Flu? No way, man.

It's true, I'm in the thick of it.  I've come to the segment of the low-carbing diet known as Induction Flu.  Just when you think you're doing phenomenally and you can kick the excess weight's ass, it's like the dieting Gods are looking down on you and laughing, while muttering, "Hah!  Yeah right, douche.  You have to suffer through this just like the rest of them."  Well played, dieting Gods, well played.

While I'm on the bitching wagon, can I just tell you about the obstacles in my own house that I have to overcome?  Well, my son's first birthday is coming up (holy shit, WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?), so I've been stocking up on goodies for his circus-themed bash.  On my counter are sixteen, count 'em sixteen, containers of cotton candy.  What torturous hell is this?  I love cotton candy.  The way it melts, the way it tastes of little clouds of sugary heaven.  Love it.  Fuck circuses and how well-known it is that they have cotton candy.  Seriously.

And on that note, I leave you with this.  A photo of my current nemesis.  Salivate if you must, but wipe up after yourself.