Going Down

Today was the third weigh-in:

 

I'm down 2.8 pounds!!!!

 

I was really worried about how this week would pan out.  I went out with Steven on Friday and Saturday nights, and we indulged in fish & chips, fajitas, cookies, and bread pudding.  I tracked my points, though, and I kept it under control.  I also worked out regularly.  It's very promising to know that I can date and eat!

 

It's getting better all the time.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Everything's Coming Up Laura

I'm feeling pretty good right now.

 

I'm officially dating an incredible man - that rare mix of kindness, affection, intelligence, good looks, and great career.  He lets me set the pace, he wants to spend time with me, and he doesn't freak out about the time we spend apart.  I don't know what I did to deserve this, or how I lucked out manwise for probably the first time in my life.

 

I went to an audition for the first time in over 2 years, and I just found out that I got it.  I got into a music improv program that accepts only a few people, and only holds auditions about once a year.  I'm excited to start working with people again, to start singing again after so long.  Too long.

 

I get to go home for 10 days this year, and I want to get the most out of it.  I miss seeing my family, and now I finally get the chance to spend more than 4 days with them.

 

I'm losing weight again after a LONG bout of negative outcomes and negative emotions.  I have yet to weigh in today, but I'm optimistic that I lost at least a pound.  I must have.  And if I didn't?  I'm not going to get discouraged.  My clothes fit great, and I know that I CAN lose.  I know I'm not completely fucked up.

 

I feel like my life is heaving a big sigh. 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Add This to Your Holiday Repertoire

There are many reasons I love John Malkovich, and this is a new one:



So there's that,

Laura

Pomato Frittata

I had a little red potato sitting on top of my microwave, a pint of untouched grape tomatoes, and some goat cheese that was doomed for spoilage if I didn't eat it, stat.  So I put it all in in some eggs!

 

Pomato Frittata

Serves 1, 6 Points

 

1 c Egg Substitute

1 Small Red Potato, diced small

1 c Grape Tomatoes, halved diagonally

1-2 oz Goat Cheese

1 Small Clove Garlic, minced

Salt, Pepper, Parsley

Cooking Spray or Olive Oil

Water or Chicken Broth

 

Heat a nonstick skillet over medium heat.  Spray with cooking spray or add a tsp of olive oil.  When oil is hot, throw in the minced garlic and potatoes.  Saute until potatoes have browned.  Add a few tablespoons of water or chicken broth to the pan and cover to cook the potatoes through.  Toss in tomatoes and stir for a minute.  Add eggs and stir until everything is coated.  Season with salt, pepper and parsley.  Crumble the cheese over the top of the eggs and cover the pan.  Turn the heat to low and allow to cook for 5 to 10 minutes or until eggs have puffed up and cooked through in the center.  Remove, slice and enjoy.

 

I recommend making all your leftovers into frittatas - it's such a lazy weekend treat!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

Way In

I had my first weigh-in since starting Weight Watchers again last week.  I'm down 3.4 pounds!  I admit I was a little disappointed at first.  I excercised 5 days this week, I ate mostly portion-controlled meals, and there were 4 days that I couldn't eat enough to meet my Points goal.

 

But still...that's a good deal of weight.  And I think it's worth noting that I am wearing black pants that are a size smaller than the black pants I wore last week.  It's always a good sign when I can step over to the skinny clothes side of the closet.

 

Here are the things that made my food life easy this week:

 

1. Healthy Choice meals kick ass.  Sooooo much better than when they first came out.  Now I can get protein, starch, veg, and dessert for 7 Points or less.
2. Thank God Yoplait Light yogurt was on sale this week, because I've fallen in love with it all over again.  New favorites:  Pineapple Upside Down Cake, the Light Thick and Creamy line, and Lemon Meringue Pie.  I put a little bit of Honey Bunches of Oats Just Bunches on top for a little crunch.
3. Clementines = jewels of pleasure.
4. Frozen veggies.  Nuff said.
5. No substitutions, just compromise.  I could eat my Wednesday bagel and schmear, I just had to cut back the rest of the day.
6. Sharing food.  A cupcake is bad news.  A half cupcake?  Just a bit better.
7. Support from friends.  It's so much easier to work out with buddies.
8. A new BEAU.  He's much more interesting than food.

So...I'mma stick with the portion-controlled meals for just a few more weeks so I can readjust my satiety levels.  It's steered me right so far.  In my next post I'll publish my new frittata recipe!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

DoomsDay

Dear Dairy (sic),

 

Tell me old friend, as I lie here on my bed, on my stomach, with my legs kicked up behind me, sporting a side ponytail and waterfall bangs, listening to Debbie Gibson...

 

Why does my life, like, totally suck????

 

I mean, I totally understand that life should challenge me.  I get that like DJ Tanner got tickets to the Beach Boys.

 

But why oh why, on the week that I start Weight Watchers - AGAIN, FOR LIKE THE HUNDREDTH TIIIIIIIME - did a Dunkin Donuts have to open just a block from home?

 

ARGH!

 

I guess I need to change my path.  Put it out of my mind.  Or maybe, just maybe, I can go ONCE every few weekends, for a cup of coffee and an eggy crueller.  I can handle that, right?  It's just 3 points...

 

Oh cruellers, you are cruel.  As cruel as those kids were to that fat girl on that one episode of Highway to Heaven.

 

Well, bye.  I'm off to watch Dr. Quinn.  I think she and Sully will make eye contact this week.  Squeal!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Back to Basics

Inspired by Michelle, Toot, Dusty and Rita, I've decided to put my Weight Watchers hat back on.  Renewed my monthly pass.  Measuring portions again.  I'm a bit excited!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

HEY!

IT SMELLS LIKE FISH IN HERE!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Road Maps

I've been thinking a lot lately about stretch marks.

Though I may not post about it as often, I am still on a path toward wellness and weight loss. I guess it got harder to talk about here because I haven't seen much progress on the latter. I have, however, kept up my rigorous walking schedule on Saturdays, and I keep my dates at the gym. I feel firmer, but I'm still awkwardly large and the scale hasn't budged.

I am okay with that. I have to be.

Every night as I fall asleep, I take inventory of my abdomen and thigh muscles, running my hands over them to see if there's new smoothness, new tone, a bone that presses against the surface more prominently before. I feel for the soft cellulite to give way to lean meat.

 

I can also feel the rivers of stretch marks that have carved through my thick hills of flesh.

 

On my hips, they run deeper than my skin. On my stomach, they are raised ridges more akin to scar tissue. They are the strongest evidence that my body is breaking and I'm always healing.

 

These silvery marks aren't new to me; they appeared before I became a teenager. I thought they were a normal part of growing up – these were the growing pains giving the title to that sitcom.

 

My mom saw them once and told me what they really were. She said only women who've been pregnant get them, and the tone of her voice implied she had no hope for me. There was a tinge of shame revealing it was another disappointment, that I was not the kind of girl she wanted.

 

I know that's not true; she does and always has loved me. But with her constant dieting schemes, girdling, and promises of new toys and clothes after I lost weight, how could I feel like anything but an eyesore? With that pressure, I could only feel betrayed and alone. No amount of personal success outside weight loss – grades, contests, music, scholarships, work – could overshadow my constant failure to be thin.

 

I don't want to make this an entry about blame, but these feelings are there. This is part of the history coursing through the tiny blood vessels in my fat, keeping it alive: stretching until it builds new seams.

 

Last night my thigh was smooth, the layer of cellulite was thinner, pliable. I pressed the skin taut between vertical lines of stretch marks on my hips, a feeling reminiscent of a round paper lantern. There is always something new. No matter how much I change, these marks will say everything. Braille documentation left behind by the blind author of my past.

 

These scars are unique. This is red; this is white. This is damaged; this is healed. This is my body. This is my story.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

I am SICK!

Why is this so damn funny to me?




Because I am tuh-wisted. Happy Friday mothahfuckahs!


So there's that,

Laura

Goddang It

I begrudgingly started reading Twilight this morning, because it seems to be the hot book/movie sensation of the moment.  Normally when people get all culty about books, I shut down and refuse to read them until I'm good and ready.  Then I love them.

 

Did it with Da Vinci Code.

 

Did it with Harry Potter.

 

Now I'm 70 pages into this emo teen sensation, and I'm already watching the trailer and film clips online.  I need to see this movie.  I can't explain it.  The book's written for kids in its 13-point font, and I'm all, "Damn, this is great!"

 

I guess I need to loosen up about swimming with the school.  Because let's face it - refusing to get on the bandwagon for the principle of it?  Is just as bad as posing.  Especially if you're gonna like the shit anyway.

 

Oh, and I feel oddly pedophilic for finding a teen novel sexy.  But can you blame me?

 

 

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

 

 

No More Drama

Last night was probably the most amazing I've ever experienced in this city.

 

No pushing.  No fights.  No worries. 

 

 

Happy Faces

 

 

Horses' Asses

 

 

Baby Fists

 

 

Swarm of Bliss

 

 

Good People

 

 

Hooty Hoo

 

 

Tree Huggers

 

 

My Kind of Town

 

 

Wew!

 

After, my group parted ways.  I walked north on Michigan Avenue, consuming the entire thoroughfare with my fellow rioters, alone yet alive.  The city burst into cheers every ten feet.  The foreign-tongued posed for pictures next to the police horses.  We shook hands with the police officers who stood to the side this whole night as the people pulsed through them, toward the heart.  Shiny faces teemed over balconies, stood towering on the medians, and hooting from car windows.

 

I walked till the streets emptied, where couples held hands and stopped to kiss.  Where people sat on benches, gathered in doorways, and waited for buses - talking and laughing with strangers.  Somewhere in all this, I sloughed off my bitterness and let the crowds and kisses fly all around me, wanting only to stay awake forever.

 

It is summer in the city.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

 

 

 

I Voted. Can you smell it?

I was gonna wake up at 6:00 this morning, crawl over to my polling place, then come back home to get ready for work.

 

Instead, I woke up before the alarm at 5:00, tossed restlessly in bed while watching the news and decided to just get living.  Got over to the polling place at 6:30 and was surprised at the "short" line.  I was all, "Man, I could get to work by 7:30!  Go me!" 

 

Little did I know the line snaked around every wall and elevator in this high-rise condominium lobby.  There was length of line that I didn't know existed until I turned a corner.  This line was intestinal.

 

But resourceful bitch that I am, I brought a book, and the time just flew by.  When the old lady at the registration table pulled my slip, I had to remind her that I needed to sign it before she filed it.  I was all, "I need to sign that, right?"  And she was all, "Oh...yes you do." 

 

I was hoping for a little more passion on her part, but I guess she'd seen enough already today.

 

I checked over the president section on my ballot 5 times, making sure I voted for my guy.  I did.  I ran the card through the scanner, got a receipt, and the deed was done. 

 

I was out of there at 8:15, and at work by 8:30.  It was a long wait for sure, but I figure I can give an hour and forty-five minutes of my time for the country. 

 

But only once every four years.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

Don't Tell Dad

I don't like getting political because - at this point, at least, I hope - people know who they're going to vote for.  I can't change their decision, I don't want to.  I don't care to tear down the guy I'm not voting for because...I'm not voting for him.  What does it matter?  The only thing I can do is vote, then it's out of my hands.  If the other guy becomes president, I just have to deal with it.  And I have a feeling whoever is chosen - as radical as the campaigns may seem - that guy will be pretty moderate, considering the nation is half-torn, in debt, and in war.

 

So, I don't lose my head about the election.  My dad, however, gets pretty steamed up about it.  He's conservative.  During the 8 years of Bill Clinton, the channel had to change as soon as his white mane and tippler's nose came on screen, for dad's eyes would bulge out of his head in rage.  Which is funny because Dad's pretty peaceful otherwise.  Shy.  Cool-headed.  Non-violent.  Just don't get a democrat in his field of view.

 

Now when he talks about Obama and his Chicago-style politics, repeating Fox News talking points about how terrible this guy is, he gets just as tense.  I tell him to cool off, make him promise me that he won't go apeshit if Obama becomes president.  It's not good for him.

 

So this is why I feel kind of bad that I'm voting Obama - because if he wins, my dad's gonna have 4 years of pure hatred for the government.  Sigh.

 

But on the other hand, I'm really excited about my vote.  Even if he doesn't win, I'm gonna be happy to have been part of such an historic election.  I got a ticket to Obama's election night party in Chicago's Grant Park.  I'm going to be in the mix of it all, in the same room as the man who could be the next president, when he gets the news!  It's a great time to live in Chicago!

 

So wish me luck - at least pray this guy gets the presidency so I don't get killed in an angry riot.  I'm too cheap for pepper spray, so I'm packing Binaca just in case!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

 

Obeisha

Went to see Madonna last night.  Acted a fool.

 

 

 

More pics as this story develops!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

My BFF

A blogger on bestweekever.tv revealed to me (but not only me) that Ben Folds Five got together for a reunion concert on September 18, 2008 in Chapel Hill, NC. They played my favorite album front to back - The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner.

Guess where the fuck I was that night? In downtown Raleigh, NC, just miles away from Chap Hill. I was taking a group of 36 people out to a stand-up comedy show.

Do you know how much I hate stand-up comedy?

Do you know how much I love Ben Folds?

The answer to both? A whole fucking lot.

Granted, I couldn't go to the show because I was working. And for that, I got paid sweet sweet overtime. But still. I probs would have snuck out after we got back to the conference center and hung around their venue. Just to breathe that air, I tells ya.

But thankfully, as the BWE blogger pointed out, the concert was streamed live to myspace.com, and now I'm watching it and getting all sobby.

Seriously? You don't even have to watch it, but at least put it on in the background and give it a listen. It's beautiful. I want to make babies with it...and so should you.

At least check out my favorite song beginning around the 13 minute mark.

And "Magic" at 18:45 mark. I'll stop now.

So there's that,

Laura

Hot Pants

Now that Clinical Congress is over, I feel like a new woman. Like I can start life anew.

Basically, I feel like Kylie Minogue in the Spinning Around video:



I've decided to take my vacation in Chicago this November, seeing as how I blew so much money in San Francisco. I made an appointment for a facial and body treatment at a local spa. While I'm excited, I also feel like I need to train for this treatment. Like I need to go in looking like I know how to live.

I'm going to spend the week alternately relaxing and excercising, making some good food, basically having a spa week. I'mma clean out my apartment top to bottom, slough away the old and reorganize the rest. I'm ready for a life makeover.

So there's that,

Laura

Pics Forthcoming

It's my last day in San Francisco, and I'm at the airport getting it on...line.

The last few days have been pretty effing awesome. I think I'll go into it more when I've had a few hours to decompress and reflect. Until then, here are some highlights and lowlights:

• This city is so hilly that my quads got beefed up. I've been waking up sore in all the right places.
• The public transit is pretty reliable.
• This crazy homeless guy came up to me and Christie yesterday, saying "watch out for the rapist! That guy's a rapist - he just tried to rape me!" So I said, "Then I don't have to worry because if he wants to rape you, I'm probably not his type anyway. He's your team's problem."
• C and I went to see a stand-up show Friday night after missing out on theater tickets. I gotta look him up, but the opener was HOT. When he came onstage, I asked C if he was in Dead Poet's Society. That's how hot he was.
• Seriously. We wanted to have his babies. We talked all night about getting his seed in our bellies.
• There was a homeless guy on the Wharf who held tree branches in front of himself, then shoved them out at you if you got too close. Pitko got too close. He was an asshole.
• The Haight smells like Nag Champa, and that's not a good thing.
• The homeless. Jeez. There was one guy who had a dog that had a cat on its back, and the cat had a mouse on its back. The animals walked and sat like that all the time! It was messed up. Food chain in harmony.
• Chinatown: good for looking, not for eating. We were had. Went to Dick Lee Pastry for a dim sum buffet...bowed out after 5 bites. Worst. Meal. Ever.
• I saw sea lions! Or or or! *claps*
• C and I had the best meal of all time last night. It made me reflect on my life. Seriously - all other food has to go through an application process before entering my mouth.

I'll go into further detail once the pics come down the wire. You really have to see it to believe it. I wish you were here!

So there's that,

Laura R. Meyer

This is a Tribute

Not to brag or anything, but my bff Justin put together this little tribute to me. Totally made my month! And obvys made me weep a little. Check it out.

So there's that,

Laura

Judge Dread

I'm in San Francisco all week for work, and I'm currently sitting in the back room of a postgraduate course - blogging, and keeping track of the time for the faculty. I had so much coffee this morning, that my eyeballs feel like they're jiggling about in my skull.

And I'm totally in love with the a/v guy.

He's got the goods: average height, not skinny, not fat, short short hair on a balding pate - basically all the good looks of an out-of-work improv actor. Oh I think I love him. But then again, I'm always in love.

He was reading The Onion, and we talked about how awesome it is. Squee! He told me he thinks the course is interesting. Sigh! As far as I'm concerned, he's all but put his dick in me.

But I'll worship him from afar. I don't want to come on too strong...who knows? He prob has a girlfriend, then I say, "Hey, wanna make out in my hotel room?" And he'll say, "I've got a girlfriend," or "I'm totally gay." And then I'll run into him later in the week, and I'll blush and scurry away, giggling like a schoolgirl.

This is all hypothetical, mind you. I'm a professional, and I won't mess around while on a business trip. I'll save that for Thursday 10/16 when I'm officially on vacation in San Fran. Until then, I'll do as I always do: Dream.

*****************************

Lots of panhandlers and buskers in San Fran. Just an observation, but many of them are white hippies with dreadlocks, patched pants and many scarves.

If you know anything about me, you know that if there's one thing I will not abide it is white people with dreadlocks. On black people it's natural, it's soulful; but on white people? They just look dirty, look like they're trying too hard. Which is funny because they don't have to "try too hard" to get dreadlocks, they just have to stop washing their hair. White dreadlocks are the trademark of a people against trademarks. And because white people with dreadlocks run in the same social circles, I'll venture to say that they are also conformists. Conformist nonconformists. Not unlike the goths, the hipsters, and the Mormons.

If you know me, you will also know my general discourse on the homeless: Fuck 'em. Except for the mentally/physically disabled ones because that sucks. But otherwise, fuck 'em. If you're not born rich, you still have the opportunities presented to you in public school. You compete, you pour your sad little heart into your education, your work, and you keep climbing. I know it's broadly idealistic, but if you live your whole life thinking "why me?" instead of "why not?" you're gonna be fucked. This is probably one of the only topics I'm strictly conservative about, but I can't think any other way. It took only a few minutes of cleaning up people's shit and puke for me to want more. Learn to trade up, motherfuckers!

*steps down from soapbox*

So after all this, WHY did I give two of my hard-earned Fiber One bars to the homeless dreadlocked white guy outside of Walgreens a few minutes ago?

He asked for change, and I really didn't have any, so I did the grimace/I'm-sorry/nod to him and walked away. Then I freaked out because I couldn't find the twenty I slipped into my pocket earlier. Then I walked back into Walgreens while feeling my other pocket, finding the twenty. Then I walked past him again, knowing I was going to get some Chinese food next door. I didn't want to look like a complete a-hole, so I walked back to him and said,

"Hey guy - you want one of these bars?"

"Sure!"

I tore open the freshly-purchased box, and offered him two...apologetically explaining that I had 10.

Why the eff does that matter? I have 10-bars because I will eat ten bars this week, because I have a job and can afford 10 bars - why should I apologize for having a lot of food bars? Why should I apologize for eating? Why should I feel bad for this guy?

I did it because I didn't want to look like a fat asshole. Hell, I did just buy a big box of bars and I was gonna get some greasy Chinese right in front of him. I shouldn't have given him anything and instead walked out of the restaurant with lo mein noods hanging off my chin like a beard, saying "Nuts to you, guy!"

But I didn't. Because given enough exposure to food and homeless people in a 5 minute window of time, I will cave in. I will "do the right thing."

Goddamnit...

So there's that,

Laura

Purple Teeth

I think I'm having a food baby.

Which is strange, because I haven't had food sex in some time. I haven't really been overeating or having anything out of the ordinary. I just feel like someone's washing dishes in my stomach and intestines - they're roiling so with gas bubbles. In the past few hours, I've taken to standing, arching my back and rubbing my stomach like I'm expecting. But it doesn't make me feel better. My farts still sound like I'm opening a fresh can of tennis balls.

I do leave for San Francisco in a few days, but I'm not really nervous. At least, I'm not nervous enough to have it manifested gastrointestinally. I always seem to go through funky stomach things right before, and the first few days of, traveling. Whatever's happening hurts, though, and if I didn't have 45 minutes of work left, I'd totes leave, which I never do. It's that bad.

Gah! A big bubble just popped in my stomach. Argggh...

**********************************************

Anyway, onward and upward. This weekend I got a cut and color job that's so hip it makes me feel like I'm trying too hard. Like I'm middle-aged trying to be 26 instead of 26 trying to be 26. Here's the instant message bit that Justin and I had earlier on the subject:

Justin: so did you get your hair did? how'd it turn out? less mousey?

Me: it's interesting...there are 3 different colors in it - dark brown, a lighter dark brown, and a deep red

it's gonna take some getting used to

i feel like when i do something new to my hair or get flashy clothes, i'm not unlike a middle aged woman trying to stay relevant.

will I ever feel like I'm my age?

Justin: lol

no, i never do

i feel too old to be doing the things i'm doing, and yet to young to be wearing any loafer style shoe with fringy bows on the fronts

or wear anything with a pleat

me: no one should wear any of the above, ever

Justin: exactly

me: but i feel like if i were old, this cut/color would say, "Yeah I'm 50 and single and I shop at Chico's, what of it?"

Justin: but, because you aren't 50, it's okay and because you've seen it ill-worn on older women, that's what the issue is?

you notice on someone whom it doesn't belong on

me: yesh.

right

i know a woman who's fighting it. wears dark spiky hair, dark makeup

looks like a stout witch,

and picked on me for talking about bringing healthy food to Thanksgiving, gave me all that "life's-too-short" hullaballoo.

Justin: aww...yeah, and it's like those that fight it look worse than those who just let it happen

me: she's one of those people I see and think, "you're nice and all, but I never want to turn into you."

i think the main reason i colored my hair was because i saw a mid-aged woman on the bus who was saggy-plump, had long mousy hair that was frazzled and grey

me: i thought "no no no no no, this won't be me in 20 years"

how sad is it that I'm 26 and am already worried about looking like a 45 year old?

or feel like i'm well on the path...

Justin: yeah, just be spritely now

me: spritely? please...

Justin: wear ridiculous clothing and be obnoxious in your choices

that's how i feel

me: i want to be sophisticated, not obnoxy

in other words, i want to drink the red wine of sophistication without getting the purple teeth

AAAAAAAAAAND Scene.

Does this make sense? I feel too old for my age and fear of looking too old for my age. I think it's because, in spite of all the fun, imaginative pallin' around I did as a kid (and still do), I have always been taught to think like a Cathy cartoon. Watch my calories, fear the swimsuit, more shoulder pads! Panty girdles! Ever since I was eight. Seriously. I can honestly say I've never been a young girl, a wild teenager, or a partying college girl. Even when I was in a sorority I didn't feel like a sorority girl. I felt, again, like I was trying too hard to live the life of a "normal" young woman I could never be.



Is it weird that I feel robbed because I was semi-responsible during my irresponsible years? That because I couldn't get by on my looks I had to have loads of personality? That I didn't date 4 guys at a time, to use one for the money, one for the car, one for the sex, and one for the affection? Yeah, I walked away disease-free with all this personality, but people still only judge books by the covers; I'm still passed over all the time. Do I really want those kind of people in my life? Probably not. But It'd be nice to have the chance...if only to shoot 'em down.

So there's that,

Laura

It's Always Sunny In Chicago

Does anybody watch It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia? If you don't, you should. Netflix it, rent it, or just watch it next Thursday on FX - you will not regret it.

On last night's episode, Dee had to ride the bus after Mac and Charlie blew up her car in order to fake their deaths. That bus scene? Said everything about city buses that I would ever want to say. First off, the bus was packed so that people were forced to stand in the aisles. Second, there was no room for personal space, so Dee had to ask a hulking man if he could possibly avoid breathing directly into her mouth. She got so frustrated that she wedged through the mass of people to get to the bus driver, crawling under a man who refused to move his arms or acknowledge her. She complained to the driver, who told her to get behind the line. Then Dee finally crawled back to her original spot in front of the big breathing guy who kept staring at her.

Then he threw up.

My reasons for recounting this scene are threefold:

1. I love this show.
2. This is what my commutes are like...only the bus is generally crowded with businesspeople, but crowded and impersonal nonetheless!
3. While the guy vomiting totally grossed me out, I felt like him this morning.

I couldn't understand him last night, but this morning, I was 'bout to vomit on the bus. The reason?

Strong perfume/cologne. It's unbearable! I don't know what it is anymore, but I can't handle the stuff. I get dizzy, nauseous...I feel like my body rejects strong perfume. But I also think, hey. How long have you been wearing fragrance in your life? Have you learned in the past 15-20 years that you have been overdoing it? Seriously, you're not 13 anymore.

And I think the worst part was that the smell was coming from 2 different people - one in front of me and one to the side of me. And I couldn't go anywhere, couldn't crack a window. I was trapped in perfume.

Last night at the gym, I was having a grand ole time on the cross-trainer until an obscenely-perfumed woman got on the machine next to me. I had about 13 minutes left on my workout, and I didn't know if I could make it. I couldn't breathe! As soon as the countdown was over, I hurled myself off the machine to do some deep breathing elsewhere.

I think if I had to choose, I could handle 20 minutes of straight body odor before I could handle 20 minutes of perfume.

I know I'm not alone out there. There are people like me who can barely make it past the perfume counters at department stores without burning my lungs. People who minimize their time in the detergent aisle.

I think my sense of smell has changed. As a teenager this didn't affect me. But now? It just tears me up. Does this make me a bad person?

*********************************************

FYI: I was dancing in the office today, when I remembered David Brent's desperate dance routine from The Office. Mine is not unlike this:

So there's that,

Laura

Is This Living?

I'm knee-deep in menses and I've been on the verge of a random breakdown over the past few days.  Seriously?  Last night I fought back tears on the way home because I spent nearly 3 hours in a fruitless search for basic black ballet flats.  If you have huge feet like me, you know what I'm talking about.  I hit several levels of emotion last night:

 

• Rage:  I shouldn't have to shop online for a basic pair of black shoes!  These stores need to realize that people with big feet need stylish shoes, too!  We are a force to be reckoned with!  I will not settle for plastic Payless shoes that start to stink after two days!  I deserve leather!  DRY LAND IS OUR RIGHT!
• Despair:  I didn't ask to be this way...when will life hand me lemonade instead of all these lemons?  Will I ever find a pair of shoes in this town?
• Disbelief:  I can't believe the only shoes they got in a size 12 are Peggy Hill loafers and ghetto-fabulous bejeweled atrocities.  There is a time and place to spend $100 on shoes, and I am not going to spend it on flashy streetwear that will just end up embarrassing me.
• Pain:  Mah feet hurt...when will this evening end?!
• Bittersweet Joy:  These shoes fit...but they're hot pink satin...but they FIT!  ...But they're not practical...but they fit...I can find a way. 

In the end, I walked around the store with 2 pairs of shoes - the pink flats and a pair of neat "errand" shoes.  Then I dropped them off somewhere in the store after deciding I wasn't going to spend money on something I had to "settle" for.  Might as well order online for something I know I like.

 

I just hate it all.  My friends don't get it because they have normal sized feet, so when I go into a full-on rant about shoe discrimination like I did yesterday and this morning, they don't really know what to say. 

 

Sometimes I feel like the only time I have to say something is when I'm pissed off.  I don't want to be that person - the bitter one.  I used to have so much optimism and zest, and now I'm like a big emo-cow.  I'm afraid of becoming that fat lady that frowns all the time.  The one that has that look of constant shit-sniffing on her face.  I guess skepticism is the better word for it.

 

You know what I'm talking about...don't you?  Don't you know a person - maybe not necessarily fat - that's always frowning?  That always looks at you like you're trying to give them advice about Christ?

 

Anyway, it's bad enough that I'm fat, but I'll be damned if I ever get that dead-behind-the-eyes lazy face.

 

But it's not just about shoes.  I'm sick of always having to do things the hard way because of my size.  Yeah, it sucks that I can't go shoe shopping and have a pair in my hands at the end of the day; instead I have to order them online and wait a week before I can even find out if they fit.  It sucks to go into the shoe department of Nordstrom's with my girlfriends and have to curb my excitment about pretty shoes because I know they don't have a pair to fit me.  It sucks to go shopping with skinny friends altogether because I'm relegated to the accessories department.

 

Then I go to the plus size section of these department stores, and they're selling cheaply-made designer-label clothes sized 1X to 3X.  Really, Ralph Lauren?  You're really gonna expect me to pay $80 for a rayon piece of shit shirt that you can't even label with an actual size?  3X is not a size, it's an equation.  Tell you what?  Why don't you solve it for me?  I'm paying the same money everyone else is...how 'bout you just say the shirt's a size 24 instead having me track down a sizing chart to make sense of everything.  I'd rather go to Lane Bryant and spend my money on clothes made specifically for my plus-sized ass than to give you a dime for those aborted remnants from your sweatshops.

 

While I'm on the subject, I like Lane Bryant.  I'm not embarrassed to shop there anymore, because those clothes are hot shit.  Lane Bryant is the Ann Taylor of the plus-sized retailers.  If I were thin, I'd totes shop at Ann Taylor.  Maybe not exclusively, but probably for the bulk of my clothing.  It's good stuff!

 

The thing that's been getting to me lately is that plus-sized women are price-gouged like no other.  Yeah, I have easy access to Lane Bryant, but I can also afford to shop there on a regular basis; not all fat girls can.  The only other walk-in stores I can think of are Fashion-Bug and Cato - both of which make me gag.  Not because I'm a snob, but the clothes smell like rubber from all the synthetic fibers, you're hard-pressed to find a pair of pants that don't have an elastic waistband, and their sizing falls under the 3X argument in most cases.  Plus, there's no real middle ground between teens and old women at those stores.  The clothes are either covered in flowers and gems or boxy and stuffed with shoulder pads.  The quality sucks, too.  I haven't had one piece of FB or Cato clothing to withstand a year of wear.

 

Old Navy doesn't even offer their plus sizes in stores anymore - it's all online.  Their stuff looks nice in pictures, but it's also pretty shapeless.  I've also found that the larger sized shirts are shorter in the waist, which not only sucks for long-torsoed chaps like meself, but it shows that they're stingy with their fabric.  They're basically saying, "We'll give you big clothes, but we'll be damned if we waste all our fabric on you."

God I'm so bitter.  What was I saying about that earlier?

 

One more, and then I'm done on the clothing front:

 

How come I can't walk into a chain sporting goods store and buy plus-sized workout clothes?  Don't fat people need them more than anyone?  I mean, they tell us that we're pathetic, we're out of shape and we need to work out.  Well guess what?  I do work out!  A lot!  And I'm sick of wearing maternity pants and scratchy t-shirts.  I'm sick of wearing mens clothes!  I want form-fitting, water-wicking activewear like e'erybody else up in herre.  I tried to explain my frustration to my friend Scott once, and he said, "Well can't you just get those clothes at plus-sized stores?"

No.  You can't.

 

What plus-size stores offer in the way of activewear are velour track suits.  Loungewear.  I want some goddamn Nike!  I want Puma, Reebok, Adidas!  And the stuff they offer in plus sizes is ghettofabulous, blinged-out urban wear.  NO!  Come on! 

 

Since the weather's getting colder, I want to get some warm clothes I can wear on my long walks.  I went to Under Armour's online store and ordered a shirt and pants in XXL - the largest women's size.  I guaran-goddamn-tee you that the pants will ride low (below the FUPA) and the shirt will ride high.  I'll be surprised if they don't.  And if they do...guess who's getting a letter?

 

Breathe....

 

Bottom line is I'm starting to hit bottom.  I've got a drastic plan ahead for my life, and I'll fill you in on the details in the coming posts.  Thanks for reading...

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

Fix-a-Flatbread

I picked up some whole wheat pitas this week and came up with a tasty lil' flatbread sandwich with some ingredients that happened to be on sale.

Flat-Breasted
Serves One

1 whole wheat pita pocket
1 oz brie cheese (or any soft cheese, like goat or even cream cheese)
1/2 roasted red pepper (jars can be found in the pickle/condiment aisle of most stores)
1-2 oz cooked chicken breast, chopped into strips
2 tsp horseradish sauce (or another sandwich spread, like mayo or dijon mustard)
salt, pepper, garlic powder to taste

Place the pita flat on a cutting board and gently slice it in half so that you have 2 circles, and lay them open.

Remove the rind from the brie cheese, if applicable. Spread the cheese on one side of the open bread.

Place the red pepper on a paper towel and press off as much moisture as you can. Slice the pepper into strips and arrange over the cheese.

Arrange the chicken slices over the cheese and peppers. Season with salt, pepper and garlic powder.

Spread the other half of the bread with horseradish sauce, mustard or what have you. Place this side over the chicken.

In a toaster oven or in a skillet, toast the sandwich until it is warmed through and the bread is a little crispy. Slice into quarters and enjoy!!!

I've been packing this little puppy for lunch, alongside some salad. I also keep a box of creamy tomato soup (it exists!) in the fridge at work so I can just pour out a cup and heat it in the microwave. This sandwich? Is spectacular with tomato soup. Try it!

So there's that,

Laura

It's Miiiiiiiiiiine!

I've been off the grid for a couple of weeks, and for that please accept my most sincere apologies...

 

Last week I was in Durham, North Carolina for work, and it was a looooooong week.  I've been working on this project for a year, scaring myself shitless, worried about its success, and I had nothing to fear.  Everything went off without a hitch!  And it was because I worked my butt off for 14-16 hours a day while I was there, catering to everyone's needs.

 

I have to admit that I LOVED IT.

 

It was kind of nice to get out of the city, to focus on one major part of my work while checking in on other projects at my discretion.  The only thing that sucked is that I was indoors all week, and I didn't get outside during our afternoon breaks because I was tunneling through, preparing for the evening meetings. 

 

On our last night, we went to a comedy club.  While stand-up is my least favorite form of comedy, I laughed til I was hoarse...mostly because of the gin and the wine.  I have a big laugh that some may find annoying if not frightening, so I made sure to warn my companions.  After a week of virtually no speaking, I let loose.  Wew! 

 

And at the end of the week, people liked me!  They raved about my performance!  FIST PUMPS!

 

But also at the end of the week, I didn't want to talk to another living being.  After I said goodbye to the course director at the airport, I promised to seal myself up for the remainder of the weekend.  I wanted some ME time.

 

So when I was waiting for a cab at O'Hare, bogged down with luggage, glowing from the effort, shoulders aching, I just wanted to settle onto a leather seat and let the air from the open window soothe my travel-weary soul.  The taxi dispatch guy asked me where I was going, and when I said Lakeview, a blonde chick was all, "I'm going to Lakeview, too.  Wanna split a cab?"

 

Oh hell no.  This was MY time.  I put a face on all week for people, and I wasn't about to make awkward conversation with some skinny bitch I didn't know.  So I says to her, I says:

 

"No...I really don't want to share a cab."  Then I moved on.  I said it pleasantly enough, but for the first time ever, I didn't explain myself and I didn't apologize.  Didn't add a "sorry" afterward.  Because I wasn't sorry.  I was tired.  I wanted what I wanted.  And I wanted to be alone.

 

So I spent the long cab ride talking to the driver about his home country of Togo, its relationship with Ghana, the colonial history of Africa and the continuing effects of colonial conflict.  That's how I roll....

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

...And Did Anybody See This on Saturday?

It takes a little while before the funny kicks in, but this is the kind of zany that just makes me happy.

So there's that,

Laura

All The Boys: To The Yard

I don't know if yesterday's post made any sense to some of you - namely my family. I just thought that the Sesame Street a-la-peanut-butter-sandwiches magician looked like Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood, the famous line from which is, "I drink your milkshake." I thought the magician's wand looked like that big straw Plainview was talking about, the one used to travel across the room to aid in drinking said "milkshake."

So I went on youtube today to find that clip from the movie, and I came across this lil' gem:



So there's that,

Laura

There Will Be Peanut Butter Sandwiches

I...drink...your...milkshake! I DRINK IT UP!

So there's that,

Laura

Growing Pains

I was getting ready this morning when out of nowhere I remembered that one of the characters on the sitcom Growing Pains  was named Boner.

 

BONER!  I was cracking up over my bathroom sink!

 

Seriously?  I was about 10 when that show came out, and even I knew that "boner" is a euphemism for an erection.  So how come the grown writers of this sitcom didn't foresee that the show might lose a little credibility, based solely on the name of the goofy neighbor kid?  

 

Middle Aged Writer 1:  "Yeah this kid's a real bonehead.  Let's call him Boner!"

 

Middle Aged Writer 2:  "Boner?  That's brilliant!  The kids will really go for that, Marv."

 

Young intern:  "Uh, Boner?  Are you sure?"

 

MAW 1:  Rips his Brother typewriter from the wall and hurls it at the intern.  "We asked you for coffee, not your opinion."

 

MAW 2:  "You got a lot to learn about television, kid."

 

And that young intern?  Was the guy who put According to Jim on television.

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

 

If I Enter Connecticut, I'm Entering Every State Connecticut's Ever Been With.

I am not a finicky eater, as made testament by my drumstick-esque thighs. If I'm eating and someone warns me they're about to tell a gross story, I wave it off, proudly declaring that I have an ironclad stomach.

I think I get it from my dad, who, unable to let food go to waste, held an impromptu frying session for the packs of discolored bacon left in the fridge, unwrapped, for weeks. I distinctly remember distrustingly staring at a pile of fried bacon, while Dad happily munched away saying, "It won't kill ya. All the germs were killed by the heat." Then after further meditation, "People say they're starving...they can eat like kings if they want to! Just gotta get it out of their heads!"

And so it was I ate the once green-tinged bacon and learned frugality alongside morality.

So it's pretty astounding to me when the thought of certain foods can lead me to physical repulsion. Before this afternoon, the only food on my gag list was beets. Although, I have had them prepared well in recent months; it's just hard for me to get the canned dirt taste out of my mind from meals of yore. And liver is pretty gross. And curry...yeah, ANYTHING with curry is out of bounds for me. And pickled ginger. And canned meats. And I'm pretty leery of gelatins - the goo on canned ham, aspic made to gloss up baked goods and fish, some of that funky green Japanese seaweed. Relish. Mealy Red "Delicious" apples. I think that's it.

What happened today? One of my coworkers very kindly set out some homegrown watermelon for the whole office to enjoy. Now, I love me some watermelon, but this stuff came with a past.

She emailed the staff, telling us to enjoy the watermelon grown in her "backyard, home sweet home Des Plaines."

I know what you're thinking. What's wrong with that?

Nothing. I was really happy to have watermelon. I like this coworker. I have nothing against her backyard. But Des Plaines is another story.

Do you know what happened in Des Plaines? Uh, John Wayne Gacy lived there, murdered a bunch of boys and buried them in his crawlspace. Back in the 70s. Guy dressed like a clown, abducted teen boys...shiver. I watched the really awful movie about him, aptly titled Gacy, and I couldn't even watch it all the way through because I got sick to my stomach.

Me. Sick to my stomach. And every time I see Des Plaines, I think of Gacy, and how even after they bulldozed his home they still can't get buyers for the property.

So I hope you can imagine my stream of consciousness as I read the email. It went like this:

WATERMELON!
Refreshing!
Homegrown!
Des...Plaines?
Gacy.
Dead boys...
Concrete...
Lye...
Maggots...
Seeping into the soil...
Food grown in that soil...
Osmosis...photosynthesis...
= Gacy's victims!

Yeah. I know it's irrational to think that murder victims from the 70s can fertilize food grown in the same town nearly 40 years later, but it's not that much of a stretch. And yes, people are buried in graveyards all the time, so the likelihood of them being part of my food is pretty high, too...but it's different. It's the thought of that horrible, criminal, putridity that makes me gag. My stomach is turning as I write this, that's how freaked out I am by Gacy.

So, I can't eat that watermelon. I even hovered over it for a minute, contemplating the choice. I just cannot eat it.

So there you have it: more evidence that I am a fuh-reak.

So there's that,

Laura

MOO & OINK!

I swear I'll write something new when I get a chance, but for now you'll have to deal with this while I'm busy wrapping up a project.

There's a meat purveyor in Chicago with the silliest jingle I've ever heard. Makes me belly laugh every time I hear the last three words of it - "moooOOOOOO and OOYEEENK!"

I've been meaning for weeks to search for it on YouTube, but I kept telling myself that no one could possibly have found this as interesting as I have. I was wrong.

Enjoy!

The Whole Jingle, Str8 Up:



Talent Show Dance Routine:



Do the Wave:



Um, Check the Barrels of Chicken Wings at 0:26:



*record scratch* REEEE-MIX!!



I'm not so much about the guy in the last vid, practically jerking it over his genius, but this bitch needed a remix - KNOWUTI'MSAYIN'? Cow and Pig telling people to eat them? YEAH BOY!

So there's that,

Laura

Trippin'

I'm flying to San Francisco in October for a weeklong conference.  It's the BIG DEAL all year long for my organization, so at the end we're all breathing a sigh of relief.

 

For my big sigh, I'm staying in town three extra nights for a mini vacation.  And the best part?  My pallie Christie is flying in from Las Vegas (where she lives now) and joining me!  We're going to, as I say, "give San Francisco blue balls."

 

We just booked a little Euro-style hotel for less than 200 smackers for the whole weekend, so we're a little excited.  I decided to post some of the best exclamations that have come out of our emails.  Please to enjoy.

 

• PS, we can probably get crabs there, if you catch my drift.
• I don't need no steenking television!  We can make shadow puppets!
• I'mma need to pack a bunch of uppers!  Let's just do meth all weekend to get the most out of it.
• Do you realize how much fucking fun we're going to have?  Do you?
• I can't wait until I'm tipsy and try to go to bed at night, but realize I have to pee like 20 times and have to keep going out into the hallway bathroom to tinkle. 
• 'cept I ain't going back Chicagy way till Sunday!
• I can't wait to share a bathroom with strangers.  Do you think we'll make lifelong friends on this journey?  I'll have to leave a few pubes in the tub for them to remember me by.
• Girl, you know we're gettin' seafood, right?  I'm sick of this midwest bubba gumpery. 
• I wanna see flayed ducks and pigs hanging from windows.  I wanna see Jet Li in a street fight.
• We should have a picnic on that hill in front of Danny Tanner's house, like they do in the opening credits to Full House.  Better yet, we should film our own shot for shot reenactment of that opening sequence.  Right?  Right.
• We should find a shady store that has a secret back room full of knock-off designer handbags.
• I can smell the pleather Gucci bags and taste the dumplings as we speak!
• I wanna buy a mogwai from an oriental.
• You what else I can't wait for?  To take a gigantic dump in the shared bathroom. 
• I can't wait to get drunk and walk the streets with you just like old times.  REALLY MARGE?!
• every time i get an email about this trip, i clap my hands together like a baby seal!  OR OR OR! 
• Everytime I get an email about this trip I fart in a jar and close the lid and then open it and smell it later.
  

How effing excited am I?  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

So there's that,

 

Laura





 

Tomorrow's Walk

I've been hitting the gym all week in preparation for tomorrow's walk. This one has me taking the Metra to Kenilworth, marching east toward the lake and heading south back home. This is the map:


View Larger Map

I figure it's better for me to start at the top of the line so that if I start to crap out or get injured a few miles into the trek, I won't have to travel far in the city for a bus or a train.

The estimated distance? Between 12-13 miles. The map estimates 12.6, but I know I'll be heading a little farther east on the walking paths. I'm taking my pedometer along for a more accurate measurement.

Please pray that I have no problem finding toilets along the way.

So there's that,

Laura

A Whole Weekend of Events and All I Have to Show for It is a Lousy Fart Blog?

I still can't believe I haven't written about my amazing weekend yet.

 

In preparation for Saturday's 10 mile march, I stepped out on Friday for a 5 mile walk to the gym and over an hour of intense calisthenics, followed by a cool down on the elliptical for 20 minutes.  It felt great!  My new favorite thing is the Bosu Ball:

 

 

I like to use it for back support when I'm doing oblique work with a medicine ball.  I also like to turn it upside down for use as a balance board.  A few months ago, I was AWFUL at balancing on this thing.  Now that my legs and core have gotten stronger, I can handle it pretty well.  My gym has a room full of stripper poles for pole-dancing classes, so I put the ball next to one of those and use it to support myself as I climb up.  Then I  do some squats, grabbing the pole only when I'm going to crash.  I like to link my fingers and stretch my arms over my head, seeing how long I can stay balanced.  The possibilities are pretty endless.

 

I also got me a baller ass pair of New Balances.  I don't want to dig up the pic, but they're babe blue, and they cushion my heels like God would if He were a foot fetishist.

 

I carbed up on Friday night with a baguette and my favorite Italian bean salad from L'Appetito.  I need to learn to make this stuff - it's amazing!  It's made up of 3 types of beans tossed in this herbed vinaigrette.  I use the baguette to sop up the excess vinaigrette.  Normally I'm not a fan of oily dressings, but this sauce is PERFECT.

 

I woke up Saturday and l stayed in bed for awhile to make sure I wasn't going to fall back asleep.  Okay, I was just avoiding the inevitable.  I made an egg white omelet with asparagus and horseradish cheese (raved about in Hot Beef Injection), downed a pot of coffee, and checked the weather.  I took my time getting dressed up because I wanted to make sure I was prepared...and I needed to take a precautionary dump before I hit the trail.

I finally left the apartment at 12:00 pm, took the Red Line north to the Purple Line, and took the PL all the way to the end of the line - Linden.  I'll tell ya, the Linden stop is nothing to write home about, so I will.  I know the area pretty well now, because I had to scour it for a public bathroom once I got off the train.  I went to this little coffee shop, and knowing they probably wouldn't let me pee with out purchase, I got one of their "all fruit smoothies."  When I asked what it was made of, the guy was like, "It's all fresh fruit."  Suuuuuure it is.  I didn't want to argue so I laid my money down, went to the bathroom and picked up my smoothie.  Another customer came in and asked what was inside it, and he said, "Well, it's ice and this frozen fruit puree we get shipped in....but it's made from real fruit."  I KNEW IT!  I was eating a sugar-happy treat.  Oh well.  I guess I needed the carbs.

 

The walk pretty much went according to plan.  I headed east, took a gander at the Baha'i temple, and headed south back home.  The first part of the trip was pretty boring; Wilmette's lakefront is pretty much private property of mansion dwellers, so I had to stick to Sheridan road.  I went through the Northwestern University campus and had to stop for a pee break at a chapel, which I practically had to break into.  Not really.  I just couldn't work the door closest to the road, and had to walk around back to the public entrance, but I left through the first door I tried.  I think I left it unlocked.  Oh well, they have security guards for that business.

 

When I hit the northside of Evanston, I got to a beachfront path that was more enjoyable.  I got to see some of the aircraft whizz by for the Air and Water Show.  Saw a stealth bomber that nearly made me soil myself.

 

I stopped at the 6 mile mark for a brief rest at the Subway on the Loyola campus.  They were kind to me last weekend when I asked to use their restroom.  I got a turkey sandwich and took a half hour to refuel.  I had to train myself to walk again once I left.

 

The rest of the trip was uneventful.  I started to wear down at the mile and a half mark, but I did succeed in my quest.  I thought I would jump up and down once I got to Irving Park Rd, but I just couldn't.  I stretched and bounced my knees a little, but I don't think anyone could confuse that with the joy of a champion.  Plus I had a pretty shitty look on my face. 

 

I stopped for some G2 - the lower-cal Gatorade that I love.  The clock by the cash register read 5:30, and for the first time in 4 miles, I smiled.  I made in just the time I expected. 

 

I took a shower and a long bath, read some of my book.  At about 7:30 I headed out to get some dinner, and I had no idea what I wanted.  I wasn't feeling hungry, but I was, and I could eat anything - my mind raced between chicken, pancakes, Taco Bell, White Castle.  The world was my oyster.  As I left, I was talking to my friend Eric on the phone, and I ended up mindlessly hobbling for another mile or so down the street when I realized I was in painful ballet flats with no arch support.  I hung up, and walked into Stella's Diner, if only because I didn't want to walk anymore.

 

I got me a side salad with ranch dressing, a roast beef Manhattan - an amalgam of white bread, sliced roast beef, gravy and mashed potatoes - and I finished the whole thing off with apple cobbler a la mode.  It was glorious.  Again - I didn't feel hungry, but I attacked that Manhattan like I was King Kong.  I shoveled food into my mouth without cutting it, some pieces as big as 4 inches in diameter.  I couldn't get enough.  The salt, the carbs, the protein?  I could have had another plate of that shizz.

 

I went home and popped some Tylenol, and I wasn't even sore the next day.  It was a pretty good weekend.

 

This week:  Kenilworth to Irving Park.

 

So there's that,

Laura

Blue Flame

I'll tell you all about my walks this weekend, but quickly:  A story.

 

Shana and I went to Chipotle for lunch, where we shared a booth.  The interior of Chipotle is designed like an upscale junkyard - corrugated aluminum paneling, lacquered plywood chairs and benches - all very stark and echo-y.

 

So Shana's across from me, talking about her life's path, resting one foot on my seat.  I have to fart.  And I think, "How wicked would it be if I just let it out?  It's loud in here, no one will notice.

 

Bluhbluhbluhbububububububububububububububububububuuuuut!

 

This fart was a Level 5 CheekQuaker. 

 

I didn't think Shana would catch on...until I saw her shift in her seat.  My ears were still ringing from the rumble, my mind spinning from the sheer joy of anonymous flatulence, so I didn't hear the first few sentences she uttered post-fart.

 

"What?"  Quoth I.

 

"I felt that."

 

"Felt what?"

 

"The bench rumble when you farted..."

 

"What!  You felt that!"

 

"In my foot.  Then I saw the look on your face, like a baby that's trying to poop."

 

Then I laughed and LAUGHED.  Because nothing is funnier to me than a fart among friends.  It truly made my day.

 

Now I can't stop.  I had loads of fiber last night, a high-fibe cereal this morning, beans at Chipotle, AND Diet Coke.  I'm burp n' fart factory.  I imagine my bowels operating like a bouncy cartoon tugboat in my belly.  The human body is an amazing machine.

 

 

 

So there's that,

 

Laura

 

 

BT Dubs? I Love Omelets

Dig this:  I used to not be so crazy on eggs.  Now they're a major part of my life:  weekend breakfasts are incomplete without them; egg sandwiches are the perfect cheap lunch food; and omelets are quick dinners.

 

I bring this up because I think I've got a new favorite omelet.  It was born out of a need to get rid of a wheel of brie that I bought on impulse a few weeks ago.  I didn't really buy it on impulse, but I wanted to have a wine, cheese and fruit dinner without having to walk too far in my pajamas for the provisions.  So I went down to the corner market and the only decent cheese they had was this 6-inch wheel of brie.  After I had my dinner of sauv blanc, cheese, water crackers, and nectarine, I needed to think of ways to use the leftovers.

 

My answer?  The Yuppie Omelet.

 

The Yuppie Omelet

Serves One

 

3/4 c egg substitute (or 3 eggs or 5 egg whites)

1/2 c chopped frozen asparagus (or fresh)

1-2 oz brie, cubed (rind removed)

salt, pepper, garlic powder, red pepper flakes

 

Side Salad:

2 c fresh spinach

1/2 c halved cherry tomatoes

1 nectarine, thinly sliced

Your favorite balsamic vinaigrette (I use Trader Joe's Low-Fat Bals Vin or Annie's Pomegranate Vinaigrette)

 

Heat a nonstick pan over medium heat.  Spritz with nonstick spray or 1/2 tsp of olive oil.  Toss in chopped asparagus and saute until heated through and crisp-tender.  Sprinkle with salt, garlic powder and pepper, toss together, and spread asparagus evenly over the pan.  Pour on the eggs/substitute, season with a little more S&P and red pepper flakes.  Don't stir.  After the eggs have cooked for 1 minute, drop the cheese evenly over the eggs.  Cover the pan and reduce heat to medium-low.

 

While the omelet finishes, take out a plate and put a little vinaigrette on the bottom.  Pile on the spinach and tomatoes, and using your fingers, toss the veggies with the dressing.  Arrange the salad so it covers half of the plate, then top the greens with the nectarine slices.  Salt and pepper if desired.

 

When the omelet has puffed up and the cheese has melted, fold it half.  Creamy cheese grease should ooze out of the sides.  That's the stuff.  Let the omelet cook like that for another minute while the cheese seals and the eggs are sure to cook through.  Slide the omelet on the other half of your plate, and you've got a yuppie treat.

 

Late for The Webinar

 

So there's that,

 

Laura