Katie Schwartz

This admission might result in some blogemmies and outright break-up's. I hope it doesn't, but I am ready to live with the consequences of sharing my dirty little secret. Ok. Ready? Set. Go. One of my guilty pleasures is that every single morning, I take a fresh, homemade slice of sourdough bread and pop it into the toaster. I watch as my sumptuous soft bread turns to a golden crispy beige and then I immediately take it out of the toaster, so it burns my fingers just a teeeeeeeeeeny tinnnnnnny bit. I carefully butter the center and each corner, listening to the crunch and watching the hot bread soak up chilled pats of butter and then.... well. I watch my buttered toast for 30 minutes. Not like consecutively or anything, that's creepy. I watch it intermittently. And then I throw it away. I'm on a fucking diet . I feel terribly guilty about it, just not enough to like, you know, stop. Not yet anyway. Cut me some slack. I don't just loooooooove this particular sourdoug...

I'd inhale an extra large cheese pizza with a macaroni and cheese back. followed by spinach dip with fresh-hot-sourdough-fuck-me-harder bread. for desert, I'd gorge myself on three strawberry ice cream bars covered in milk chocolate. but, I won't be eating that now will I?! no, I won't. I'm bigger than the craving (literally and figuratively). if I want to keep looking like fattiestum and her twin sister esmerelda jean, I can eat until springer hoists a crane through my roof and forklifts me out. fuck. fuck. mother fuck.

you know you have a problem with food when you wantonly open a cake box containing a mere sliver from the previous night. as you glance in lovingly, you greet the cake by saying, hi, sweet thing, how are you ? how's it going ? I missed you . thought a lot about you last night. did you think about me? you penetrate the sliver of cake with your fork. feeling every layer plunging through. first the frosting. the cake. the filling. and more cake... mmmm. yeah. talk to me, baby . you raise the fork to your welcoming mouth and engulf every morsel and finish it off with a final suck, so the frosting-filling-cake ratio is evenly dispersed. I digress... food-is-not-NOT-a-lifestyle. but, apparently addiction is. go figure.