Diets Suck...

It's 1:13am and I just got out of bed to eat a piece of cheese. Living in an apartment means that my kitchen is never more than a few, hungry stumbles away which is the sole reason I should relocate to a house with stairs because my laziness outweighs my greed, tenfold. I'm kind of an embarrassment to dieting really. The more I try to focus on eating healthy, the more I just generally think about eating. Ever notice that? You end up developing these ridiculous mantras, 'You are what you eat' - the only thing is, a Terry's Chocolate Orange is by far the most attractive thing I have ever seen , followed closely by fresh, gooey, cheesy pizza... and off the wagon I fall with a thud. 
I actually heartily applaud the successful dieters out there. They must have steely determination and the ability to mute the vodka demon that whispers, 'You really do need to order those chips with extra cheese and pickle mayo' - yes, as shameful as it is to admit it, I have actually ordered this. *Cries into hands* I swear I would be a picture of health if I could only control my incessant need to feed after every beverage with an alcohol percentage higher than 5%. 
If truth be told, it's not really my diet that's the problem. Sure, I can stuff a whole batch of mozzarella sticks down my neck faster than your fingers move to catch a sexy text to the wrong person, but on the whole, I have a pretty balanced diet. However, if you ask me to jump on that brand spanking, shiny new exercise bike sitting in my apartment, you'll be politely removed from my friend list. I don't know whether it's the cold Finnish climate that's made me want to lie on the sofa encased in a blanket 24/7, but either way, I've become a total exercise-phobe. Well, unless prancing around to a bit of old school Spice Girls counts. I'm going to say it counts. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't broached the subject of adding a dog to our brood with Scott in the hopes that having a little pooch to walk every day will at least allow me to eat a few guilt-free choccy biscuits every day. And that my friends is why I'm probably going to end up on the RSPCA black list. Maybe Hamish and Ralph would look rather fetching in a collar and lead?