Sunday Confessions.

No, this post isn’t about religion or faith, or any of that serious stuff.

It’s Sunday night, the work week looms, and there is plenty of later time to be serious.

Nope, tonight I am all about confessing.

Confessing what, you might be asking yourself? I mean, I thought I was perfect!

Ye of little faith (okay, there was some faith in here, afterall) you are still perfect, I promise not to tell anyone about your flaws.

Okay, so here goes. I thought of  two things to confess tonight. By the way, I have absolutely no earthly idea where the sam hell this came from, in case anyone is wondering. I’ve only had one glass of red wine, I swear.

So today, I was cleaning out my fridge. I’ve gotta do this, like, quarterly, or kids and pets start to vanish and I think they’re in my fridge, hidden under moldy cheese or uneaten leftovers. There I was, doing the chore that ranks right up there on my list with freakin’ laundry, and in order to ‘get in the mood’ (no, not that mood, honey) I cranked up the Ipod to, ahem, here’s the confessing thingy, Celine Dion?

There, I said it in public for the whole world to see. I cleaned my fridge and listened to the most over-dramatic-French-accented-singer to ever walk the face of the earth.

I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I could have chosen Nickleback. Or Bon Jovi!

Hell, I could have chosen NEIL DIAMOND!

Nope, I chose Mrs-flip-the-hair-I-take-myself-way-to-seriously-Dion.

She’s really kinda good, ya know?

When she sings that song from Titanic, I get all weepy. Not really. As close to weepy as is possible for me.

There I was, singing into my spatula, come on now, hold up a lighter and sing along with me:

“NEAR, FAR, WHEREEVER YOU ARE, I BELIEVE THAT THE HEART DOES GO ON”

(And I envision Kate Winslet floating on that board, freezing cold, as Leo hangs on and slowly lets go…Jack…Jack..!!!)

I admit, I hit the fast forward on a few songs, but the woman can sing really damn well. I just go a little nuts when I see her interviewed on TV.

Cleaning out the fridge leads me to confession #2.

While we all know I am hopelessly addicted to Cheez Its, I have developed a close rival now in a food that worse, if that’s at all possible: Lays BBQ chips, but NOT alone, smothered in Ranch Dressing.

I believe I could eat back every one of the 60 pounds I’ve lost in the last year, just by eating Lays BBQ chips with Ranch. I am the oddball in my family here, duh, no surprise, I’m the only one without that stupid Y chromosome.

All the men in my house have enormous sweet tooth’s. Or sweet teeth. Whatever the heck you call it.

My husband can, literally, just slightly drop the Blue Bell Ice Cream on the counter, and my grouchy, not saying a damn word, rolling my eyes at everything, teenagers, appear out of nowhere like puppies waiting for you to throw them a treat.

I, on the other hand, can walk past an entire truck load of Blue Bell or ice cream of any kind. But, if the Lays guy is parked next to the ice cream truck, he’s gonna need some back up, quick, because I am officially hooked.

I’ve had to be extremely careful. The Lays are padlocked and the key is hidden. Not yet, but we’re getting there.

How stupid would it be of me to lose 60 pounds, and gain it all back eating BBQ chips with dip?

I’ve decided for Thanksgiving though, I’m bringing Cheez It Chicken. And, don’t worry guys, the pre-meal snacks are all on me this year.

And, once we’re done eating, we can sing some Celine Dion Christmas songs.:)

Alrighty, someone confess along with me! Don’t make me stand up here all alone!

What happens at SMTM stays here, no one will ever know, I swear.;)

(PS…I was going to turn this into a meme, but I’m too darn lazy tonight so just use the comments!)

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