! As long as you don't do it everyday...