HappyFat

In movies and television a girl will get dumped and in the next scene you see her in her pajamas, spoon in hand, pint of chocolate ice cream in her lap, snotty tissues everywhere.   I thought this was the normal reaction for getting dumped.  Sowhen I went through my first breakup I remember heading straight for the freezer and digging right into the container.  This was an emergency, no time for scooping it in a dish first. I took a few frantic bites through the tears, paused, and then dramatically threw it back in the freezer unbelievably irritated that it didn’t magically fix my broken heart. I thought it was supposed to be the cure, or help soothe me a little, but nothing…just a nauseated, empty, heavy feeling at the bottom of my belly. When I am upset, sad, stressed, the last thing I want to do is eat. I have talked to a lot of girlfriends and they agree, when we are depressed, food is nowhere on the agenda.  It’s not a conscious decision, you just are not hungry and you don’t have the energy to pig out.

All You're Ever Gonna Be is Mean

I have been having one of my pensive episodes lately and have been overwhelmed with how different my life is from just a few months ago. I am amazed by where I am at, who I am, the opportunities in front of me, the people I have gained in my life, and I know that I am lucky.

New York: Day Cinco

Morris had to get up and go to work on Monday and I got to lie in bed and watch him get ready.  That is the best feeling, trying to be nice to the person who has to go spend the day at the office, giving them that pity smile, tell them it won’t be that bad, then as soon as the door shuts roll over, cuddle up, and snooze. 

I woke up late and decided to go to the city to meet M for lunch.  I get all excited when I go on the subways by myself, feeling super savvy and independent.  This is not something you NY people will understand, but in AZ I drive everywhere and never have to look at train maps, so it’s kind of a big deal.  I even gave M a snarky little comment about not needing his help when he told me to call if I got lost.  Then I got lost.

Queen of Pasta Salad

Okay, so nobody has ever actually called me the Queen of Pasta Salad.  But they have agreed with me over the dinner table, nodding with their mouths stuffed as I stare them down.

 “I mean, I am like the Queen of Pasta Salad, right? … RIGHT?!”

Nod, nod, nod.

“Thank you, you may have seconds.  “

New York: Day Cuatro

Sunday!  I love Sundays (when it’s not football season).  I love doing nothing and relaxing on Sundays and that is exactly what we did.  We had breakfast down the street, I couldn’t tell you the name of the restaurant but the owner was wonderful and the food was great.  I ordered eggs Benedict, and honestly, I thought it was something else.  I am not a big egg person, have always had some weirdness about eggs, but I was starving and read the avocado and tomato part and it sounded good.  I had no idea eggs Benedict were so runny.  I can remember watching my dad eat runny eggs when I was little and being so disgusted and worried that he was going to get sick.  But when that yellow goo came bursting out of my beautiful white egg puff I put on my big girl pants and dug right in, and it was delicious.  Because I am clumsy and can barely get through a meal without spilling on myself, I had to make an extra fool of myself while trying to cut through my breakfast with a butter knife.  The knife flew out of my hand (there must have been some random magnetic force; no other way to explain that kind of air) and splattered some egg goo on the little girl next to me.  Her grandma was a sweetheart and told me that in her country a dropped knife meant you would receive a male visitor soon.  I can only hope she is right.