LAY OFF ME I'M STARVING!

Now that we're friends, I think you should know something about me.

I am a glutton.

I am a monster when it comes to food. I eat and eat and eat, and then I eat some more. Gee still tells people about the time we went to "What's the Scoop?" and I ordered the PIGGY special; a concoction consisting of about a ton of ice cream. I devoured the entire enormous bowl ravenously, barely working up a sweat. What's worse: I was about twelve at the time.

Blessedly, my metabolism is able to keep up with my voracious appetite. My weight hasn't fluctuated much since high school, though some days I eat enough to feed a small third world country. Just this Sunday, gentle readers, I went to the requisite family dinner and scarfed down two heaping plates of spaghetti, rigatoni, and meatballs; immediately followed that up by snacking on cheese and crackers and bagel chips; shortly therafter had a mild panic attack when I realized we were leaving and would thus miss the ice cream cake; but was gratefully appeased when Aunt Gina allowed me to dig into her famed chocolate roll cake. Oh, then I made J stop for water ice on the way home. I'm not kidding.

And my God - as we watched the Birds' starters drive impressively down the field on Sunday evening (but WTF, Garcia?), I ate cookies and guzzled diet Dr. Pepper (oh by the way, I am that girl, the one you catch in the drive-through at McDonald's ordering a two-cheeseburger meal and an apple pie, and um, yes, a small diet coke...).

But today, friends; today I frightened myself. I flew to Syracuse this morning and decided I'd just pop off to Dunkin Donuts before hitting the office. I'll just grab a bagel, I think. But wouldn't it be nice to surprise my team with doughnuts?

And what would it hurt to eat that everything bagel with vegetable cream cheese, and then maybe that one vanilla creme donut. And maybe that first, second, third slice of mushroom and green pepper pizza. And just maybe that frozen Snickers bar that Bob has so thoughtfully presented to me.

When it comes to food, I'm addicted like Mel Gibson. Suddenly I am one double cheeseburger away from yelling anti-Semitic remarks at the cop who pulls me over for reckless driving; I'm not drunk, I'm just furiously scarfing down french fries.

It needs to stop, preferably before J organizes the intervention.