Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
- It's huge. YOOOOGE. Falls off the plate when I try to cut it into manageable chunks.
- Spring Mix and Romaine lettuces - not iceberg (boo), nut just romaine (blah), but the pretty green and red lettuces, too.
- Big, grilled veggies: thick tomato slices, up to FIVE spears of asparagus, 3 thick potato slices.
- Salty kalamata olives
- The lemony, red-wine-vinegary, tangy dressing. It has too much oil in it, but I skim it from the top as best I can, then dip veggies. But this salad is so good, it barely requires 1/4 of the dressing they give you.
- Grilled chicken that's kind of dry, but still good and grilly. It's the kind of chicken that makes you think, "It's dry, but at least I know it's chicken and not hacked-up-and-plastered-back-together chicken parts (read: McDonald's, Subway).
- One hard-boiled egg.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
I commend Subway for emphasizing healthy eating, but to that end, why don't all stores replace full-fat mayonnaise with light mayo? It doesn't really make sense to have both on hand; they both taste so similar (and obviously look so similar) that it would be easy for a negligent employee to fill one bottle with the other. I know I would hate to get regular mayo when I specifically request light.
While I'm writing you, I used to work at Subway when I was a teen, and you know what I miss most about the way you used to do things? I miss the U-Gouge - the method of slicing the bread in which the top is separated from the bottom. And I miss having my sandwich built from the bottom up: cheese, meat, onions, lettuce, tomato, pickles, peppers, olives. Now with these side-sliced, meat-on-top sandwiches, I feel like I'm eating an unwieldy taco. I have to instruct my sandwich artist to build it the way I want it, and when I do, they look at me like I've got a straightjacket on and pee running down my pant leg.
I mean, is it so shocking to order a normal sandwich? I don't want my meat sliding around over the top of my vegetables; I want it on the bottom, where it's a stable foundation.
All right, there's my rant. In short, I'd love to have light mayo in all stores, a sandwich built from the bottom up, and the u-gouge as a bread-slicing option. All these breads with fancy sprinkles don't mean anything if its contents slide out onto your lap when you take a bite.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
'Member when my doctor asked me if I thought about gastric bypass, when I was all distraught about my widely fluctuating weight? 'Member?
Well guess what? He had me get a blood test to make sure my thyroid was okay and and if I wasn't diabetic, etc. Looks like I'm pretty healthy.
I KNOW! I say this all the time.
He called me yesterday with the results and was like, "Your thyroid's where it should be, so we don't need to change your dosage. blah blah blah. Your cholesterol is shockingly low. It's amazing."
That's what he said - "shockingly...amazing." I have good-ass cholesterol. I ain't going anywhere. I defy all odds!
I'm not surprised about this, because I know I don't eat crap. And I don't drink all that often. And that's my choice.
Yet...I know from my body analyses that I have a couple dozen pounds of pure fat hanging on my frame. I'm not comfortable with that. Not because it could eventually do some damage to my joints or that it gives people reason to judge me, or it makes me uncomfortable on public trans. But because that shit is freeloading on my body.
That's right. I've come to see my fat as nothing but a stowaway. It's not hurting me - now - but it's not exactly helping me, either.
In Philip Roth's story, Goodbye, Columbus, the main character - Neil Klugman - lives with an aunt who has a strange aversion to pepper. Because she once read that black pepper has no nutritional value, she does not cook or season with it; she doesn't like the idea of a food product that gets a free ride through the digestive tract.
I always thought that this was laughably insane reasoning, but I think she and I have something in common. As of this moment, I see my fat the way she sees black pepper: It's just along for the ride.
Why should I spend the rest of my life bailing water out of a sinking boat while the fat sits back eating the rations? I should be sailing smoothly toward the horizon.
So there's that,
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
- I joined Crunch. Love it.
- Lost 4 pounds last week.
- I upset my personal trainer after my final free session (hint: I told him I didn't want to continue personal training right away, but I'd consider it if/when I hit a plateau.)
- I love two more dried fruits from Trader Joe's: White Peaches and Granny Smith Apple Rings.
- I ditched a date on Saturday night. Literally. Left him in the middle of a movie, texted him when I was safely on the train. You'll understand.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
I've never been here this late at night, but I love this place nonetheless. I used to live just down the street from here, and I never knew that things like this happened after all the drunk yuppies left the bars.
So there's that,
Monday, March 10, 2008
I know. They're so tacky (Flavor of Love) and desperate (Flavor of Love) and filthy (Flavor of Love). But I made the lucky mistake of watching Rock of Love for the first time a few Sundays ago, and it just took 60 minutes with the trashy bimbos vying for Bret Michaels' love to figure out who I liked, who I loved to hate, and who needed to die immediately. That's what reality shows do, right? Make you want to make God's decisions about someone else's life?
Anyway, these shows tend to pull me in based on the lowest common denominator - that is, once I figure out who I hate, I have to keep watching to see those assholes kicked off. I watched American Idol last season to see Sanjaya voted off, and by the time he was, I grew to love Blake. This season I watch the Idol results just to see that little jerk Danny Noriega get voted off. I squealed on Thursday when they kicked him to the curb. I told my sister as much over the weekend, and I was surprised (disappointed?) to learn that she was actually rooting for him. I...I just don't know about you anymore, dear sister. Your kind teacher's heart is starting to dissolve your better judgment, hate to say.
But alas, I love Rock of Love. I want Kristy Jo to win. I think Destiney is pure trash and I want her out, now. I think Daisy has had so much collagen injected into her lips that she looks like she was present at the opening of the Lost Ark. I don't like her, but nevertheless, I can't decide if I like to hate her for throwing a monkeywrench into the works, or if I just like watching her look so stupid, which in and of itself is revenge enough. I mean, have you seen her "singing" the "national anthem?"
I have come to look forward to my lazy Sunday mornings, cooking up a good breakfast, brewing a pot of coffee, and snuggling up under a ragged quilt on my love seat to watch Scott Baio is 46 and Pregnant (a cheap knock-off of Curb Your Enthusiasm) and My Fair Brady (not bad - Adrianne Curry just reminds me of Anne Rutledge, one of my old college roommates who was very extravagant and mouthy, but you couldn't help but liking her). But those are just warm-ups for the main event.
So you can imagine my surprise when, yesterday morning, Flavor of Love started up right after Brady. I nearly had a fit - the Rock of Love girls were going to make music videos this week! - until I looked at my TV's guide screen to see that my show was coming up next...and it was going to be a little marathon! I could see the episodes I missed at the beginning of the season! A whole Sunday of Bret Michaels and whores!
BUT, as I scanned through the program descriptions, I noticed that they weren't going to air the new episode this week. WHAT? You put me through 6-7 hours of this, but you can't at least end the marathon with the latest and greatest episode? Boo, Vh1. Boo.
I have to wait another week to root for my grrl, Kristy Jo, to yell at Destiney for being a bisexual trick who can't make up her mind, to laugh at how much Daisy looks like a tranny. I won't like the wait, but I'll be there, for these are the things that truly matter on a holy Sunday morning - sitting in judgment of desperate people.
So there's that,
Thursday, March 6, 2008
I signed a contract for a gym membership at Crunch on Tuesday night.
I prepared for the worst going in, since the only other experience I had with touring a gym (Bally's) ended in tears. The membership coordinator, Courtney, wasn't in perfect shape, so I felt a little better when I met her. Then I saw the machines, the boxing ring, the classroom studios, equipment, yoga studio, locker room with showers (including body wash, shampoo and condish), steam room and clothes steamer. How could I refuse?
Classes are free, and they include things like pole dancing and pilates - two things I've wanted to try to make me sexy (in addition to my kegels). I get an assessment and a training session, too.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
- Dad refused a pedicure. Though he grew more accepting of the idea as the weekend progressed (until he heard the price - "Thirty dollars?!"), his initial response was "I don't like a woman touching my feet...unless it involves a sexual situation, heh heh." The little laugh at the end is his classic bashful, eyes-down laugh that just makes you love this guy.
- He did say that if he ever would get work done in a salon, he would get his back waxed. I told him he doesn't have a backhair situation. He insisted he does, and it makes him self-conscious. "How long does the hair stay off?" "Probably a couple of weeks" "That's it?!"
- He brought a disposable camera. Though neither of us care about not having a digital camera, together we joked that someone with a digital camera - say, a Japanese tourist - would make fun of him and take pictures of his shame. "Fong, rook at big Amelican man. He have rittle camela." "Big-u man, rittle camela!" "He have-uh baby camela!" "Rook! He cry! Big-u man cry about rittle camela."
- I learned how he met my mom (in a parking lot at "The Rustic" - a dance hall - she just came up and kissed him), and that he hadn't dated anyone else in his life, even though he was 21. He told me he was in a car once with his friends and some girls; the girls asked when they were going to "park" and "get handled." He said his jaw just dropped and he didn't know what to say.
- Mom had been seeing a guy. Dad later played softball against him.
- When working on his mix CDs, I jokingly asked if he wanted Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven is a Place on Earth." To my surprise, he said, "Yeah, she has a great voice." So somewhere in the mix of classic rock songs I put together for him, a track is going to click on with "Oooh baby do you know what that's worth? Oooh heaven is a place on earth."
- He doesn't like "city prices," so we tried our best to avoid falling into tourist traps. On one occasion when he complained about prices, I said with force, "But it's worth coming here, right? Because you're with me, your daughter...right?" Then I made him give me his hand, instructing him to flinch and squeal out "Yes!" in weakness. (You have to know that my dad is what some would call an intimidating 6' 4", and his hand is like twice the size of mine. It's funny to see him being intimidated, really.) So after that, every time I would say, "But it's worth it for me, right?" I would take his hand, pretend to squeeze and he would play his cowardly part. It was our little routine for the weekend.
- Before he left town, he wanted to get "one of those milkshake things from Starbucks," which is what a barista would call a Grande Caramel Lite Frappucino with Whip and Caramel Sauce. That's right. Lurch won't get a pedicure, but he likes Belinda Carlisle and Caramel Lite Frappucinos. This is my dad.
- In his defense, while we were drinking the Fraps on the train platform, he admitted to it "making him look like a fag." I told him I don't think that's possible.