So here I sit, the day after the Superbowl Snack Day in my corporate cubicle hell waiting for the trans-fat coma to subside so I can move my legs again. I know that the Superbowl is similar to Thanksgiving except with nothing but fatty, cholesterol saturated, heart-attack inducing foods rather than turkey and stuffing. People go crazy with the junk food on Superbowl Sunday, and I see nothing wrong with that. Traditions should be maintained and past events should be commemorated…but my dear God in heaven, I’m pretty sure I had a mini-heart attack last night with all the crap I shoveled into my mouth in an effort to avoid nutrition at all costs.
Bean dip, spin dip, nachos, bratwurst, beer, Rotel dip, black pepper jack chips…there was a plethora of hip-jiggling food concoctions in my apartment last night to make all of us in attendance feel as fat and lazy and certain girls who injure themselves while trying to do simple tasks. At one point, I found myself debating whether or not to get up off the couch in order to refill my plate full of artery-clogging devices, or remain seated and try to save my dignity by eating a carrot instead.
I decided the best thing to do would be to get up off the couch and have some exercise in order to burn off the calories I was about to ingest from eating more bean dip.
Holy shit. Holy, holy, holy shit. We ate too much crap last night. I should probably eat nothing but lettuce with a side order of air tonight for dinner, but I’m sure I won’t do that because I’m stupid and apparently I hate my heart this weekend.
The wurst part of this whole thing, is that I have leftovers in the fridge. Nobody who came by last night and pigged out with me took any food home with them. They left it all to me and my will power.
I thought about bringing the bags of chips and dips and hip-cancer foods here to the office so I could spread the fat around to my bitchy office-mates and co-workers. But then I realized that would require me to pack up a sack full of crap and bring it to work and serve it. That’s like…work. Screw that. Plus, I figure there are so many fatties here in cubicle hell, that odds are they would devour said food and be grateful for the chance to stuff their faces without feeling judged. They would have looks of ecstatic joy on their faces with each cheese-filled salty bite.
Well, I can’t stomach the idea of those bitches being happy. So I’ll keep my junk food at home in the dark, where it belongs.
On the plus side, I know that when I’m at the gym tonight running my ass off in an effort to quell the bulging protrusions of skin that is sure to accompany a day of snacking, I’ll feel better knowing that I was able to participate in the Superbowl Snacking Day without serious injury or any long-term effects.
Oh, and since many other people are doing this...I am going to copy them. Here are my favorite Superbowl Commercials, in no particular order: