I am what you would call an emotional eater. I eat when I'm stressed. I eat when I'm angry. I also eat when I'm happy; one time after sex, I actually picked a fight with someone I loved, just so I could have an excuse to get out of bed and go get a bucket of chicken.But for me, 2011 will always be the year of sad eating; the most destructive eating of all. It was a very bad year for me, chock full of personal and professional disappointments. And I managed to gain about 30 pounds, which I think is the size of a pygmy goat. So I basically ended the year feeling like a boa constrictor who has just swallowed a small goat. Whole.
When my sister invited me to go to a White House Christmas party as her date, the first thing I wished I could do was travel back in time and spend about six months living in one of those M.C. Escher paintings - the ones with the endless staircases. Because while I have no empathy for people who voluntarily use Stairmasters at the gym, if one lived in an M.C. Escher painting, she would have no choice but to tighten that ass.