fatty fatty two by four

A little over a year ago, I started doing Weight Watchers because I'd seen how well it worked for Heidi. For those of you not aware of this miraculous system, you're given a set number of points a day (I get 20) and each food is worth a specific number of points. I suppose you could count calories or something, but I find converting everything into points easier. Also, I like being told exactly what I can and cannot eat. It's comforting, like I have parents telling me what to do again. Who would have thought I'd find that comforting someday? Anyway, it actually worked (who knew?) so I continued to do it because buying new clothes when you have no money is OK as long as the new clothes are in a smaller size.

The past couple of months, though, I've been sort of half-assing the whole counting points thing. What happens is I'll be pretty good all week and then the weekend will come around and will make me consume all sorts of bad things, like Wendy's and ice cream and tequila (oh my). The past couple of weeks? I didn't just fall off the Weight Watchers Wagon, I dived off headfirst into a giant, bubbling cauldron of hot fudge and then I swam around in it scooping up marshmallows with my mouth. It was messy.

I don't know what my point is. I don't have one. Other than to say I'm trying to climb back on the wagon, but all the hot fudge kind of dried on my clothes which is making it really hard to move.

This weekend, I'm house/baby/dog-sitting (one house, two children, one dog) for my aunt and uncle while they go with one of my cousins to play in a soccer tournament. My cousins are 10 and 13 so basically I'm there to make sure they don't kill each other and/or set the house on fire. I do believe the last time I watched the two of them was a couple of years ago, and my only memory of that time was my youngest cousin dancing around in his underwear singing, "I love my wiener, I love my wiener," when I was trying to get him to take a shower.

So, yes, I'm expecting some good stories out of this weekend. My youngest cousin is excellent for those. I think I've shared at least one of these before, but I'm too lazy to go back and look so here they are again:

Sammy (youngest cousin): Ow, you hit me in my crouch!
Zach (oldest cousin): Sam, it's not called your crouch, it's your crotch.
Sammy: Oh. Well, I call mine The King!

Aaaaaaaaaand . . .

Sammy: I'm hungry!
Aunt: Well, dinner is almost ready.
Sammy: But I'm huuuuungrrrryyyyyyy!
Aunt: Sam, I said it's almost ready.
Sammy: But my spleen hurts!
Aunt: . . .
Sammy: And my other spleen hurts, too!

I was not present for either of these conversations, but they're told often at family gatherings. Seriously. And don't think Sammy has the market cornered on weird in my family. The other cousin I'm watching? Once asked for chocolate donuts for Christmas. See. Weird. Also, hi, have we met?