Never eat uninformed

Last night my husband had a craving for pizza – he really likes the CPK frozen pizzas and they’re relatively small… He had the garlic chicken pizza and I had the sausage-pepperoni-mushroom pizza (I’m a purist). I had a caffeine-free Diet Coke.

Silly me. It wasn’t until after dinner that I looked at the back of the box and discovered that each little frozen pizza is three (3) servings. Yes, three (3).

Now, my husband is almost six-four, and if he ate a third of a CPK frozen pizza, he’d be rummaging in the refrigerator shortly afterwards for the rest of his meal. And truthfully, one whole CPK frozen pizza just about fills me up comfortably. I mean, they’re not that big.

862.5 calories. I ate 862.5 calories. In one sitting. Not including the Coke.

I must start reading labels before dinner.

End of Week Three

I know, they're late. I actually took the photos on Tuesday night as scheduled, but it's been such a manic week that I didn't get around to posting them until now.

My day job has been rather hectic this week -- we've closed a satellite warehouse and moved all of the gear and people into our main warehouse. We had to run an inventory on all of the incoming gear, and of course there were major discrepancies on the numbers. Even the most organized companies will have inconsistencies between warehouses, and we are NOT the most organized company. So it's a disaster of extreme proportions.

Yesterday I had a voiceover audition for a national TV commercial for a cellular company. It was a good audition. If I get it, it will record on Saturday. The nasty part was spending an hour getting to the audition on the 405 freeway in 100+ heat. It got cooler when I neared Santa Monica, but not by much. So again, by the time I got back to my side of the hill and into the gym, I was overheated and dehydrated.

I love my car, but there are times I really could use air conditioning.

My husband has discovered that he has a rather large bone spur in his heel that is irritating his Achilles Tendon. He confirmed this with an orthopedic doctor. Today he had an MRI to see if this can be surgically repaired and is waiting for the results, but in the meantime he’s turned into a five-year-old. He was Mister Manly Guy and stoically shaking off the pain… until he went to the doctor. Now, all of a sudden, he’s an invalid. I asked him if the pain has gotten any worse since he went to the doctor. He said no.

So what’s up with that?

Practicing restraint

Now I'm sorry I called my doctor yesterday. I feel so much better, except for a little bit on tenderness on my bruised head, and I really want to go to the gym and make up for the workout I missed yesterday. It's early yet, and only 80 degrees out.

I know, it's not wise to mess with something like a concussion. It was only a slight concussion - I didn't lose consciousness or anything. But I don't dare defy doctor's orders, and she'll ask, too. And I can't lie to my doctor. She's pretty militant about that, and she keeps a stethoscope in the freezer as well as other methods of torture for patients that don't follow her instructions. Anal probe, anyone?

So now I'm stuck with a whole Saturday to myself with nothing planned. I have no idea what to do. It's going to start getting hot soon. I was thinking about getting a pedicure or something, but by 10am my car will be unbearable. I should do some laundry - after all, most of my workout clothes are sweaty (especially after the heatwave this past week) and probably growing something unauthorized in my laundry hamper. But the DWP is asking that people not run dishwashers and laundry machines until after 7pm to help save energy and avoid rolling blackouts. So that's out.

I'm not one to sit and watch TV or read. I get antsy and start wandering aimlessly around the house, randomly watering plants. I've always had trouble dealing with free time. In fact, I've jumped up and wandered around about three times since I started writing this -- I've checked on the dog, let the cat out and back in, got a cup of coffee, repacked my gym bag for Monday, checked email... If I go to hell when I die, it will be a little empty room with nothing to do. My husband will be home from work at about 4:00 -- that gives me seven hours to kill. And he'll be half-dead when he gets home because he's out in the heat all day. Maybe if I start now, I can get that pedicure and if it gets too hot, I can go to the mall and window-shop for clothes that will fit me when I hit my target weight... and sneak in a power-walk.