Taco No-Go

I realized yesterday that my first paragraph from Friday’s post was deleted somewhere between editing and publishing. This means that a crucial piece of information regarding “hangry” was missing.

Hangry is a wonderful word I discovered through Pinterest that is the combination of “hungry” and “angry”. I know many people who suffer from hanger – Chad and myself, included. It’s that period of time when you are so hungry, you become angry. Some schools of thought refer to this as “Caveman Syndrome” or “low blood sugar”…but it is just so much more fun to say that you are getting hangry.

Anyways, I feel that it’s worth mentioning that my overall attitude has changed. Prior to this food and fitness alteration, I was very susceptible to hanger and would come home from work feeling exhausted and defeated. Recently, I’ve felt so energized and…well…happy. I’ve been motivated to do more as far as cleaning and running errands, and work isn’t such a burden. And I just love how I feel after a workout. Even if my muscles are a little sore, I feel rejuvenated.

Oh, so I took this “Supergirl” class yesterday led by the owner (former Eagles cheerleader, remember?). OUCH. It started at 9, which is not too early, not too late for a Saturday. A lot of women were in the class – maybe 20? – and we each grabbed two weights (I took 3 lbs…I’m hesitant to take a 5 or 10), floor gliders, elastic bands, and a small balance ball. So between aerobics moves with lots of stretching, we also did some Tabata (burpees and burpee variations on the gliders…yikes!) intervals, and then rounded out the class with stairs, jogging around the room, and then some abs on mats. It was one hardcore hour.

Which brings us to today. This is kind of my “day of rest” in my exercise schedule, though I planned on walking Frankie for  a while – 2 or 3 miles in the ‘hood. I wasn’t feeling all that chipper today, for some reason…despite a filling breakfast of scrambled eggs and strawberries (and all my vitamins). Plus, Chad has a pinched nerve in his back and is confined to the bed until the pain and swelling subsides. Not really wanting more time away, we watched Taken 2 (AWESOME!!!) and then I napped for a while. I awoke feeling slightly more alive and anxious to make some sort of healthy dinner. Pinterest has been a gold mine of ideas, so I picked a recipe that sounded really great:

Southwestern Chopped Chicken Salad

Giant supermarket is not always the safest place to go on a Sunday evening, but luckily the hoards were rather tame. An hour and a half later, I put away the $73 worth of groceries in the kitchen and set off to work on my culinary masterpiece.

Now…when you don’t have much counterspace…and the blades on your knives have become somewhat dull over time…chopping and dicing vegetables becomes a cumbersome and time-consuming task. I labored over the Caribbean-lime rotisserie chicken that I bought from Wegman’s (a steal at $4.99 if you’re ever so inclined) – removing the skin and shredding the meat, then diced up tomatoes, avocadoes, and a green bell pepper. Chopping a head of romaine lettuce. And – sweet relief! – opening the cans of black beans and corn to rinse and pour. This was a hefty salad! THEN came the dressing. Plain Greek yogurt, mayo (with olive oil), taco and Ranch seasonings. Smelled good, if nothing else. And that hanger was really stirring up. Chad tossed the salad (HAH!) while I mixed up the dressing. As I made my way over to Chad to add the dressing…

disaster struck.

Somehow, a casual turn of the spoon in the dressing bowl became a catapult of orange goo. Of course, it wasn’t isolated to my work area. I launched that slop nearly 10 feet – almost into my living room! It hit shoes, a backpack, the basement door…narrowly escaping my white wool coat.

To add insult to injury, this “awesome” salad was not so great. I mean…I’ll eat anything. So I didn’t really pay attention to flavor, and was thankful that I had some fresh veggies in my gut. Chad made his disapproval known with the lack of flavor. And he was right. It was just…blah. All of those “happy” thoughts I had been feeling were not present during supper.

I wish I could end my woeful tale of dinner there. But it wasn’t over. Oh, no.

First, let me introduce you to Frankie.

I'm so lucky I'm cute!
I’m so lucky I’m cute!

Frankie likes to be really close to me, especially when I am handling food. Typical dog. Well, as Chad prepared to descend to the basement…he noticed globs of that heinous dressing on the steps. There was only one way that dressing could have landed down that stairwell. And he was hiding under our bed, obviously terrified by the commotion.

Chad grabbed Frankie from the confines of his fallout shelter and raced up the stairs – kind of a frantic version of Rafiki raising Simba in “The Lion King”. Frankie’s chest and chin were dolloped with that orange dressing. And Frankie farted his nervous disapproval on the way up the stairs. Right in Chad’s face. Someone must have licked up some of that dressing in his distress…

So, our little family is now lying in bed. Frankie and I are freshly showered and he’s all snuggled up next to my leg. A huge amount of “blah-co salad” sets in the fridge  to be reluctantly eaten in the days to come. Is there a lesson to be learned from this? Meh. Guess not.


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