newborn on the beach

last night was just weird. pathetic-weird. the kind of night that, if we were keeping score, would undoubtedly leave me with negative five-hundred points. maybe a thousand.

it was one of those nights where my main plan fell through (apparently eat, love, pray doesn't come out for another month) and, with that, so did my dignity. i became one with the couch. it started out innocently enough...me watching the latest episode of modern family while munching on healthy things like grapes and raspberries. one would hope that after channel surfing and realizing that absolutely nothing good was on t.v. that person would take that as a sign to turn the tube off and do something...go for a walk, read one of the books i checked out at the library, write a letter, fold clothes...anything! but no. i was suddenly seized with the burning desire to consume chips. i left my apartment and walked a few blocks to a liquor store where, after a brief moment of being blindsided by the aggressive artificial light, remembered that they require a minimum credit card charge of ten dollars. so one bag of chips turned into two bags of chips and the new bazaar. dear god, i should sign up for a program that automatically freezes my accounts when the clock strikes nine on a weekday.

somewhere between finishing the first season of entourage and starting on a season of sex and the city i managed to finish an entire bag of cheddar-enhanced chips and about half a bag of tostitos. i was watching that episode where miranda gives up sex and ends up filling that void with chocolate. one night she decides to bake a cake and keeps going back for seconds, thirds, fourths, because she can't help but indulge herself. after grabbing another chunk of the cake that was now literally in the trash, she realizes that she has reached an all-time low and pours dishwashing liquid all over the remains to prevent her from further tarnishing her dignity. even though it is just her, alone in her apartment, she still cannot escape the shame that befalls on her. i peered at the remaining chips that i had wrapped up and tucked away out of view--but not out of mind--and suddenly felt akin to miranda. so i did something that i have never done before...

i went to my bathroom and retrieved some hair spray so that i could spoil the remains of my own little fat factory...only what oozed out of the container turned out to be some sort of mousse, so i had to grab a back-up weapon: spray-on sunscreen. those chips were protected like a newborn on the beach. and i haven't looked back.