My day of jubilee...pictures coming soon.

So my day of jubilee has come and gone; and now the countdown begins…363 days to go.

Just to bring you up to speed, my “day of jubilee” is what others, likely lay people, refer to as “thanksgiving day”.

As you all likely imagined, my day of jubilee was all I had hoped. I began planning during the week leading up to that whimsical day. I would wake up around 6a…wash my face, brush my teeth and we’re off to the races.

It all begins:
By 7a I was seated at the local diner…anxiously awaiting the chance to regurgitate what I had practiced over and over in my mind for so many moments leading up to this one. The waitress approached. I could feel my mouth watering; my stomach began to gurgle in anticipation. I stumbled over my words as they raced out of my mouth, all trying their best to be the win, place, or show. “Pancakes, egg sandwich with bacon on a bagel, home fries, fried eggs, coffee, grapefruit juice, extra syrups, and wheat toast.” As you likely already guessed, the words that spilled forth on the first try were not quite so poetic, oratorical, or concise. Rather I fumbled my words, mixing up the order in such a way as to necessitate the waitress’s full and complete review of them before walking away.

I tapped my feet in anxious anticipation of the gloriousness to accompany this meal. That anticipation, building all year long, makes this entire event all the more enjoyable. Sip of coffee, sip of juice…tap tap tap.

The kitchen door swung open with a bang, and there she was…In all her majestic glory; my meal. The waitress set each plate down slowly and cautiously. I couldn’t wait…as I grabbed my fork and dug into the pancakes. I chewed fast, but not too fast, savoring every delightful morsel.

Onto the bagel sandwich; the bacon, cheese, and egg dancing in a seemingly forbidden cadence, yet thoroughly perfect in every step. Life was good.

With my belly swollen and satisfied I struggled through a workout (Even on my day of jubilee my compulsions come into play).

A brief foray into reality:
After the gym, Stef and I jumped in the car to begin our voyage to my parent’s house. Exactly 90 miles West. Of course, using the highway lends itself to rest stops; each of which has pretzels, available for purchase and deliciousness. I can barely contain myself. My subconscious is gently applying an every increasing amount of pressure to the gas pedal in a subtle, and all to underappreciated, effort to get me to my next feast as quickly as possible.




Rest Stop:
People everywhere…I see none of them, as evidenced by my bumping into more than a few on my way to the “SUPERPRETZEL” stand. No one is there…I glance around nervously, a bead of sweat forms on my brow. I wonder if a piece of this day just might not fall into place. Alas, my worry was unfounded. There she appeared, a messenger of refined carbs, a deliverywoman of all that is baked golden brown and lightly salted. I bought one. Let’s be serious here, the chance of this delectable treat making it to the parking lot is about as likely as me finding an autographed picture of Confucius.

As predicted, the pretzel is gone before I get back in the car. Granted, I moseyed slowly, allowing myself time to enjoy each freshly oven-baked bite.

Grocery Store:
We get off the highway. We drive into the grocery store parking lot. Beeline for the Cheetos (crunchy, real mean eat crunchy, not that puffy garbage), Easy-Cheez (that’s right…with a “z”), crackers, and O-R-E-O’s…In passing, as I race furiously through the aisles searching for my bullion, Stef says “I LOVE you on your day of jubilee…so fun!”

Check Out:
I love to use that self-checkout thing. The only problem, is it makes you feel as if you want to steal. The reasoning going through my head is “Hey, I’m saving you money by doing this myself, what’s a few free yogurts?” I fight the urge, ring up all my purchases (including flowers for my mom…I know, I’m a sweetie) and off we go.

Arrival:
We leave the bags in the car. Head inside. Everyone is already there. We’re the last ones to arrive. Although we’re last, we certainly carry with us prizes and goodies surely worth the wait. I can’t wait to sit down, start eating all of this goodness.

Pre-Dinner:
At this point I’ve gone through a half a bag of Cheetos, a third of a bag of Oreo’s, and copious amounts of Easy-Cheez (that’s right, with a “z”). The wine is now flowing like the falls of Niagra, and me…I’m in a semi-conscious, blissfully unaware, sugar induced, alcohol supported fugue. Life is so good.

Dinner:
I’m not sure where to begin here. Dinner was not a buffet, at least not originally conceived as a buffet. It turned into a sort of round-robin, hot potato, gluttonous feast. Pass, dump, ask, pass, dump, ask. Sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, turkey, sprouts, cornbread…on and on it goes. A bit of this, a dab of that…more wine, a spoonful of this, a forkful of that…more wine. (Note: I love turkey legs, so I had two).

Desert:
More Oreo’s. That’s right. In the face of pumpkin pie, ice cream, pecan pie, cookies, and other sweets…I choose the Oreo’s. You know why? Because I love them. Because I yearn for them. I ache for them. And for your own edification, I ate about 1,700 calories worth. (Yes, that’s seventeen-hundred).

I spent the rest of the evening in a catatonic sugar crash. Others asked me if it was worth it. A resounding yes is the answer. It’s the best day. Yet others ask why I do this to myself, why I don’t just spread this out over the year. The answer, because I like it this way. Plain and simple. I enjoy working hard for a huge reward, and based on my other posts, most of you know that I cheat here and there. My day of jubilee is my ultimate reward for what is otherwise a rather strictly regimented diet. I like it.

So, like I said, my day of jubilee has come and gone; and now the countdown begins…363 days to go.