I’m the poster child for addiction. Just like most addicts, I have a drug of choice. It’s not a stimulant, barbiturate or hallucinogen -- it’s carbohydrates -- and no drug has an effect as pleasing as a belly full of garlic knots. How do I know I’m an addict? For starters, I’ve O.D.’ed on pasta to the point where I should’ve had my stomach pumped. At 2am, I’ve driven into questionable neighborhoods looking for all-night donut shops. I’ve had breakfast buffet binges so serious, swearing I’ll never eat again, and then lunchtime rolls around and I’m scarfing down a burrito the size of Chihuahua. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so here goes. “Hello, my name is Gratitude Cocktail Girl, and I’m an addict…don’t they serve coffee and cookies at theses meetings?”

I can’t get enough of that amazing white stuff – except for cauliflower. Bread, potatoes and rice make me a nicer person, and my mood upswing isn’t all in my imagination, it’s biological. A new study found high-carb diets lower weight and increase the levels of the brain chemical serotonin, which gives you the feeling of euphoria. I didn’t need a study to tell me this -- whenever a waitress tries to take away the bread basket, I’ve been known to get downright testy.

Just like heroin, carb withdrawal is pretty heinous. I wake up in a cold sweat, my hands jitter and I drag myself into the kitchen, unable to relax until I hear the “ding!” and my toaster strudel is warm and gooey and ready to soothe what ails me. I’m grateful my drug of choice is something that'll not only make me feel better, it's something I can enjoy, one super-sized order at a time. I’m not all that interested in a 12-step program, but I’d be willing to go to a meeting -- only if they served warm donuts afterward.

Today I’m grateful for my drug of choice.