Thursday, November 3, 2005


I've hid this for too long.

I'm addicted to the Food Network. The happiest day ever was spent watching other people cook for about 6 hours straight.

I have a love/hate relationship with Rachel Ray that mirrors my feelings on Lifetime movies (hysterical for mockery purposes, but I still get all involved and have to give a synopsis to anyone who wanders into the room while I'm watching. ) She makes hella good food, but her solo-banter is SOOOOOO irritating, I fell like watching it is some kind of penance. But I can't turn it off.

Any low-fat/carb/calorie show is just a joke. I want Paula Dean adding 4 pounds of butter to everything she makes (I also want Paula Dean to be my grandmother, but that's an entirely different issue). I want Emeril basting every vegetable in bacon grease. I want the Barefoot Contessa devouring an entire rack of lamb.

My obsession with food is officially reaching unholy heights. I'm now dreaming about herb-rubbed pork loins and roasted duck. This cannot be healthy.

It is however, delicious. And probably the reason all my well-meaning working out is absolutely useless in the battle of "my ass is expanding at an alarming rate." Luckily, I live with a man who is all about end-table-ass.

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