Do you ever wake up in one of those moods? You know, where the Keurig hasn’t even noised its “coffee brewed, enjoy” signal and you already feel defeated? When you want to wallow in your misery and oversized sweatpants under a down comforter and watch reruns of “How I Met Your Mother” for eight hours while shamelessly curling spoonfulls of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey into your mouth … for breakfast? (Hey, we’ve all been there).   That kind of morning.   Well, buenos dias, blogging world. That’s where I was yesterday morning. I did one of those eyes half-shut, half-open sleep walks to the kitchen. I felt bloated. Nothing fit right. The top button of my Anne Klein suit popped off. And if…