Ingredients:
1 x stick of cabanossi (ripped into three pieces)
1 x piece of tasty cheese (ripped into three pieces)
Method:
1. Wrap each piece of cabanossi with a broken-up slice of cheese, so you are essentially left with three delicious semi-sausages-in-’bread’.
2. Chomp. Enjoy. Repeat.
Confession: I have been avoiding this blog.
I’m like the guy who dumps girls via text then prays he doesn’t bump into them ever again – I’ve been burying my head in the sand and hoping no one notices that I’ve been MIA.
The truth is, 99 per cent of people don’t realise. They don’t give a shit and haven’t noticed a damn thing. And that’s A-okay.
But, like that bastard of a guy who text-breaks-up and flees into the night, I can’t get the damned dumpee out of my head.
I lie in bed, wondering if today’s the day when I return to it … then I talk myself out of it before I give myself a chance.
Today I lay in bed.
But then I talked myself INTO it.
Because I’m STILL a fucking chocoholic.
And I’m STILL driving myself mental with mind games involving rolling around in buckets of KFC chips (with extra chicken salt, of course).
And I’m STILL in love with writing.
So, I’m back. I’m back to whinge, to brag, to vent, to gloat.
I’m back with a beer gut, extra blubber on the hips and a big ol’ smile on my face.
I’m back with a goal … I just haven’t worked it out yet.
Get healthy?
Get slim?
Get over it?
Only time will tell.
Cadbury Rocky Road. Banana. Double brie and crispbread.
Can you say “hell yeah”?!
Check out some of the search terms that help people stumble headfirst into The Fat Fighters Chronicles:
“weeing”
“low fat rum balls”
“daniel mostyn”
“boobs”
“french knickers wedgie”
“hornyville”
“messy wedgie” (ummmmmmmmmmm?)
“fat shitting”
“eat yourself into a coma”
“apples make me fart”
“hot midriffs”
“smelly fart chicken”
“sex in kitchen”
“fart fighters”
“i am weeing”
“ze fat”
BAHAHAHA. Well, after all the times people find my blog using the word “fart”, I’m considering changing it to THE FART FIGHTERS CHRONICLES. Seems fitting.
After six days with pay TV, I am truly addicted.
My name is missbooti and I am a full-blown crappy TV addict.
PS: I went on the RADDEST winter shopping spree. Sensational. Loving myself and the new threads sick at the moment.
… I’m eating my parents’ Easter bunnies on the sly.
Help! I’m a bad person!
:p
- I am obsessed with The Biggest Loser. I have been doing my best to avoid watching it because there are a few elements I really disagree with, but I’m hooked. Every week(day) I seem to find myself in front of the telly, crying along with Julie the mum, wanting to pat dear ol’ Cam on the back, and cheering on the two poor blokes holed up out bush with the scary super-sized trainer (can’t remember his name, but he’s no Emazon).
- I am currently living on chips, cheese and wine … not to mention the occasional chocolate. Wagtown = Gorgefest, but I’m okay with it. What else are holidays for? I am going out for a fabulous dinner tonight at the 3 Chefs (“Google that shit) with a dear friend. Can’t. Wait. For. Oysters.
- I busted out some serious Guitar Hero action last night and this morning. While I sat on my tush while shredding that shite up, I must say my wrists got quite the workout. Strong wrists. What every girl wants.
Yeah, I know.
Shocking.
I’m just trying to get Emazon to track me down and kick my ass in the ring. She’s a rad biatch.
PS: Shannon, I heart you. Be my trainer!
Published! On real Dub-ya Dub-ya site! Look!
http://www.weightwatchers.com.au/util/art/index_art.aspx?tabnum=1&art_id=43071
In other news, I nearly made out with my gym instructor today. He told me I was looking slimmer and that dancing was really working for me. After I gloated to my BF, JT, he replied, “Dancing?! What, do you mean you watching So You Think You Can Dance?!” No daaaaarling. True, haven’t quite been on the dancing bandwagon this year, been too busy getting my ass kicked at boxing. Oh well, exercise is exercise!
Yay. Compliments are fun.
