My Name is Jessica and I’m an Addict

I have an addiction.

Call it love. Call it lust. Call it an obsession. I call it an addiction.

Whatever it is, it consumes me.

Food.

Before writing this I ate a foot long sub from Subway. Veggie of course… gotta keep it light and “eat fresh”. While writing this I’m thinking I need something sweet to top off that savory deliciousness that is my love affair with Subway. After writing this, I’ll most likely go face first into that bowl of banana pudding my roommate made for my birthday.

I’m 22… and did I mention I have an addiction?

I’m an extremely passionate person. I go whole-heartedly into the things that I care for. Family, friends, my job, the cute little German Shepherd, Bruno, I want to adopt… And, oh yeah… food.

I love making it, eating it, smelling it, eating it, serving it, eating it… and eating it.

I told you it wasn’t pretty. Most addictions aren’t. However, unlike most addictions, this one has helped me in many ways.

1. It has eliminated many tempting career options. I will never be a nutritionist. Not sure telling people to eat everything is nutritional. “Everything in moderation”… Was that before or after I ate the whole thing? I’ll never be a fitness instructor. Hard to take them seriously when they’re hoarding Twinkies in the shadows. Also will never be a super model (obvious reasons), an astronaut (although weightless sounds good with my condition), a hypnotist (too crunchy), a cab driver (too messy), a hostess (not enough food on the plates). The list could go on and on. Let’s just say that my addiction has narrowed down my options.  Easy for me.

2. It has boosted my social life. Pretty simple, if there’s food then I’m there. I’m not even offended if I don’t receive an invite. And if you didn’t know, Socializing 101: Parties MUST have food. Otherwise it’s not a party. Also, the casual “catch-up” conversations must be done over food. Duh… It’s a given. Now that being said, let me clarify. My addiction gets me out of the house, but that doesn’t mean that I socialize once I’m out. At a party you’ll hardly notice I’m there unless you tend to linger near the food table like yours truly. And those catch-up convos usually involve the alternate party yapping while I desperately try to fill the hole in the ozone layer… a.k.a. my mouth. These dates usually end with said alternate party going on and on about how great of a listener I am and how I just “get them.” Point, Jessica. Guys are also flabbergasted at how comfortable I am around them during a meal. Then the bill arrives and by the time tomorrow rolls around, they’re not calling me anymore.

3. Finally, food has been a general lifesaver for me. Obviously, it is a sustenance for life, but I don’t eat food… I inhale it. And it is this very act that has kept me out of some seriously awkward situations. It’s a simple process really. First date, or should I say a bad first date… the man says something awkward and is boring me beyond belief, I dive right into that garden salad with balsamic vinaigrette. When he starts talking about how amazing his life is and how he makes so much money, I start shoving down the potatoes and prime rib. And when he neglects to ask anything about me, well you know I’m not offended because I’m already nose down in the creme brulee. Then as he walks me to my car saying how I’m such a great listener, how we connect… blah blah blah and suggesting a second date, well by then I’m too bloated by the entire buffet line that I just devoured (the equivalent to shutting down Hometown Buffet in all 50 states). Needless to say I can’t make my lips work, so no worries about a goodnight kiss. You may wonder how I get a date in the first place after saying all that, but that is clearly laid out in reason number two.

My name is Jessica. I’m 22. I have an addiction.

But I’m really not afraid to admit it. Unlike most addictions, my addiction to food has helped me immensely. My addiction will ultimately make my life sweeter in the long run.

Mmm… sweeter… that reminds me, I have cookies in the oven.

They’re not for me… promise.

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