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This is an excerpt from NO CHEATIN’, JUST EATIN’, a short insight into the crazy world of food and my junk food junkie lifestyle. This excerpt is taken from Chapter 10, Love or Lust. It takes place just as I was getting my feet back under me after going through divorce.


The first thing I did was put the house on the market. That was tough. I’d spent 16 years there, had made many memories there. It had been the dream I’d had for years. Suddenly it was different. Now it was just a house, not a home anymore. I also sold the last two horses, which actually broke my heart more. I just knew I couldn’t keep up a place that size any more. Not by myself.

I was in transition, not knowing what the next journey would be. And so after the house sold (and that took nearly a year), I sought out a temporary living arrangement to keep myself flexible. I ended up in a roommate situation in the mountains just west of Denver. The guy who owned the house, Patrick, was gone 90 percent of the time. He got on a plane every Monday morning and returned every Friday night. And if it was snow skiing season, he left the house Saturday morning to go work on ski patrol, then returned Sunday late afternoon, paid his bills, did his laundry, and packed to leave again the next morning.

It was a perfect situation for both of us. He got rent and I got a house essentially to myself. I only mention this brief living situation because it was where I gained back so much of my weight. And looking back at it, I have to laugh. It was truly one of my greatest excuses of all the great excuses I’ve used over the years. Since Patrick and I were nothing more than roommates, that also meant we bought our own food as well. However, since the grocery store was a good 20 minutes each way, it was considered fair game to borrow something from each other, then replace it the next time either of us went shopping.

Living alone like I was, food did its great job of being a filler of emptiness, as always. And so, when my hunger (stomach or emotional) started working its way with me, I’d start searching first, through my stuff, seeking something sweet and satisfying. But because I refused to buy any junk in bulk to bring home, I was usually pretty good about not going overboard too often. I’d buy whatever junk I could when I went to town, something yummy at the bakery perhaps, then eat it in the car on the way home. (Yep, I never quit that habit, even after 7-Eleven!)

However, on nights when a good snow storm had settled over the house and I couldn’t get out to procure my fix, I would start searching through Patrick’s goodies. Mind you, he was about 5 foot 10 inches tall and not an ounce of fat on him. Ate healthy all the time too. But he did like an occasional Klondike bar. It didn’t take me long to find his stash and I took the first one, thinking he’d understand if one was missing. It wouldn’t be that big a deal. So, I’d eat one, despite the fact that ice cream bars really weren’t on my favorites list. I gobbled it up right quick. Hmmmm … I thought. Not so bad after all. I even licked the stick until the last traces of chocolate were gone.

Well, I said to myself, maybe just this one time, I’ll allow myself two. Surely I’ll have time to get to the store before he comes home and I can refill his supply. He’ll never know the difference.

Made perfect sense to me. But that was before I realized that I would be house bound due to the snow for two and a half days. The Klondike bars barely made it past the first night.

By the time Patrick was due home, I’d been to the store and back and reloaded the freezer, just as he’d left it. I even pushed the wrappers to the bottom of the trash can to hide the evidence. It worked! He never knew a thing. And I – well, now I had a Plan B in the event of another snow-in. Which of course happens quite often in the mountains.

My “Plan C” came quickly on the tails of Plan B. Only this time it was one of those tubs of ready-made cake icing. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why he would have cake icing on the shelf. He certainly didn’t bake and he certainly wasn’t a sugar junkie. The Klondikes seemed to be his only weakness and even those he only ate on a rare occasion.

And so one night, when I’d either already wiped out the Klondike supply or had gotten bored with them, I did it; I broke into the frosting! Just me, a spoon, and Pillsbury’s Best Chocolate Frosting. What else could any God-fearing sugar junkie need? So, for the next 24 hours, I gorged on that stuff.

Then, of course I had to replace it, in case he might miss that little goodie on his pantry shelf next time he was home. I didn’t find out until much later that it wasn’t even his! It had been left there months before by an earlier roommate. So I’d gone through all those antics for nothing!

As it turned out, I was only there for about five months. He ended up meeting some gal and despite the fact he was barely ever home, she wasn’t too keen on me being there, roommate or not.

It was time for me to go. All those Klondike bars and the Pillsbury’s Best Frosting had landed me at 185 pounds!

Yep, the evidence was clear; whether I had no love or no lust, I always turned to my reliable standby, food, as my no kiss-and-tell lover.