Eat. Pack. Love.

You may or may not be aware that I love going out to eat. (Although if you've read my blog ever then you've probably picked up on the fact that I'm lazy by now, so I guess it should really be obvious that given the choice of making dinner myself or having someone else make it, I'd choose the latter.)

But over the past couple of weeks even I, the infamous eater of all the chips*, have grown tired of takeout. Part of it is that my body, having grown used to digesting mostly healthy food over the past 9 months, is fighting hard against all the trash I've been eating lately. (By some miracle I've only gained back about four of the thirty lbs I worked so hard to lose...but that's four too many in my opinion.) The other part is that SURPRISE! Going out to eat every night is expensive and (surprise part two!) we're not exactly rollin' in cash.

The reason of course that we've been eating so much takeout is the move. All our cookware's still boxed up somewhere in the garage. If I'm totally honest, it probably could have been unpacked by now if I hadn't completely run out of steam after about three days of doing nothing but unpacking. (And dishes. Sooo many dishes.) It's just easier to grab something in a drive-thru than to stop what we're doing; dig the pots, pans and cooking utensils out from underneath tubs of airsoft pellets and shotgun shells (SO MANY BULLETS! WHY do we have so many bullets?!); wash them by hand (because our dishwasher is still broken) and then cook a dinner for which I have no ingredients other than cornstarch, peanut butter and farfalle pasta because I haven't been to the store in two weeks.

So has it been worth it to me to feel sick to my stomach for a fortnight (that's right) in exchange for the comfort of living in a home that I love? Absolutely. But does it end now? YOU BET YOUR BACKSIDE IT DOES. In fact, it already has. Last night I went to the store, scrubbed a few pots, and cooked up a delicious meal of - you guessed it - cornstarch and peanut butter pasta.

Juuust kidding. It was just regular peanut butter pasta.

*I was unfairly accused of eating all the chips by a friend I won't name (but yes I will LEVI STERLING) during a period of my life when all I ever did was go to Chili's because it was the only restaurant in Wylie and apparently I had nothing better to do with my time or money. It's not my fault other people choose to waste their time flappin' their jaws when there are perfectly good chips to be eaten. You snooze you lose. All the chips.

Title credit: Sarah Howrey