According to smut and fluff this ahem friend of mine was reading last night (and no, she was NOT in the bathtub with candles lit and no, Nina Simone was NOT playing on her IPOD), the average American woman gains between 10 and 20 pounds after settling into a serious, in-it-for-the-long-haul, monogamous relationship.
(The limitations of our options even in 2009 never cease to infuriate. Choose one: single and skinny or attached and fat. Ponder this for no more than three seconds and then MOVE ON).
According to my ahem friend, a checklist was provided to safeguard against tipping the scales in the wrong direction once Mr. Right shows up. I ran through the list in my head and realized that it was mostly useless. Since 2500 miles separate us 95% of the time, there is little danger of me snuggling on the couch with him every night with a big bowl of chocolate chip ice cream between us or blowing off the gym on a regular basis so that we can linger over a two hour dinner of linguini and wine (both of which are major culprits according to my ahem friend).
This may be the only upside to a long distance relationship. And, in exchange for the constant low-level nausea that plagues me due to our separation, I think I deserve to have all of my jeans fit me the way they did last month (OK maybe the way they did pre-Christmas cookie spree).
I felt a kind of euphoric relief when I realized all of this. And then, just while my eyes were closing (again, NOT when I was soaking in the bathtub NOT listening to Nina Simone's lulling voice) I realized I wasn't in the clear yet.
At that very moment downstairs in the freezer were a box of frozen Twinkies, a gallon of rocky road ice cream, and two boxes of orangecicles. What? When did I turn into the kind of girl who keeps children's frozen novelties in my freezer? It was quiet subterfuge.*
Along with his t-shirts, cufflinks, and toothbrush, a Particular Someone, had in factleft behind the props for his totally unacceptable diet of sugar and saturated fat. What was next? Mounds of raw red meat and Cheetos! Fish and Chips! Cheesticks.
I then wondered: Is this how a man feels when his new girlfriend slowly starts leaving more and more of her belongings in his apartment? Is this how he feels when he finds her hairbrush in the bathroom cabinet? Does he fear that he may turn into a woman if he opens his closet and finds her pencil skirt hanging there?
Logic dictates that I will not get fat just by opening my freezer, right? Right?
eLLe speLLs subterfuge- noun. deception by artifice or strategem in order to conceal, evade, or escape. Or fatten.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
something like this (part 2)
So anyway, I make it to the gym parking lot by 4:29 p.m. only to see that there are no parking spaces available. I'm going to be honest--as someone who is at the gym religiously six days a week, I do become annoyed when all the posers decide to drop in at the same hour on the same day just because it is supposedly the coldest day of the year in Vegas and allegedly too cold to eat ice cream outdoors at the Dairy Queen down the street. I'm going to continue to be honest--as someone who shows up to spinning class even when she has a fever I'm doubly annoyed when I see that all of the posers who took my parking spaces also took my spinning bikes.
After 45 looooooooooooong minutes on the treadmill I go to the water fountain for a drink. This is when a perky brunette (immediately identifiable as a poser due to her conspicuous lack of sweat) steps out of the spinning room, sees me and says: Oh my god, I have to tell you: My daughters are sooooooo funny. They saw you last week and asked me to ask you for an autograph. They think you are one of the Olsen twins. How cute is that?"
Now, despite the endorphin rush I'm experiencing from high intensity intervals, I cannot find my manners for the sake of a woman who potentially displaced me from my rightful spot in Mandy's class. I zip through my possible responses.
"Yeah, I've never heard that before."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Really? If I was two feet shorter, 8 years younger, and a billion dollars richer then sure, I could see how your cute little daughters would make such a stupid mistake."
I realize these are all a little harsh and a bit unfair to the gradeschool set so I ask flatly
"How was your Sunday ride through the park?"
And then I leave.
Quickly.
After 45 looooooooooooong minutes on the treadmill I go to the water fountain for a drink. This is when a perky brunette (immediately identifiable as a poser due to her conspicuous lack of sweat) steps out of the spinning room, sees me and says: Oh my god, I have to tell you: My daughters are sooooooo funny. They saw you last week and asked me to ask you for an autograph. They think you are one of the Olsen twins. How cute is that?"
Now, despite the endorphin rush I'm experiencing from high intensity intervals, I cannot find my manners for the sake of a woman who potentially displaced me from my rightful spot in Mandy's class. I zip through my possible responses.
"Yeah, I've never heard that before."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Really? If I was two feet shorter, 8 years younger, and a billion dollars richer then sure, I could see how your cute little daughters would make such a stupid mistake."
I realize these are all a little harsh and a bit unfair to the gradeschool set so I ask flatly
"How was your Sunday ride through the park?"
And then I leave.
Quickly.
Monday, February 9, 2009
something like this
Lunar eclipse today in Leo. Delilah called me this morning to let me know--as though I didn't already know something was up when I accidently poured half the nutmeg (as opposed to just a shake of the cinnamon) into my $3 coffee at Starbucks. What exactly you may be asking does a lunar eclipse in Leo have to do with anything?
Well, if you're me, the answer goes something like this:
That a morning without coffee is not worth living in my world goes without saying, as anyone who has ever called me before 6:30 am and promptly and indiscriminately been hung up on can attest to.
That a morning without coffee happens to be the morning I am evaluated by the head of school and her minnion Ms. V during second period is downright cruel.
I'm sure that the rest of my school day was awful, but the migraine induced by caffeine deprivation has apparently affected my short term memory of anything that may or may have not passed.
I thought for sure that once I grabbed my afternoon double espresso, the day would take a turn for the better. Um, no.
I headed straight to a particular deli to buy a particular sandwich for a particular someone. No big deal, just a sweet gesture as long as you overlook two truths. 1. Particular someone lives over 2500 miles away and 2. 95% of the people who live in Vegas are slow at best and plain inept at worst. I'm sure you can already see my dilemma: I had to get this very perishable present on a plane to Particular Someone and I had to make my 4:30 spinning class.
First stop is Siena Deli. A pound of prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes, and lettuce on ciabatta later I'm standing in a line at the Post Office in Albertson's. Forty five minutes later I'm still standing in line at the Post Office in Albertson's (queasy flashbacks to my days of interning at an art magazine in the city were suddenly no longer repressed--but this is another entry altogether). I finally make it to the counter where the clerk tells me that I've missed the 3:30 cutoff. The clerk also tells me that yes, I am correct in my observation that while the man who makes the final pick up for the day is in fact standing right behind him in plain view, the computer states that Particular Someone will not recieve the package until Wednesday.
"Yes, Wednesday is guaranteed for an additional $35.99."
"In addition to the standard overnight fee?" I ask.
"Yes. So that would be $55.98."
"But it's not overnight if it is delivered on Wednesday."
"I understand that but it's only not overnight because you missed the cutoff."
"Does Fedex or UPS have a cutoff?"
"I don't know, ma'am. I don't work for Fedex or UPS."
I take the package back, huff and head to UPS.
"Yes, ma'am, of course the package can be delivered by tomorrow. Our cutoff isn't for another 5 minutes."
"Perfect. Let's do it."
"That will be $95."
My reaction was not unlike the day the woman at the DMV told me that my tags would cost $425 dollars.
I take the package back, jump in the car, and think about the proliferation of salmonella in the prosciutto and then whether the root of the word salmonella is Greek or Latin and whether it's etymology is at all related to the fish. The topic fascinates me enough that I drive right past Fedex (the big white building I can't miss according to UPS boy).
Two u-turn laters I am standing in front of the Fedex clerk who assures me that the sandwich will be on Particular Someone's doorstep by 10 a.m. She tells me the price and realizing that I'm between a rock and a hard place and that I'm right on schedule to miss my spin class if I don't drop this package off 5 minutes ago, I do what any sibling would do. I charge it to my little brother's corporate account.
I speed back to the house while talking to my mom on the phone, which is the equivalent of driving whilr putting on mascara (not that I've EVER done that). When I walk in the house I see that Bentley has eaten my IPOD for lunch.
Continued...tomorrow. Cake is calling.
Well, if you're me, the answer goes something like this:
That a morning without coffee is not worth living in my world goes without saying, as anyone who has ever called me before 6:30 am and promptly and indiscriminately been hung up on can attest to.
That a morning without coffee happens to be the morning I am evaluated by the head of school and her minnion Ms. V during second period is downright cruel.
I'm sure that the rest of my school day was awful, but the migraine induced by caffeine deprivation has apparently affected my short term memory of anything that may or may have not passed.
I thought for sure that once I grabbed my afternoon double espresso, the day would take a turn for the better. Um, no.
I headed straight to a particular deli to buy a particular sandwich for a particular someone. No big deal, just a sweet gesture as long as you overlook two truths. 1. Particular someone lives over 2500 miles away and 2. 95% of the people who live in Vegas are slow at best and plain inept at worst. I'm sure you can already see my dilemma: I had to get this very perishable present on a plane to Particular Someone and I had to make my 4:30 spinning class.
First stop is Siena Deli. A pound of prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes, and lettuce on ciabatta later I'm standing in a line at the Post Office in Albertson's. Forty five minutes later I'm still standing in line at the Post Office in Albertson's (queasy flashbacks to my days of interning at an art magazine in the city were suddenly no longer repressed--but this is another entry altogether). I finally make it to the counter where the clerk tells me that I've missed the 3:30 cutoff. The clerk also tells me that yes, I am correct in my observation that while the man who makes the final pick up for the day is in fact standing right behind him in plain view, the computer states that Particular Someone will not recieve the package until Wednesday.
"Yes, Wednesday is guaranteed for an additional $35.99."
"In addition to the standard overnight fee?" I ask.
"Yes. So that would be $55.98."
"But it's not overnight if it is delivered on Wednesday."
"I understand that but it's only not overnight because you missed the cutoff."
"Does Fedex or UPS have a cutoff?"
"I don't know, ma'am. I don't work for Fedex or UPS."
I take the package back, huff and head to UPS.
"Yes, ma'am, of course the package can be delivered by tomorrow. Our cutoff isn't for another 5 minutes."
"Perfect. Let's do it."
"That will be $95."
My reaction was not unlike the day the woman at the DMV told me that my tags would cost $425 dollars.
I take the package back, jump in the car, and think about the proliferation of salmonella in the prosciutto and then whether the root of the word salmonella is Greek or Latin and whether it's etymology is at all related to the fish. The topic fascinates me enough that I drive right past Fedex (the big white building I can't miss according to UPS boy).
Two u-turn laters I am standing in front of the Fedex clerk who assures me that the sandwich will be on Particular Someone's doorstep by 10 a.m. She tells me the price and realizing that I'm between a rock and a hard place and that I'm right on schedule to miss my spin class if I don't drop this package off 5 minutes ago, I do what any sibling would do. I charge it to my little brother's corporate account.
I speed back to the house while talking to my mom on the phone, which is the equivalent of driving whilr putting on mascara (not that I've EVER done that). When I walk in the house I see that Bentley has eaten my IPOD for lunch.
Continued...tomorrow. Cake is calling.
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