cheesecake

in haiti there is a saying - “if you get a piece of cake and eat the whole thing, you will feel empty. if you get a piece of cake and share half of it, you will feel both full and fulfilled.”

right on.

i shared a piece of yummy chocolate cheesecake with my buddy/my pal/my co-conspirator j. last nite at the westway diner on 9th avenue between 43 and 44 streets. i love that place. rude greek waiters and all. it's like coming home. must be the rudeness. ( :

the cheesecake was absolutely delicious, and sharing it actually did make it taste better (and last longer, mind you.) you're forced to exhibit some level of restraint and decorum when you're sharing dessert. you cannot, like one might, if one found oneself alone in one's astoria apartment, depressed and more than a little self-pitying, dive face first into the creamy, tangy wedge of chocolate-mousse-topped new york. j loves me unconditionally, i know this, but i'm not sure her love extends to the possibility of me as madwoman gasping for air beneath a mask of cheesecake (although it does make a great moisturizer). so, like a proper young lady, (which i'm not, i was acting) i savored it, fighting the madwoman the whole time. and between the dainty nibbles we giggled. oh, screw that. we don't giggle. we guffaw. ain't nothing dainty about our laughs. so i guess we filled up on cheesecake, and ful-filled up on laughter. we're such lucky gals.

of course, another madwoman rears her ugly head this morning. one i know all to fucking well. this madwoman lives in my head, part of the committee, and she points at my belly disapprovingly with her well-manicured fingers. “tsk. tsk. tsk. you shouldn't have eaten that cheesecake, and you haven't exercised in 3 days!” poor little belly. it's a lovely little belly, but a belly that she often chastises for not being flat-enough, cut enough, firm enough. so, how do i deal with this madwoman? (she shares an uncanny resemblance to geraldine stutz - see blog #1) she wants me to starve myself - drink only coffee and spinach juice and maybe nibble on a leaf of kale - be miserable, read vogue, bemoan my ample self and lacking wardrobe, and pray for the stomach flu.

no. no. no. know what i'm gonna do?

i'm gonna put a muzzle on miss “dog whistle” herself. i'm gonna eat some whole wheat toast (fiber! complex carbs!) slathered with natural peanut butter (healthy phats! protein!). i'm gonna shower, blow dry my Farrah Fawcett hair, slap on some lip gloss, and when my impudent little belly peeks out from underneath my t-shirt as it is wont to do (me, girl with long torso, in land where only low-rise jeans are available), i'm gonna wave, blow it a kiss, and invite it over for a slice of cheesecake....with sprinkles.

___

yesterday was “poem in your pocket day.” you were supposed to carry a poem around in your pocket all day and share it. so, it's not in my pocket, and it's a day late, but i'm sharing it:

The Suitor

We lie back to back. Curtains
lift and fall,
like the chest of someone sleeping.
Wind moves the leaves of the box elder;
they show their light undersides,
turning all at once
like a school of fish.
Suddenly I understand that I am happy.
For months this feeling
has been coming closer, stopping
for short visits, like a timid suitor.

Jane Kenyon