Dudes, it has been FOREVER since we talked. What the hell is wrong with me? Oh yeah, it’s December. Which is kind of like the opposite of that show “The Biggest Loser.” We’re all on a fat-train to hell, and it’s stopping at a donut shop, a chicken shack, and a burger joint (twice) before we get there. I mean, seriously? I could eat all day. We already went through the whole freaky-ass holiday dessert story, so let’s just call it what it is…if December doesn’t end soon, I may die.

And not in the figurative emo-eyeliner wearing hipster kind of die.

I mean, clogged-arteries-sugar-coma kind of die. Not that I’m usually this unhealthy (I run, I play racquetball, I occasionally take the stairs), but in December the wheels are off the fucking bus when it comes to any kind of fitness. You see, much like the rest of you, I suffer from a syndrome I have dubbed BusyLazyitis. It’s a technical term. It’s basically that we’re all busy as hell and then when we aren’t busy, we are lazy bitches wrapped in Snuggies watching television and scarfing down treats like there’s no tomorrow.

You know who you are. In the pink bunny footie pajamas.

I know. I know. We should all take better care of ourselves. We should all live in moderation. I say BULLSHIT, it’s December. We’re weak. We’re so easily manipulated into one more cookie, one more slice of pie, and for the love of Pete pass that bowl of gravy. Because if wanting that hot, salty gravy goodness is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

I’m totally glad that the holiday season is coming to a close, even though it means we are locked in until Spring. I need to detox like Lindsay Lohan after a long weekend in Vegas….or actually, just any day if you’re Lindsay Lohan. I will miss the constant barrage of bizarro-food, and also the constant joy of days off. But it’s getting out of hand, I tellya….getting OUT OF HAND.

If you need in on this intervention, we meet on Thursdays at the donut shop on Main.

And yes, they will dip that glazed number in a vat of fudge if you ask.

What? You can’t expect me to quit cold turkey? Mmmm. Turkey.

Don’t judge…I can feel your look.

Let’s not digress from the important point here – when food ceases to look like food…well, let’s just say “Houston, we have a problem”…. a delicious, delicious problem. Who doesn’t love a good cookie? I think Martha Stewart unleased a strange desire to franken-freakin-stein everything in your pantry to create a monstrocity for your nearest and dearest.

Now that it’s the holiday season, this army of crazy confections are running buck wild at house parties, office parties and showing up in cookie tins all over time. It’s madness, I tell you. Sugary madness.  It’s starts around Halloween – where they suck you in with regular candy. Then Thanksgiving pushes the envelope a little more with the freaky ass jello mold. And before you know, you’re jonesing for the a fix from the neighbor that bakes the pretzels covered in fudge, rolled in candy, dipped in white chocolate, and sprinkled with mini-M&Ms.

Then right when you finally get a fairly decent 24-hour sugar buzz going….the cold hard truth of January bitch slaps you. Gone are the plates of cookies decorated to look like all Santa’s reindeer and spiked hot chocolate….replaced with stale-ass donuts and burnt coffee. Granted, Santa’s reindeer looked like a hot mess… colored sugar all gunked up and those sugar plums looked like sad, sad jujubees. Did I eat some anyway. Oh yeah.