multigrain feelin' BLUEberry scones

served with a dollop of real full-fat greek yogurt
and fresh b-berries on my mum's china.
quit drooling on your keyboard!

some things just make me happy.

baking.

little red shoes.

coffee with half and half.

crinolines.

scones.

scones. ahhhh....scones are my ne plus ultra of breakfast pastries. i just looooove them. they're all the good parts of a muffin, but less delicate, more substantial, more messy. in the football lineup of breakfast baked yummies, the scone is a linebacker - hard and rough on the outside, but open him up and he just crumbles, and you can't help but love him.

now, i hate summer, but i'll admit that it has a few good things going for it. one of them is the fruit. peaches. raspberries. blueberries. after a winter of nothing but apples...apples...apples, summer fruits are a welcome wake-up call for my tastebuds. ring-a-ding-ding.

i found cartons of blueberries at the Stiles Farmers Market on 9th Avenue between 41 + 42 Streets for $1.50/carton. (do you know how good b-berries are for you? look here.) i stocked up, and i've been incorporating them into every meal i can - salads, oatmeal, peanut butter and jelly with smooshed-up-b-berries sandwiches. i even created a vodka blueberry gimlet in honor of the season (just make a traditional gimlet, smoosh up some blueberries with the lime juice, then devour those ambrosial, spirit-filled berries when you've finished off the drink). cheers!

so, the other day when i was feeling a bit...er...pardon the pun...blue, i decided to whip up a batch of blueberry scones. refined flour does funny things to my tummy, so i made mine with whole wheat and tossed in a few other whole grains, but if you're more refined than i (and no doubt you are), regular white flour will do just fine.

ah. i feel so much better. now all i need is a crinoline.

Multigrain Blueberry Scones
makes 6 ginormous scones the size of your noggin

Preheat oven to 375.

1 egg
1/2 C sugar
5 T grapeseed or canola oil
1/8 teaspoon orange zest
1/2 cup old-fashioned oatmeal
1/4 cup wheat bran
1 1/2 cups unbleached flour/whole wheat flour
You can use all of either or a mixture. WW flour makes for a more substantial, rustic texture while the unbleached flour makes for a more refined crumb. Both are delish. WW is better for your colon. ( :
2 tablespoons coarse cornmeal
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 - 3/4 cup milk
1 1/2 cups fresh blueberries

The scones don't necessarily need this topping, as they're pretty sweet to start, but...
Zest-ay Orange Topping
3 tablespoons orange juice
1/2 cup confectioner's sugar

Whisk egg, sugar, oil in a bowl. Mix orange zest and dry ingredients in a separate bowl until combined. Slowly add dry mix to wet mixture to create a thick dough. Add milk. (if you use whole wheat flour, you'll probably need to add significantly more milk than if you use regular flour). Mix well. Gently gently gently stir in the blueberries, trying not to totally mangle the delicate little fruits. Spoon up the dough and drop onto a cookie sheet, leaving approx. 2 inches in between (I didn't do this, and ended up with 6 scones connected to one another, but they separated quite easily.) . Bake 20-25 minutes until barely golden brown and dough is dry. Cool for 10 minutes. Drizzle orange topping over scones.

i (heart) shel silverstein.

there once was a tree, and she loved a little boy.

Listen to the mustn'ts child,
Listen to the don'ts,
Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts.
Listen to the never-haves,
Then listen close to me;
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be.

-Shel Silverstein

the one and only poem i have committed to memory. sad? nooooo. heartening. i cannot recite this poem without smiling and feeling anything but hopeful. and neither can you. try it. i dare ya.

take a little trip down memory lane and check out his website.

learning how to surf

hey, ya gotta start somewhere.

are you ever so sad you can't bear to look at the unknown passerby on the subway who is giving you a slight smile? you have to turn away because if you don't turn away, you will die. you will drown.

see, it works like this:

their well-intentioned and perhaps even habitual, harmless little smirk has invisible strings that extend from the corners of their mouth and connect to your ironclad eyelids. these eyelids have, thus far, kept your tears in place...quiet...contained. if they smile, and you actually see this smile with your burning-wanting-to-cry-so-badly-it-hurts-eyes, you are doomed. (doomed, i tell you!) you see, through this complicated emotional pulley system, the slightest upward turn of the corners of their mouth will tug on these little invisible strings attached to your eyes, this minute shift will release the floodgates, and your tears will flood the entire subway platform, drowning yourself and all of the passengers.

saturday was just one of those days.

one of those days that started with the arrival of aunt flo and the discovery that you have no supplies for her visit. oh, and no toilet paper either. excellent.

one of those days spent at a work picnic with happy couples and happy families and happy couples and happy families and happy couples and happy families...did i mention there were happy couples and happy families? and you...not unhappy, but ay-lone.

one of those days when a not-not-rotund someone jested:

"ho, ho, ho, is that your second cupcake, m?"

and you have to fight the urge to tackle him, throw him into the pool, and scream,

"no! you mother-fucking asshole, that is not my second cupcake, i had half of a chocolate one, and half of a vanilla one which, you mathematical nitwit, does not equal 2, but equals 1 which, let me point out, is 14 less than the number of beers you've drunk, ya pink-faced, irish lush! but! if i wanted to sit here eating cupcakes all day long, rubbing frosting on my face, and stuffing my bra with them, i should be able to do so without eliciting any comments from you!"

one of those days when you just feel pathetic. fat. unloved. pimpled. alone. and you assume that all of these characteristics are somehow commensurate with the others i.e.

fat=unloved
pimpled=alone
alone=pathetic
unloved=pimpled
etc...etc...etc...

one of those days spent trying to shove tears back into my eyes on the train ride home. (just so you know, this doesn't work. pleading "allergies" is your best defense.)

one of those days when you have moments of just wanting to die, even if just for a little bit, or at the very least...disappear...like jeannie. poof!

one of those days when the slightly mangled, tiny pink barrette on the sidewalk makes you maudlin nostalgic for childhood summers and mom's hands braiding your hair.

one of those days when you come home to find a serendipitous package from a new friend.

here's what was inside...

Love, Loss, and What I Wore
by Ilene Beckerman

What We Do for Love
by Ilene Beckerman

Makeovers at the Beauty Counter of Happiness
by Ilene Beckerman

precisely what i needed.

one of those days that, in the olden days, would've ended with you swallowing your grief in the form of mint chocolate chip ice cream or macaroni and cheese or m&m's, or starving yourself to a place of "better."

you didn't. thank god.

instead, it became one of those days when you bathed with peony-scented body wash. you savored one perfect, chewy egg roll filled with delicate little ribbons of green cabbage and tiny red rosebuds of spicy pork. deep fried, yes, but the negatives (you hope) counteracted by lots of steamed broccoli and tofu. you gorged on these new books; illustrated reminders that we are all flawed and foibled and imperfect, and most of us manage to live a well-loved life anyway.

it was one of those days when you wept. really wept. when was the last time you wept? ohhh...it can be a wonderful thing weeping. we usually only allow ourselves a few tears and sniffles here and there. that's not enough!!! i advocate hard-core weeping. big tears that splash when they hit your hardwood floors, full-on snotty nose that will fill a hanky to capacity..

get it out, sistah. that's the only way to get on with it.

ride it.

it was just one of those days...

when instead of getting out of the water,

you sorta learned how to surf.

for all those pears out there...

who have bemoaned their curvalicious hips for years...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/4606011.stm

"Curvy women are more likely to live longer than their slimmer counterparts, researchers have found.

Institute of Preventative Medicine in Copenhagen researchers found those with wider hips also appeared to be protected against heart conditions. "

how 'bout them apples? er...i mean pears.

once again, it's apple-shaped-hipless-wonders like myself, that lose out on this glorious, body-amorous news:

"Carrying excess fat around the stomach, being 'apple shaped', is already known to be potentially damaging to health.

Fat cells in this part of the body pump out chemicals that can damage the insulin system, raising the risk of diabetes and heart disease.

Belinda Linden, of the British Heart Foundation said: 'It has been widely reported that if you are apple-shaped, your risk of developing cardiovascular disease is likely to be greater than if you are pear-shaped.'"

dammit.

so ladies, those of you that have them...love your hips and give 'em a little pat in gratitude.

i'm gonna go look for my waist.

i need extra storage, but this is not what i had in mind

i have a feeling she's beyond retinol.

can a 30-year old woman have jowls?

i swear. when i look in the mirror.

jowls.

believed to be a direct result of wedding weekend pina colada overconsumption, aforementioned jowls must be rum-filled. will be a big hit at parties. like a pinata, but filled with rum instead of candy.

o-fucking-le.

----

in the W.T.F? department...

a google search for keyword:jowls revealed 110,000 results most of them, not surprisingly, for cosmetic surgery, although i did see, for you canine lovers, Beagle Dog Art & Beagle Dog Figurines. my absolute favorite, however, was this one. please. look. now.

god, i love the internet.

HE's the froot loop

saddam + doritos = love at first bite

so, i know by now you've heard the news that Saddam Hussein enjoys his American junk food. it's been written up everywhere.

BBC article (best if read with a British accent)

he digs Raisin Bran Crunch for breakfast (does he know the benefits of fiber?), but won't eat Froot Loops (is it the artificial coloring ?). Cheetos was his favorite until someone brought him his first bag of Doritos. from then on, that was his preferred amuse bouche. according to reports, he huddled in the corner and ate them quickly. hmmm...sounds like an emotional eater to me.

(i'm hoping that this is the only similarity between SH and myself: i prefer Doritos to Cheetos as well. that whole styrofoamy-stick-to-the-top-of-your-mouth-thing Cheetos has going on is highly unfavorable, and the corn-chippiness of Doritos gives me a false sense of wholesomeness that i welcome. if they bottled the "cheese" powder, i might eat that by the handful. as a kid, i used to lick off the powder. this resulted in a fluorescent orange tongue that impressed all of my friends in the lunchroom. such a talented child.)

he wasn't into running on the treadmill that was already in his cell, but asked for a table-tennis table instead. his request was denied. (does anyone else find that weird? table-tennis? one of the world's most heinous, murderous men enjoys a few rounds of table-tennis?)

just out of curiosity, i wanted to see how much activity SH would have to engage in to burn off some of his snacks. i also assumed that Saddam, if given the chance, would eat an entire bag in one sitting - and not one of those single serving ones - the whole shebang. he doesn't strike me as the type of guy who exercises restraint.

i went to this handy-dandy calorie calorie/fitness calculator, and here's some useless information for you. i considered getting all fancy and making a graphic, but i'm too tired from hot apartment and adorable though annoying foster cat keeping me up all night with her dance moves on my face:

in order to burn off one 13 oz. bag of DORITOS NACHO CHEESIER® Flavored Tortilla Chips = 1820 calories and 7 g fat he'd have to:

play 5.6 hours of table-tennis
walk for 5.1 hours at 3 mph
run for 2.6 hours at 5 mph

in order to burn off one 10 oz. bag of CHEETOS Crunchy Cheese Flavored Snacks = 1600 calories and 10 g fat he'd have to:

play 4.9 hours of table-tennis
walk for 4.5 hours at 3 mph
run for 2.3 hours at 5 mph

so, Saddam, ya Froot Loop, running is your best option. who wants to spend all of their life in a gym?

post-wedding blues

if you like pina coladas, and getting burnt by the pool

this real life thing is for the birds...no lush flowers, no pina colada-scented foot cream bridesmaid favors, no real reason to wear sparkly body powder.

i am officially depressed, having just returned from a sunkissed, lovefest wedding weekend for k+w. this is my modus operandi; slipping into a mini-depression after big events like this. my life just pales in comparison to the heightened glee that is a wedding celebration. pity pity pity me. i forget that everyone else is going home to their real lives too. i just feel so very eensy-weensy-insignificant when i'm on an airplane at 11pm, hungover and hovering over new york city and it's enormous labrynthine of lights, the faint smell of hydrangeas still clinging to my fingertips. after such a BIG weekend, it is easy, i suppose, to feel very, very small.

lest you think i am just a whiny solipsist, i'm sharing today's (abridged, annotated, and edited) e-correspondence with my friend who was also at the wedding and is suffering from the same post-nuptial depression. henceforth, i will refer to her as "pinky," having spent a little too much time in the sun sans sunscreen...but only on her legs, so she sort of resembles a 3-year old in hot pink tights. cute on a 3-year old. notsamuch on a 30 year old in a black string bikini, but we love her anyway. her normally conscientious self having been hampered by her copious consumption of frozen pina coladas.

and so:

text message via cellphone from moi to pinky
(upon my landing at La Guardia airport and discovering that i have a negative balance in my checking account, therefore, unable to withdraw funds for cab ride home. minor panic. then realize, i have savings...precisely what i was saving for. ugh.)
sunday, june 19, 10:48 pm

i don't like Real Life. can we go back to Wedding Land?

text message via cellphone from pinky to moi
sunday, june 19, 11:06 pm

done. see you in FL in 2 hrs.

then...this morning...

monday, june 20, 9:17 am
subject: ugh
from: pinky

C. and I may go get pina coladas at lunch... I had so much fun this weekend - I am so sad...

monday, june 20, 9:53 am
subject: re:ugh
from: moi

i know...me too. ) : i was so depressed when i got home last nite, i ate my melted chocolate wedding favors. seriously. it was just a big lump of white, dark, and milk chocolate goo. hm. curious. still tasted good.

i think i'll have a pina colada for breakfast.


monday, june 20, 10:03 am
subject: re: ugh
from: pinky

I know! We had big ole Whoppers in the airport. J (pinky's boyfriend who did not come to the wedding) met me at my apartment and I wouldn't go to sleep b/c I knew I'd have to wake up and come to work!!! Then he was complaining this morning about having to get up and I was like "shut it."

Let's stay in touch by e mail all day - it's the only way I'll get through it.

Love you! Forward me your pics when you can!!!

monday, june 20, 10:11 am
subject: re:ugh
from: moi

no problem. email post-wedding trauma support group has officially begun.

i cried when i got home last nite. hard. boo hoo hoo.

i'll upload the pics tonite. there were so many...eeks. (329.)

oh. and i also had a comfort cinnamon chip scone at the airport, and real starbucks coffee...THAT got my colon going. thank heavens. i was soooo stopped up.

hey, sneaky - did you take my Exlax from the bedside table b/c you were worried i was using it as a fucked up "diet aid?" hmmmmm??? i assure you that was not the plan. the purchase was merely a preemptive strike against the inevitable constipation i experience on trips. (too much information? oh, deal with it.)

how's the burn, pinky?

monday, june 20, 10:22 am
subject: re: ugh
from: pinky

No I did not take your Exlax!!!! And it never even crossed my mind that you would use it for dietary purposes. If I had a suspicion about it I would have said it to your cute face.

I wanted to cry this morning getting off the subway. But tonight I will go home and self-medicate by cleaning, organizing and cooking.

monday, june 20, 11:03 am
subject: re:ugh
from: moi

ok ok...you didn't take it. not that i woulda been mad anyway, but you is right. you woulda told me to my face. i just can't figure where the fuck it went! (somewhere, the person who mistook my chocolate-flavored Exlax tablets for the chocolate wedding favors is experiencing some intestinal karmic retribution for thieving it.)

i had such a great time, but i'm worried k. was so busy taking care of everyone else that she didn't enjoy it. ah well...at my wedding we're all gonna do a series of yoga poses together before the ceremony, and i'm hiring a chauffeur for all of my bridesmaids. i will not be driving anyone anywhere during my wedding weekend - i will be DRINKING.

to make it all about me - i felt very forced all weekend. does that make sense? i was trying so very hard to be charming and affable and appropriate. i hate when i do that. had a good time, but felt quite disconnected at times except when i was dancing. ( : then, i was just an a-hole.

monday, june 20, 12:47 pm
subject: re: ugh
from: pinky

that's funny! I was admiring to C how easily social you were this weekend as compared to the "large group anxiety" I seemed to be experiencing. And whether you were faking it or not, you looked like you were having a ton of fun- going out, dancing, pool partying, etc. It's just so hard when you have to share space and be nice to people you're not around all the time- for 4 days!!!

I would also like to compliment the both if us on our bathing beautiness. when we could have covererd up or been self-conscious in our suits, i think we both took the bull by the horns and let it all out by the pool!

we had so much fun this weekend b/c we all pretty much had one spot to hang out in all day and some parties at night- all in all, lots of fun. waghhhhhhh! anyhoo, for myself, I am thinking more and more of an old hotel; with a beautiful garden and swimming facility. Maybe an old plantation home rented out for the weekend...a tea for the ladies, football for the guys, a babysitter for the kids, and a casino near by for the heathens. hmmmmm.

monday, june 20, 2:44 pm
subject: re:ugh
from: moi

ha. that is funny. i thought the exact same about you. you seemed so cool and collected yourself. guess we can pretty much deduce that MOST people were experiencing some level of social anxiety...even 4-year old Jasper. RH wouldn't quit hitting on the poor guy. ( : guess ya just gotta fake it 'til ya make it.

amen to our flaunting our bods by the pool - screw it was my attitude. i was still quite self-conscious, but managed to enjoy myself for the most part. impudent little belly and all... i think this weekend can pretty much be summed up in two words - cleaveage and pina coladas. i was all about the boobs this weekend. not so much intentionally, just sort of happened that everything i wore showcased them. finally, at the ripe old age of 30, i'm becoming comfortable w/ acknowledging their existence.

by the by - i thought you looked beautiful all weekend, and you have the cutest damn figure. period. teensy waist. excellent bum. hope J appreciates what he's got. (i have a feeling he does...)

love your wedding idea. can't wait for that one! ( :

me? definitely a wedding weekend w/ activities, but laid back. less planned, if that's possible. have a civil ceremony w/ just me and my groom and a few friends. then a big party with sooo much dancing for which i'll change into a dress w/ a big flouncy chiffon skirt. NOT in the south. NOT in the summer. no church. autumn preferably or early winter. a seated dinner. no hors d'oeuvres that require toothpicks. and yes to babysitters...

and, absolutely NO BOUQUET TOSS. how humiliating can you get? they at least should have done the garter thing as well. if we have to feel like idiots, at least the guys should too!!!

monday, june 20, 3:13 pm
subject: quote for this weekend
from: moi

Politeness is half good manners and half good lying. - Mary Wilson Little

monday, june 20, 3:18 pm
subject: re: quote for this weekend
from: pinky

True dat! I am still responding to your last e mail...

monday, june 20, 3:25 pm
subject: re: ugh
from: pinky

Oh my god! The bouquet toss was my fave part!!!! It fulfilled all my bouquet toss dreams; where the bride throws the damn thing and we all let it fall on the floor! And it happened! Wonderfully funny for me. A protest of great proportions.

I like your wedding already. though I'm a sucker for hors d'oeuvres. They're my favorite part of parties - usually. At my other friend's it was all veggie crap. I want shrimp wrapped in bacon, fried and topped with a hollondaise sauce! yum city.

and I thought YOU looked beautiful all weekend- radiant in fact- and your legs are gorgeous and the world needs to see them more often. and never too much cleav from the woman with favorite tits ever. love you! mean it.

monday, june 20, 3:49 pm
subject: re:ugh
from: moi

ha! you're right about the bouquet toss. funny. we're still not doing it at my wedding, and if you make me do it at yours, i'm gonna throw it back.

oh no no no...i like hors d'oeuvres too, just nothing that requires a stick. i hate having to figure out what the hell to do w/ them when you're done (hold onto it? inconspicously drop it on the floor? stick it behind your ear? or into your hair as a decoration?) i like hors d'oeuvres that are bite size. pop 'em in your mouth and your done. (plus, there's no evidence of how much you've eaten).

loved the white wedding cake w/ canolli filling! yummerama!!! dinner was good, but i was too full from apps to truly enjoy. ah well...danced off apps and devoured cake! (seems a fair compromise)

and that was the last i heard from pinky...she is probably at home already self-medicating with a blender-full of pina coladas, cleaning, organizing and cooking her way back to reality. me? i think i'm gonna go home, put on my bridesmaid's dress, and dance around my apartment to "We Are Family" - i'm not ready to come back yet.

besides. i've just about worn in my shoes.

pink is my signature color

this morning, i put on a shirt the color of pepto-bismol.

this afternoon, i had to take pepto-bismol to quiet my heat-nauseated, bridesmaid-anxious belly.

coincidence?

i think not.

and as a side note, pepto-bismol pink? far more flattering ON than IN.

roy hobbs+ bob woodward + the great gatsby + hubbell is in the building

sorry, rob. even in french, this sucked.

robert redford was at work today.

jeeeeeaellllllloussss?

he was in the cafeteria (for reasons i cannot divulge). i certainly hope he didn't have the chef's salad. i really should've warned him. i don't care how sentimental and trite the horse whisperer was, nobody deserves the instestinal woes our cafeteria's kibble can and will inflict upon an unknowing consumer. movie star status be damned. our cafeteria's food is an equal-opportunity nauseator.

every woman in my building - no matter what age - traipsed up to the cafeteria to check him out - including moi. we tried to be nonchalant. i don't think we succeeded. i don't think we cared.

in my mind, he will forever be the glowing, beautiful (albeit prideful, conflicted, and screwing that golddigger Kim Basinger) man in The Natural. i am (but of course) the Glenn Close character, resplendent and celestial in a white wide-brimmed hat, standing in the bleachers, smiling down upon my aging phenom. the perfect movie of requited love, it taught me about the power of love and patience. if one just waited long enough and was a good person, true love could and would find you. (best to wear white and wide-brimmed hats, however, so true love can pick you out in a crowd.)

…or, the kindhearted, goh-geous aryan Hubbell in his naval dress whites and i, the large-nosed, difficult, feisty Barbra Streisand character from The Way We Were. their love, from the very beginning is ill-fated. i remember watching it and thinking that it was teaching me something about the correlation of beauty to relationships in our culture. Beauty could love Beast, but...eh...not so easy to make it last. our culture wants perfectly prettily matched couples who look good in photo shoots and birth perfectly pretty facsimiles of their pretty selves. think about it - there are few more pitied than the unattractive children of beautiful women who have married beneath them in the looks department.

TWWW also taught me something more true about love, i think. no matter how much you love, it still might not work. love is powerful and beautiful, poetry and doilies, but there are so many other things that influence why a relationship will or will not work, and sometimes the sum of those myriad other things, is greater than the single variable of do/do not love. i'm still wrapping my brain around this doozie. whenever i catch TWWW and AMC, i can't help but hold out hope that they'll somehow end up together even though i've seen the movie hundreds f times.

he doesn't know it, but he's thinking of me.

oh, but i digress...

i wonder if he noticed the endless stream of women trailing through the cafeteria?

i glanced at him for about 2 seconds, embarassed that he should think i was gawking. (oh, but wait...i was gawking) he looked like robert redford. still, at the age of 65, has that glow about him, although his face is considerably more lined and craggy, his hair still a bright golden shock of tousled youth, offset by a form-fitting (yup, he's still got it) black t-shirt.

oh...how dreamy.

then, in typical me fashion, i offended an entire elevator of older (50-something) women on the way back down to my desk.

lady #1: "oh, my gosh. he's still so cute."

lady #2: "but you know, he hasn't aged well."

me: "but he's old. he's almost 70." meaning: he looks great for his age. give the man some credit! - but, i don't think it sounded like that, and it's certainly not how they took it.

open mouth, insert foot.

ladies #1 and #2 take in my 30-year old, relatively unlined visage.

lady #1 quips through a forced smile, obviously offended:

"well, age is relative, young lady." (she didn't actually say "young lady," but she inferred it.)

DING. elevator door opens.

they all begin to exit the elevator.

wait wait wait! i don't mean it that way!

"well, i mean, he's got to be at least 65!" i shout out after them.

open mouth, insert other foot.

further offended:

"well, 65 is just right for us," lady #2 says.

ugh.

wonder if i will wake up tomorrow with karmic crow's feet?

hm. won't mind much if robert's there too. we can compare furrows.

changing toner

stay thee away. satan lives here.

i was just asked to change the toner.

i am 30 years old.

it's fine, really.

it.

is.

my.

job.

to.

change.

toner.

it is my job to change toner.

god it hurts to write that.

i know that age is only a number, and that i am pursuing other things outside of this gray, dank world of toners, binder clips, and orange-scented (fresh!) screen wipes - a corporate incubator that fattens its employees by, i am convinced, conspiratorially placed candy dishes filled with jolly ranchers, mini hershey bars, and caramels that render its employees not only sugar-comatised and emotionally complacent, but literally physically unable to move from their ergonomically correct chairs.

ergonomics and office birthday cakes - two practices created by corporations to discourage employee turnover.

i'm being irrational. i don't care. it's either post irrationally, or irrationally binge on the contents of the aforementioned office candy dish, and that's just not an option.

i have places to go.

grandpa was a fat ass

so, i dunno...do i look thinner?

wanna smell...er, i mean...look thinner to the men in your life? according to this article from Prevention magazine, it might be as easy as wearing the right perfume. they conducted a study of 200 men and boys who had to guess the weight of a 5'9", 245 pound woman. when she wore spicy-floral scents, they estimated her weight to be 5% less - that's about 12 pounds. not too shabby. if i can't actually weigh 12 pounds less, i don't mind being perceived so.

the best way to recreate the perfect skinnifying scent? a combination of old spice cologne and floral shampoo. so basically, the answer lay in gramma + grampa's bathroom cabinet. it's a shame gram lives in cleveland.

mississippians in new york city...who evah let them in?

it was a bitch keeping this dress clean on the subway.

went to the 27th Annual New York Mississippi Picnic in Central Park this afternoon.

i'm too sweaty, sticky, and disgusting to write much.

few key points:

hot

cold fried catfish, hush puppies, fries, cole slaw, fresh watermelon

sponsored by The New York Society for the Preservation of Mississippi Heritage (wha?)

live blues band

cool, green grass and clover blossoms between my toes

southern-drawled ladies

wide-brimmed hats

hot rollered hair - seriously

watermelon spitting contest

men named "preston" + "tyler"

women named "mary-chappell" + "mary-donahue"

cartwheels

sunshowers

not a confederate flag in sight

y'all come back now...ya hyah?

cold fried catfish, hush puppies, fries, cole slaw, fresh watermelon now resting like a lump in gut.

how shall i ever fit into my hoop skirt?

k-is-bananas-4-love foster cheesecake

in a sea of bananas and dulce de leche laced with rum,
how could they not live happily ever after?

who, i ask you, had the bright idea of making a cheesecake [high fat and dairy laden, requiring the use of an oven cranked up to 350 degrees for over 2 hours in an apartment that is excellent at retaining heat (but only during the summer) and cold (but only during the winter)] on the first miserably sticky, hot night of the year?

oh yeah. me.

it was for k whom i sweated and slaved for. it is a further testament of my love for her that i will be traipsing down to a hellishly hot and humid florida next weekend - my least favorite state - to sweat and slave further as a bridesmaid in a silk shantung gown (with pit stains) and gold matte kitten heels (with blisters). oh, quit my bitching. i know i'll have a good time - as long as i am properly air-conditioned and not made to leave the house between the hours of 10am and 3pm. if it is necessary that i leave the house during these hours, for a bridesmaids' luncheon say, i must be accompanied by an attractive, attentive male who will carry my bags, fan me with palm fronds, and be at the ready with an evian atomizer to spritz should the need arise.

oh...i digress.

the cheesecake, the cheesecake.

k loves bananas foster. so, in the past year, for various reasons - a dinner party, a birthday, an engagement - i made her some version of this drunken dish. first, for a dinner party at my apt, i made the original bananas foster, served over vanilla ice cream with Crunch-a-Munch as a topper. then, for her birthday, i made her Bananas Foster Cake - the cake part from a mix, but enriched with milk, butter, and eggs and drenched in rum and topped with bananas. nummy! pretty sure we had vanilla ice cream then too. (vanilla ice cream pretty much makes every dessert better, doesn't it?) when it came time to commemorate The Urban Family's last dinner soiree (not so swank - we ordered Burritoville) before k lost her maiden name - her maidenhead having been lost years ago - i decided nothing but the richest, most fat laden would do.

bananas foster cheesecake it was. i got the original recipe at epicurious.com, but i made some adjustments. most notably, i did it all in a Cuisinart, and sipped a vodka gimlet simultaneously. indeed, there is no end to the talents i possess.

here's how i did it.

K-IS-BANANAS-FOR-LOVE FOSTER CHEESECAKE

Crust
3/4 cup all purpose flour
3/4 cup pecans (i used walnuts - why is it so hard to find pecans in queens?)
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted - screw it, i used salted.
3 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons (packed) golden brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Filling
1 8-ounce package Neufchâtel cheese (reduced-fat cream cheese),
room temp
1 8-ounce package of regular cream cheese, room temp
(they call for 2 packages of Neufchâtel cheese, but i decided to Emeril-ize it by using one package of the real stuff. you're going to be constipated anyway, might as well do it right.)
1 1/4 cups sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
3 large eggs
2 cups puréed bananas - from about 4 bananas
(oh! best way to do this - less steps, less mess. get your bananas 3 or 4 days in advance. Let them ripen significantly, til they're almost too soft, then freeze them. the day you're going to make the cake, let them defrost on a plate. when you're ready to add them to the batter, just peel off the skin and toss in the food processor. no need to puree them separately. they're kinda creepy in texture and shape that way, but it works beautifully.)
1 cup low-fat sour cream
1 1/2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
Pinch of salt

Topping
1 cup low-fat sour cream
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 jar of caramel sauce. [i used dulce de leche. you can get it at any specialty food shop or, if you live in astoria, as i do, you can get it at Western Beef Grocery Store (vegetarians be damned!) in their ethnic foods section. It's by Nestle La Lechera. get two cans. you can eat the other one later while blogging. the sweet butteriness of it pairs well with the tart coolness of a vodka gimlet.]
2 tablespoons dark rum
2 bananas, peeled, sliced

For Crust:
Position rack in center of oven and preheat oven to 350°F. Wrap outside of 9-inch diameter springform pan with 3-inch -high sides with heavy-duty foil. Combine flour, walnuts, butter, sugar, brown sugar and vanilla in the bowl of a food processor - process. Press mixture onto bottom only of prepared pan.

For Filling:
Using electric mixer (food processor pour moi), beat cream cheese in large bowl until smooth. Gradually beat in sugar. Beat in cornstarch. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating until just blended after each addition. Add puréed banana, sour cream, lemon juice, vanilla, cinnamon and salt. Beat just until combined.

Transfer filling to crust-lined pan. (If you did all of this in a processor, DO NOT REMOVE THE BOWL FROM THE PROCESSOR. AT THIS POINT, THE FILLING EXCEEDS THE LITTLE TUNNEL STICKING UP FROM THE BASE. JUST LEAVE THE BOWL ON THE BASE, AND PICK THE WHOLE THANG UP AND TILT IT TO DUMP IT INTO THE MOLD. OTHERWISE, IT'LL SPILL ALL OVER YOUR KITCHEN FLOOR. YOUR CAT WILL BE HAPPY. YOU WILL NOT.)

now, make a bain marie. Place pan in large roasting pan. (i don't own a fancy-schmancy roasting pan, i just used an aluminum one from the 99 cent store.) Add enough hot water to roasting pan to come 1 inch up sides of springform pan. Bake until center of cake is just set, about 1 hour 15 minutes. Remove cake from oven. Maintain oven temperature.

Meanwhile, Prepare Topping:
Mix together sour cream, sugar and vanilla in small bowl until well blended.

Spread topping over cheesecake. Bake until topping is set, about 10 minutes. Turn off oven. Let cake stand in oven until cooled to room temperature, about 2 hours. (at this point, it was 1 am. i set my alarm for 3 am, got up, wrapped it, and tossed it into the fridge.) Refrigerate cake until well chilled. Cover and refrigerate overnight.

Cut around cake to loosen; remove pan sides. Transfer cake to platter. Warm dulce de leche in small saucepan over low heat, stirring often. Mix in rum. Drizzle some sauce decoratively over cake. Arrange bananas top cake. (i then drizzled more dulce de leche over top of the bananas.)

Cut cake into wedges. Serve, passing remaining sauce separately.

Serves 10. (probably serves more than this. it's so rich, between the 4 of us, i still had 3/4 of the cake left over. take it to work - make friends, influence people.)

it was a big hit. even folks who don't like bananas liked this cheesecake. so rich, so creamy, there's no need for vanilla ice cream, and the pureed nanners in the cheesecake filling really add an unexpected sumthin-sumthin.

so enjoy, and don't forget to take a fiber pill.

a few thoughts on gardening

getty images

#1. i dedicate this quote to my dear brave fiery friend who knows who she is who took a huge risk yesterday that will lead her towards something like recovery who is already fabulous and beautiful and talented, but will, by sheer virtue of that first baby step discover that she can leap.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. - Anais Nin

#2. some flowers can bloom overnight, right? you know...crocuses...croci? whatever. you know what i mean.

i'm wondering: can the same thing happen with a chin? because i could swear, where there was once one, there is now two.

#3. how does one prune a chin?

#4. go buy yourself some flowers, then make like a rose and blooooooom.

afternoon drug run

i was there to do research for a project for work, i wanted to tell the girl who sold me the stuff. i wanted to whisper, so as not to be overheard by the others in the room that do this sort of thing often:

this isn't for me. i don't normally do this. i'm just here for someone else.

she didn't care. besides, i'm sure she's heard it all before. healthy, bright, intelligent people who watch the news and therefore know the dangers of her wares lurk in the corners, feeding their addictions, head down, ashamed.

"do you have a black plastic shopping bag i can put this in?" i asked.

"no," she said.

dammit.

i grabbed my little baggie, shoved it under my arm, and made a beeline for the door, avoiding eye contact with the users scattered throughout the room. i felt such pity for them. i mean, i wonder if their families know? their doctors? some of these people have children, for chrissakes. it broke my heart.

i knew i had to escape. the room was thick with a heady redolence, a smell that recalled the freewheeling, dangerous days of my youth and was at once, both comforting and deadly. i was frighteningly close to reaching into the bag and sampling a bit of my "research," but an inner voice convinced me not to. i'd been here before - The Bottom, and if i started again, there'd be no going back.

everyone knows McDonald's french fries are a gateway drug.

a girl can dream, cain't she?

new legs

ahhh... love to feel the wind blowing through my hair.

ohhh...la....la.

i shaved my legs this morning, and it's such a fascinating sensation - hairlessness. remember Ambervision sunglass commercials?

"everything's so much crisper and clearer!"

that's how my legs feel. awake. sensitive. alive. new.

unearthed.

it feels so good, i really should consider shaving more frequently than my usual every 6 months. it's just such a pain.

i hate shaving. hate it hate it hate it. ironic, considering i couldn't wait to start at the tender age of 12. such a shame, in retrospect, as i had the most lovely, downy blond hair on my legs that just sparkled in the sunlight like little sheaves of wheat in a Provencal field (do they even grow wheat in Provence?). to a pre-pubescent though with hopes of wearing a mini-skirt on her first day of junior high, horror!

my mother told me i could wear makeup and shave my legs when i started the 7th grade. well, i had my blush, my mascara, and my lipstick lined up like little soldiers on the bathroom counter ready to be applied for the first day of school, but she hadn't let me shave yet because we didn't have any new razors in the house and she didn't want me to butcher my little legs with rusty razors.

the first day of school was the next day. argh! i couldn't stand it - the idea of being the only 7th grader with hair on her legs! so, i did precisely what my mother told me not to do - went into the shower, wielding a rusty razor, and went to work. i must've blocked out the specifics, but the shower had to have looked like a scene from Psycho, because i do remember having a giant gash down my shin that would not, despite compresses, 14 band-aids, and fevered prayers, stop bleeding.

mother was not happy when she discovered my little bloodbath. i don't remember her being horribly angry. she just handed me a styptic pencil from my dad's dop kit and told me to apply it to the cuts to stop the bleeding. ooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuucch! my comeuppance, i suppose, for blatantly disobeying me mum.

from that day forward, i have cut myself every single time i have attempted to shave. no joke. the sting of the styptic pencil scares me no longer and my 30-year old legs resemble those of a 6 year old who has climbed too many trees. karma, i suppose for the hasty vanity of a 12-year old. 'course, i think i might have outsmarted karma. i just don't shave.

oh, i do, but so infrequently (usually restricted for weddings or those very rare trips to the beach), it doesn't' really count, and so badly, i might as well not. when i exit the shower after a shaving attempt, there are always errant hairs that have escaped the blade, truants camping out around the ankles and knees.

but today, i found this really cool stuff ON SALE at my local Eckerd's: VEET® Rasera™ Bladeless™ Kit. i decided in homage to this summer's theme to Love My Body/Let It Show i needed to give it a try. (it's easier to love something that's hairless and smooth. studies have been done.) you just slather it on, leave it for 3 minutes, and then scrape it off w/ a bladeless "razor" (it's really just a plastic doohickey that resembles a razor). truth is, it takes just as long as actual shaving, it's probably not as close, and the chemicals caused some unsightly red streaks on my legs (that faded after an hour or so) so i probably won't do it with any more frequency, but it's far less bloody, and i've already ruined so many good towels.

ahh...tonight, i shall climb in between my cotton sheets and dream until the next time i will feel such pleasure...

in december.

afternoon snack

murder...on the colon

here's a tip.

do not eat trail mix (heavy on the fibrous nuts) on an empty stomach particularly, if you have, in the past, suffered from irritable bowel syndrome (I.B.S.). mark my words, it WILL irritate your bowel, so you will not only have irritable bowel syndrome, you will also be an irritable bitch with an irritated bowel.

summer lovin'...ehhh...notsamuch.

getty images

summer is here.

officially.

know how i i know?

because

i

am

miserable.

i know i'm supposed to be happy about it. i'm supposed to welcome the sunshine and italian ices and flirty summer dresses. i'm supposed to lay (lie?) in one of the city's myriad parks cradling the latest urban fiction novel in my hands, loving the feel of the cool green grass between my toes, sipping an iced coffee from the independent coffee seller on the corner (because i am way to hip and socially conscious to buy my coffee from starbucks). i'm supposed to love the, the, the, the...

oh, screw it. can't think of anything else i'm supposed love in the summer b/c i abhor it so very much it's hard to even conjure something i theoretically could love.

the city, during the summer, is just one big convection oven, and i am a loaf of bread. i rise, i expand, i bloat. i, however, do not turn a lovely shade of golden brown. i burn. my feet, in their comfy sandals (i refuse to torture my feet in teetery manolo knock-offs), are not only calloused and cracked, they are also bright this-little-piggy-went-to-market-pink and swollen. my normally clear skin breaks out into a little rose garden of acne around my hair line. my hair is greasy but my scalp is dry. it's a great look. really. you should try it. (note: only if you want to remain dateless and have no interest in procreation.)

i have never liked the heat. i was born in michigan, land of april snowstorms, but we moved to the south when i was 8. deeeeep south. not maryland or tennessee, or any of those weenie borderline states. louisiana and south georgia - places where people keep cockroaches for pets, make sun tea in January, and go golfing on Christmas day. one would think i'd have gotten used to it. nope. nevah.

there's a saying in the south -

Pigs sweat. Gentlemen perspire. Ladies...glisten.

bullshit. i write thank you notes, adhere faithfully to the convention of RSVP, and never come to someone's house emptyhanded. i am a lady, but i sweat.

why do i hate summer so? well, beyond the basic discomfort of sweating like a stuck pig, there's the obvious. i don't like my body so much, and here i am having to show it. in summer attire - spaghetti-strapped tank tops, mini-skirts, shorts - it's all just out there for everyone to see. the imperfectness of it all. the ample arm. the sturdy leg. the little roll of fat between my arm and breast.

but it's also something more than that...

deeper...

buried somewhere...in my...bosom.

ja. zee breasts.

i am 100% woh-man. i've got breasts, i've got a bootie, and during the summer, there just ain't no getting around it...er...them. things that during the winter months are shrouded and safe beneath comfy cableknit sweaters and courduroys, are now jiggling about and subject to criticizing glances from other women, hoops and hollers from caddish young boys, groping on the subway, harassment by homeless men.

breasts and bootie and being woh-man are beautiful things, but they are, sometimes, more trouble than they are worth.

this is getting a little psychotherapy session on you, but one of the many reasons women become anorexic is to keep themselves safe by rendering themselves asexual. when you're anorexic, you have little or no breasts, you aren't menstruating, your libido weakens, you oftentimes lose your hair. you lose, by most conventional standards, your womanliness, and regain your childlike body. this is why many women who have been sexually molested during their childhoods often suffer from anorexia or obesity. either way, they've rendered themselves unattractive, thereby safe from unwanted intimacy or advances. (i should note, for any relatives or close friends that might be reading this, do not panic: i was not a victim of molestation. i'm merely educating here...i have my own lovely issues which, i am sure, if you stick around long enough, i will eventually delve into on this blog. stay tuned.)

so, for the past few years...after oodles of therapy, a brief stint on birth control to regulate my menses (made me CRAAAAZY), and a couple of almost relapses, i've finally got a healthy [i.e. sexual (gasp!)] woman's body back, but it's still a challenge - learning to deal with The Woman that comes with The Healthy.

i just have to remind myself that it's practice. my best friend r. told me when i started dating again and felt the need to make every date - The Date:

"Think of it as practice, M. It's just practice."

god, so true. it's all just practice. life. dating. wearing that 100% cotton top that allows your decolletage to peek out and bask in the summer sun, even if it's just a leeeeeeeetle bit.

my body isn't dirty or fat or scandalous because it elicits rude comments from less-than-gentlemanly menfolk. it just means they're assholes. the same goes for anyone who might indicate that your body is less than holy, less than gorgeous, and less that woh-man all rolled up into one. the truth is, most of those fuckers are just intimidated. intimidated by the glorious mystery of our womanly form. that which they do not understand, they fear. (someone important said that...who? oh crikey, don't have the energy to google it.)

so...i'm practicing this summer. practicing being an unashamed healthy woman, and letting people see (if only a leeeeetle bit for now) my womanliness. i still hate the summer. you won't catch me trotting about central park in my bikini and slathering on baby oil. i still worship my air conditioner and will continue to wear spf 45 even on cloudy days, but i'm trying to learn to love it (and my body) a little more. i guess i'd better seeing as how it comes back around every year, dammit.

my hangers need therapy

does the camera add ten pounds?

unpacking my summer clothes, and packing up my winter clothes yesterday (farewell comfy sweaters, i shall miss you.), i came across this dysmorphic hanger. at first, i was just fascinated by its shape, kind of a Rorshach-thing happening, then i realized...

how strangely appropriate that this was formed and found in my closet.

ha.

rhetorical thought for the day

when

will i

begin to believe

i deserve

the things

that

i

want?

peonies


a real down comforter

a vacation


someone who will bring me coffee and cut my grapefruit into perfect bite size triangles.

does the answer lie (lay?) in a whole wheat everything bagel with tofu cream cheese and a long run on a treadmill listening to admittedly cheesy though strangely cathartic Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone?

don't know.

i'll keep you posted.

not exactly what i had in mind, thanks.

p.s. thanks to getty images for letting me pilfer these pictures.

that afternoon cup 'o cancer

getty images

INGREDIENTS:

NONDAIRY CREAMER [PARTIALLY HYDROGENATED COCONUT OIL, CORN SYRUP SOLIDS*, SODIUM CASEINATE (FROM MILK), DIPOTASSIUM PHOSPHATE, MONO- AND DIGLYCERIDES, SODIUM STEAROYL LACYTLATE, ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR], INSTANT TEA, MALTODEXTRIN, MODIFIED CORNSTARCH, SODIUM CITRATE, CONATINS LESS THAT 2% OF NATURAL FLAVOR, ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, ASPARTAME† AND ACESULFAME POTASSIUM (SWEETENERS).

*ADDS A NEGLIGIBLE AMOUNT OF SUGAR
† PHENYLKETONURICS: CONTAINS PHENYLALANINE

it looked good in the grocery store. General Foods International Sugar Free Instant Chai Latte. yum. i'd save some money by not taking that afternoon trek to starbucks, have my very own general foods international moment right here at my desk. but now, on a busy friday afternoon at work, i'm sipping this spicy-sweet though slightly synthetic tasting concoction, take a gander at the nutrition label:

!!!!!!!

isn't there a rule to how many carcinogens can be contained in one item? and is it a coincidence that the PHENYLKETONURICS: CONTAINS PHENYLALANINE is referenced with a cross†? i think not.

but hey, at least it's transfat and sugar free and low in calories. i'll die, but at least i'll be thin. such a small price to pay.

gfic.com

give 3 and call me in the morning.

did someone tell her how perfect she is?
getty images

i'm (practically) too tired to post today, but...

to a woman who has battled a negative body image for years, this article is, to quote my boss, "a big duh in a big pretty package," but i do realize not everyone has the same body-image albatross hanging around their necks as i do. in recognition of that, i'm posting this article:

http://channels.netscape.com/ns/men/package.jsp?name=fte/compliments/compliments

i remember reading one of the dictums in Life's Little Instruction Booklet by H. Jackson Brown (didn't we all get a copy of that mini-book in our stocking that Christmas?)

Give three compliments a day.

funny that that's the only one that stuck with me.

i don't think people realize how a compliment:

gosh, you've got the longest, most beautiful lashes i've ever seen, and your heart is bigger than my head!

can really make someone's day and, on the flip side, how an offhand remark can whittle them away:

well, she's not obese, but she's fat like you and me. (i actually know someone this was said to, and no, it wasn't me.)

anywhoo...read the article, think about it, pass it on, pass out a compliment. it don't cost a thing, and take it from me...what you give?

it's priceless.

p.s. giving compliments makes you feel good too. it's contagious.

runaway bridesmaid

i doubt they'll notice my arms.

jennifer wilbanks, the runaway bride. a few tiers short of a wedding cake, that one.

i do feel a little sorry for her. after having watched a number of my friends get hitched, i have observed that it is not a non-stressful event, and most brides-to-be could probably sympathize with jettin' jenny.

i've been involved in a number of weddings in a number of capacities - i've planned 'em, sung in 'em (if one more person asks me to sing The Lord's Prayer, i'm becoming a jew), planned wedding showers, designed invitations, been a bridesmaid (four times?), embroidered a last-minute something-blue heart on the ass of a girdled bride to ward off years of marital strife...i've pretty much done it all. short, of course, of walking down the aisle myself. (and no, i'm not dying to, thank you very much.) weddings, in my experience, bring out the best or the worst in people. normally sane, lovely individuals become raging lunatics, and the family drunk that everyone's worried about making an ass out of himself, doesn't.

so, i understand her plight, i do. but you wanna know who i feel sorry for? her bridesmaids. jennifer was a southern bride of substantial social standing (her fatha was the mayah aftah awllll...), so her bridesmaids are, no doubt, stuck with a big poofy confection of a dress that they will never wear - ever. perhaps if they're crafty they'll think to convert it into a duvet or a new set of drapes, but chances are, that dress is destined for the First Baptist Church Goodwill Shop - one of many pastel taffeta casualties lining the racks. poor dears. they threw her showers (eight, i think the papers said). forget charges. i think jw should have to buy back all of the bridemaids' dresses and wear them for an entire year. that'll teach her.

i'm thinking about weddings lately because my dearest friend, k., is getting hitched to her "prince" w. on june 18, and guess who's a bridesmaid? yours truly. totally honored in this case (and i'm not just saying that because k. might very well be reading this post. hi, k!), but there is a certain amount of anxiety that one must be prepared to deal with when being a bridesmaid, and i don't mean the planning of the shower, the purchasing of the plane tickets, or any of that other fiscal rigamarole.

i mean the dress.

let me clarify. the dress itself is lovely. k, tasteful lass that she is, chose a very simple, reasonably-priced, knee-length, juicy apricot colored, a-line strapless silk shantung dress that, even if won't wear again (we always say we will, but will we ever?), will not inspire gasps of sympathy or horror in 10 years when we look back at the photos. seriously, i love it.

my stress, and i'm sure this comes as no surprise to you, comes from what i will look like in the dress.

will my arms look fat? oh god, i'll have bus driver fat arms. when i wave, that little flap o' fat will jiggle.

i'm so pale. should i tan? fake it or bake it?

will the little sash make my waist look smaller or accentuate my "pooch?"

will my face look fat if i wear my hair back? but if i wear it down it'll be greasy and get in my face!

should i wax my legs? or shave? what if i get ingrown hairs and then my legs will be bumpy.

oh, god, i have to bleach my facial hair!

and get my highlights done.

and get new lipstick.

and get my callouses hacked off.

and...

and...

and...

and...

someone SHUT THAT GIRL UP!

me, in my dress

i'll confess: i've already scheduled myself for 3 weeks of daily workouts. look in my planner and you will see:

monday - yoga
tuesday - run
wednesday - yoga
thursday - stairclimber
friday - lift/cardio
saturday - bikram yoga
sunday - run
times 3.

i'm already tired.

then there's the diet to be adhered to...

no carbs.
no sugar.
no alcohol.
only green and white vegetables.
only lean protein.
times 3.

i'm already hungry.

the truth is, i'd probably feel much better at the end of those 3 weeks. i've been a bit inactive as of late with everything that's been going on, my ass is now a perfect mold of my office chair, and i've been ingesting more sugar in the past couple of weeks than i have in years. i don't really feel like i've been inhabiting my body lately. it's a little gooshy and weak for my taste, and my "pooch" is a little "poochier" than i'm used to. i'm trying very hard to see it objectively and not indicative of my worth as a human being. the absence or presence of said "pooch" does not make me less or more of glorious moi. moi does not reside in the "pooch."

oh, i know what's going on...it's that whole stress/cortisol connection - when you're stressed you crave sugar because it's quick energy. in the olden days, it gave you that little boost you needed to lasso, skin, marinate, and barbecue that buffalo, but now you

COME

CRASHING

DOWN

and all you want to do is bury your face in the office candy dish:

BACK OFF! THESE ARE MY STARBURST FRUIT CHEWS!

if i want to make positive changes in my diet and exercise routine shouldn't i want to do it because it will make me feel better, will help me live a fuller life, and let's be honest, will alleviate the guilt i feel when i tuck into that second piece of wedding cake? not because of how i'll look in a dress? shouldn't that just be a bonus? kinda like catching the bouquet, but less humiliating?

so, i know i need to make some changes (more movement, less chocolate), but the challenge for me is to do it in a sane and healthy way. not as an obsession or an imprisonment. i have done my time, thank you very much, and i am ready (and deserve) to play no matter what size, color, or how smooth-shaven i am. the problem with the above regime is that there isn't a single solitary serving of joy. the FDA didn't put it in their pretty new pyramid, but i need it.

i will...

delight in the sun and wind against my arms, flabby or otherwise.

dance like a madwoman to we are family with k's father with no concern, or maybe even (gasp!) a little love, for the impudent pooch that precedes me.

blink away tears and smile 'til my positively pale new york cheeks hurt as i watch k + w, two perfectly imperfect people who are so imperfectly perfect for each other, jump in...and play....Life.

yes, but i still want to look pretty, dammit.

grrr...is she still talking?

oh, The Contradictions...those girls just never get along...

ya know, i realize as i'm writing this, how very self-centered i sound.

truth is, m, no one will really give a flyin' flip what you look like at that wedding. i somehow think the focus will be on someone else...hmmm...say, the beautiful, beaming girl in the white dress and veil down front who's making a huge leap in faith and love. that's who this is about (oh, yeah, and there's that groom person, too), not you or what you look like in some dress.

oh, yeah...her.

yeah, her, ya doofus.

she's the cake topper. you're just the apricot filling.

__________

looking for a way to recycle your bridesmaid's dress?
Always a Bridesmaid: 89 Ways to Recycle That Bridesmaid Dress

then there's this one. the cover kind of scares me, but...

You Can Wear It Again: A Celebration of Bridesmaids' Dresses