The Chicken in the Crockpot is Beginning to Stink

So there's no weigh in post for last week.  No big shameful reason, just a busy week that also happened to be The Week of Bloat.  I weighed myself at home and was pleased with the results, but of course it's not "official" so my inner Weight Watchers Rainman is having a hard time accepting that number.  But I'll use it for my little weekly add up below.

I am still a big fan of the WW.  The more I learn about it, about how to track what you eat, about how to modify recipes so they're healthier, the more I love it.  I also really love finding out about low point treats that I can stuff into my gaping pie-hole and not feel bad about it afterwards.  Lately I've been on a sushi kick.  Sushi is pretty low in points and I love it, so there ya go.  Now, you know me, I'm no gourmand, so I'm not really picky about what sushi I'll eat.  I will buy it at Target, and at my local grocery store.  I also like the sushi at Trader Joe's.  I can hear your eyeballs rolling, food snobs.  But that's ok.  I can live with your judging.  I just inhaled a container of it that I picked up at the grocery store, it was a simple California roll tray.  8 points total and I'm stuffed. 

Not that I eat it every day, but thought I'd pass it on that it's a good, cheap lunch that won't cost you a ton of points.  Plus you can eat it while you drive if you're really hungry.  You may find rice in your bra later that night, but hey...better than going through the McDonalds drive thru.

Another reason I didn't do my weigh in was because last week was kind of full of debauchery.  I had a date last Saturday night, the details of which I need to spill soon because it's killing me to not blurt out the intimate details of my personal life to the Internet.  Also, I'm finding myself in a very unusual quandary...get this:

I'm afraid I am turned off by someone's political viewpoints.  And by turned off, I mean, I don't want to have sex with him.  Weird, huh?  Not that I didn't do it, because you know I did.  But it almost didn't happen.  Like, as we were sitting there at dinner, he was going on about why he's going to vote for the person he supports, and why I'm stupid for supporting the other guy.  The more he talked, the more I could feel my erogenous zone closing in upon itself, like one of those flowers that curls up into a tight ball at night time (what are those flowers, anyway?  They're beautiful.). I actually had to say, "Stop talking about it.  And let's order some more wine."

So yes, I did do it.  But I was kind of mad at myself the next day.

Is this yet another sign that I'm growing up?  Or is it just another indication that I am getting to that point in my life where I'd rather eat diet popcorn and watch Netflix than have skin-on-skin contact with a man?  Either way, it's not how I usually roll and it's kind of freaking me out. 

Oh yeah, and it was also a sinful week because it was my friend's birthday (Happy Birthday to one of my favorite people on the planet, Danielle!).  And her birthday just happened to coincide with the re-opening of one of the bestest restaurants in Minneapolis.  Figlio's was the restaurant where everyone who was cool or who happened to be getting their drink on within stumbling distance would end up after the bars closed.  It was also open during normal dining hours, but the fun was had late at night.  They had a garlic pizza that I'm pretty sure I would have married if those types of marriages were allowed.  The servers were all fabulous in that "I am infinitely cooler than you can ever hope to be" kind of way, the kind of cool where you desperately sought approval from them and if you made them smile or laugh you felt an almost Olympian sense of  accomplishment. Or maybe that was just me?  Oh well.  It closed down about 3 years ago and by some miracle is now reopening just a couple of miles away from my house.

They had this announcement on the facebook, that they were having a "soft opening" (yes, of course we joked about "soft openings" until even we got sick of ourselves laughing) on the Saturday after Danielle's real birthday, and if you called them and were lucky enough to get through you could go and have FREE DINNER so the kitchen staff and servers could get ready for the real deal. Danielle called like 127 times, and we got in! We being Danielle, her awesome nieces Emily and Julie, and me.  That was this past Saturday.

Free dinner, at the restaurant we practically grew up in?  A dream come true.  So we went.  And we ate. And of course, we drank.  We met many fabulous characters over the course of the night:

Henry, the manager.  Henry was HOT in a 'vaguely ethnic, works out a lot, $$$ haircut' kind of way.  Plus he had hands the size of catcher's mitts.  Henry schmoozed with us a bit, and said that he too had hung out at Figlio's back in the day.  But he didn't know about my garlic pizza, so I kind of think Henry was bullshitting us.

James, the Gay Alec Baldwin. By the time we met James, I was already licking the glass of my third dirty martini so I can't remember exactly what he does there.  But he truly is the gay Alec Baldwin.  And James wasn't a liar, like Henry.  He knew about the garlic pizza.  When he described how you'd squeeze the cooked garlic out of the roasted bulb, I felt something move (yet another George Costanza reference, for those of you keeping track).  James, you had me at "it was like garlic toothpaste".

My friends Tracey and her daughter Mara.  Ok, so I had already met these two but I saw them there and have to apologize publicly for my creepy, overly enthusiastic hugs.  I had just met James.  Tracey and Mara are a kick-ass Mother/Daughter duo.  Tracey has been a huge support with the whole Big Daddy thing, and a lot of help with the Charlie stuff.  And Mara is quite simply one of the most lovely people I know.  I want her to mentor my Molly.  She's a strong girl, with a strong mama.

So, we really only met two new people that night but it seemed like more.  Point is, it was fun.  If you're a local, please go check out Figlio.  And say hi to James for me.

As for the title of today's post, I had a funny/disgusting story about how I tried to be all Pioneer Woman last week.  I made a whole chicken in the crockpot (actually that was delicious and pretty much impossible to mess up).  But then, I had this crockpot full of chicken juice.  And I thought, "Hey, I bet I could make homemade chicken soup".  But apparently I skipped a step, or else I just did what I usually do in the kitchen and that is make a disaster.  Because my homemade chicken soup tasted like butt.  Or at least what you'd imagine ass tasting like, I wouldn't know firsthand.  I was mad at myself for wasting celery and chicken stock and carrots, so I let the disgusting, fatty chicken soup sit there for a couple of days.  You know, because I didn't want to face my failure.  And after a couple of days, one of my kids said, "I don't know what you've got cooking in that crockpot, mom, but it's starting to stink."

Now that I wrote it down it's not quite as funny.  But there ya go.

And now I must wake the angels.  I've decided to not put my weekly weight check in here at the bottom, because although Laid Back Jenny knows it would be just fine, OCD Jenny is screaming, "BUT YOU DIDN'T GO INTO WEIGHT WATCHERS AND GET WEIGHED!!!".  So I will post my weight stuff later this week, after both of us go into the actual place and have them weigh us.  But I have officially retired my Fat Jeans, so something is working.

Enjoy the day, my friends.