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Weekends are Like Bad Friends

I love weekends, but they are like the friends who dare you to do bad things. This is how I break down my weekends:

Friday = Free for all

Saturday = Sanctioned for fun

Sunday = Show penitence

Friday night started out innocent enough, Brad and I met some people at a micro brewery for some beers. One of the couples invited us over their house for dinner. They served beer, wine, cheese, crackers and salami. Those are pretty much my achilles' heels. Then we sat down for pasta with a mushroom sauce along with wine. I think she was trying to find my breaking point and she found it with tequila!

Saturday was tennis drills where my team wanted to know if I drank a lot. Then our tennis coach asked me to quantify my drinking rationale. My friend Heather explained on my behalf perfectly. Drinking is like exercising ... you need to warm up and that is when I have a few IPA beers and then you have your hard core exercising and that is when you pull out the wine for the heavy lifting and then cool down with vodka, gin or tequila. Seems so simple I am not sure why it needs to be explained.

We went to a fun party Saturday night and I decided I would not drink. I know this is shocking and please do not send the authorities to my house thinking I lost my mind. I made this decision because there was brisket. Not just any kind of brisket, but Randy's brisket. He cuts off the fat and smokes then wraps and bakes. I am telling you this brisket melts in your mouth and then you top that off with the brisket debris I literally stood and ate out of the chafing dish since I thought I would burn calories by standing and eating. I am sure the guests were impressed. I have no idea what calories I ate and at that moment I did not even care until someone shared with me they take small portions and eat slowly so they know when they are sufficiently eloquent. OK I am never nor do I even know what is sufficiently eloquent especially since I just stood at the chafing dish and ate!! However, maybe I should consider that advice at my next buffet.

I had to repent for my brisket sins on Sunday. My dear friend Schwanda sent me an instagram message reminding me to just do it with a picture of Tom Danielson. I squeezed my fat ass into my biking shorts while Brad inflated my tires. Then I spent about 10 minutes bent over trying to put on my cycling shoes. I was sweating so I am pretty sure I burned off calories doing that. Clicked in my cleats and off I went ... slowly ... really slow. There were lots of people cycling Sunday and I was passed by all of them. To top it off, there was a State Policeman with his window down sitting on the side of the road (not sure if he was clocking cars or looking for cycling infractions), but when I passed him going 5mph, he gave me the saddest smile - you know the smile - his head is tilted and the smile is between a smirk, smile and holding back a laugh. I was not sure if I was going to start laughing or crying and I so badly wanted to give him the finger since he had no idea he was dealing with a girl who stands and eats out of a chafing dish at a party. Now I am thinking Schwanda may not be such a dear friend.

We capped Sunday night off by going to Denver and celebrating Brad's birthday. I thought it best to carbo load for my next weekend.

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