"It's not like you get worse. You only get better."—Louis C.K.

198 pounds

I've been watching a new show on FX called Louie, which is based on the life of comedian Louis C.K. The reason this show kicks my butt every time I see it is because though it is incredibly funny, it is also so freaking smart. I don't expect that. I expect a good television show or movie to be one or the other, but not both. And this one is.

Not long after getting hooked on this show, a few of my friends recommended that I watch Louis C.K.'s comedy special, Chewed Up, which I finally did tonight.

If I liked Louis C.K. a hell of a lot before, I am completely in love him now. I mean, I really luuuuuuuuv him.

I love him because of the totally honest way he talks about eating during this special—especially the segment about eating Cinnabons—but also because he admits his real weight. (I love anyone who does that.)

But the main reason I love him is because of the stuff he says about middle-aged women.

Throughout the special, he repeatedly mentions that he and his wife don't have sex anymore. He talks about how having kids has changed their relationship, but there is also something melancholy underneath these jokes (which makes sense because they ended up getting divorced a year after the special was made).

But what's interesting is that he also says that even though they don't have sex anymore, he still wants to have sex with his wife because she is a real woman. Then he explains that, for him, there is a difference between women and girls and that he is no longer attracted to girls. Girls, from his point of view, don't have enough mileage on them. They haven't really lived, and it shows in their cute faces and their pristine bodies, which, believe it or not, make them less appealing to him.

But his wife was different. She was an actual woman. He explains that her eyes had grown darker over the years, her hair had a few grey streaks, her face had even sprouted some lines. And that's what he liked about her. He liked that she was so real. That she had really lived and wore the signs of her life and that made her more attractive. He actually said that she was sexy to him because of this. "Don't get me wrong," he said (or something like that). "It's not that she doesn't look her age. It's just that her age looks good on her."

I mean, really, come on.

How can I not love this guy?

How can I not love a guy who finds his forty-year-old wife sexy because she shows the signs of getting older? It's almost like he's not playing fair with me. Because I mean, after admitting this, I honestly have no choice but to love him.

*Louie airs Tuesday nights at 11:00 p.m. EST on FX.

Gobble gobble

193 pounds

I ended up being too sick to go to the family Thanksgiving celebration this year. It's only the second time I've missed a traditional turkey dinner. (The last time occurred during my adolescence when, due to unforeseen complications, my family ended up eating tuna salad sandwiches for Thanksgiving.) The effect of missing a big family dinner this year has been that I've been thinking all day about the meaning of the holiday and, of course, about the tradition of eating until we feel sick.

I heard earlier today that the average American eats 4400 calories on Thanksgiving day—that's twice what most of us eat on a normal day. As I explained in my post on indulgence, I fully believe in the importance of giving into our cravings from time to time.

And I guess I feel the same way about Thanksgiving. It's hard to imagine going to a big turkey dinner and counting calories or skipping dessert. I mean, what would be the point?

I remember one Thanksgiving years ago . . . I was living in D.C., so I celebrated the holiday with an aunt and uncle who live in northern Virginia. The only problem was that this particular aunt and uncle happen to be health nuts, so there was nothing fattening or high calorie on the table: there was no cheese ball, there was turkey but no gravy, the potatoes—regular and sweet—were baked and served plain, the stuffing and rolls were nonexistent, and the cranberries and green beans were steamed. I can't remember if there was dessert, but I have a vague memory of low-fat ice cream. I felt like I had died and gone to culinary hell. To me, Thanksgiving isn't really Thanksgiving if, at the end of the day, you don't feel like you've eaten too much.

And I guess this all comes back to one of the main reasons for this blog: if we don't allow ourselves these random pleasures from time to time, then I worry that we force ourselves to live in a constant state of denial. A state that pushes us to crave what we can't have even more.

So now that you've all finished gorging yourself on turkey and potatoes and stuffing covered in thick gravy, sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, rolls oozing with butter, green beans in a decadent casserole of mushroom soup and french fried onions, and a big piece of pumpkin pie a la mode, don't forget how important it is to give into our cravings from time to time and not feel bad about yourself for doing it. It will all balance itself out anyway. Because chances are that if you went overboard today, you'll probably cut back tomorrow.

And those people who cut the gravy and the butter and the fat and the sugar today? Trust me, they'll be the first ones in line at Cinnabon when they hit the mall tomorrow.