Saturday, October 30, 2004

The Stupidest Pick-Up Line Ever

So we're at this pub at First and Willow. Some cover band called "The Motherless Goats" (don't ask) is playing all my faves (No Doubt and Blink!), and I'm totally rockin' out. I happen to be wearing my black flats with the silver buckles, and Courtney's sporting her magenta heels. Both pairs of shoes just happen to have pointed toes. A scruffy, middle-aged man approaches me, mid rock-out.

Weirdo: Excuse me, do you both shop at the same shoe store?
Me: Huh?!
Weirdo: You and your friend, do you guys shop at the same shoe store?
I glance down at my shoes, and then look at Courtney's.
Me: No. Mine are black!
Weirdo walks away.

OK, what the F?! What was that? Curtis and Jon both say not to approach guys—let them approach you. Well, if they're going to say retarded shit like that, what's the point? I'll get an early start on what my life'll be like for the next 40 years and buy 12 cats and 47 plants.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

The Homeless Are All Liars!

So I'm in the Penn Station Starbucks after an exhausting day of traipsing throughout Long Island picking apples* and going in debt outlet shopping**. I order a tall pumpkin spice latte with skim, and a package of two shortbread cookies (because I've been good all week).

I'm at the counter putting the cardboard warmer-thing around my cup when a scruffy man approaches me.

Man: Do you have a dollar so I can get something to eat?
Me: Ooh, no, I'm sorry. I have no cash, and I actually had to use my debit card.
Man: What about 50 cents?
It's almost Christmas, and I'm feeling happy from all the smog-free fresh air I'd gotten. So I dig through my change pouch.
Me: Darn! I only have three pennies.
He walks away. Then, I get a bright idea. I take one cookie out of the package.
Me: Hey! I have this extra cookie, and I don't really want it. You can have it!
He looks at the cookie, then at me.
Man: Well, I don't want it either.
Me: Huh! Well you said you were hungry! Liar! That's so rude.
He ignores me and walks away. A cute stranger provides his two cents.
Cute Stranger: Oh well. He just wanted money so he could buy alcohol.
Me: Huh! Well that's rude. I'm never giving money to the homeless again.

I'm one to give people the benefit of the doubt. He's homeless. Something probably went wrong, and it's tough to get back on his feet. Well not anymore! All I have to say about that is "Whatev. Beggars can't be choosers."

* Michelle and I didn't really pick apples. We rode in the wagon around the orchard, ate a couple of cider donuts, and bought some apples. Picking is too strenuous.

** I found some hot red cordoury pants!! Oh I've wanted red pants for years. And they were on sale! I suppose it was an outlet mall. And they were $15, normally $42. Bonus points for me!

Friday, October 15, 2004

The Fat Files

I apologize male readers, but only my female following can truly appreciate what I have to say on this October day, October 15.

It's been awhile since I've complained about my "diet" struggles. Something all twenty-something women face. All of you. Don't deny it. Whether you're not eating all day so you can get extra wasted at night, eating nothing but chicken broth so you can fit in that bridesmaid dress, vowing to do an hour of cardio a day, saying you'll go to the gym on Monday, whatev—we ALL go through it. And you can say I have nothing to worry about like some of you say, but I can't help the nagging feeling that strangers call me Fatty McFatterson behind my back. It's just too bad that we all have these body hang-ups, but we do. No matter how many "Men Love Your Curves" stories I read in Glamour, I'll always have my issues. Let me tell you about my little "struggle."

The beginning: My body issues blew up junior year of high school. Kelly Peterson and I were sitting in the J-lab working on the school newspaper. I asked her if she had a "pooch." She said yeah and proceeded to show me. I think she was just sticking her tummy out. Either way, I realized that she had a flat stomach and I did not. So on Thanksgiving Night, 1997, I started doing stomach crunches. 200 a night, every night. That spring, my dance team and I went swimming together. Gwyn McPherson pointed at my abs and said "Hey! You have a two-pack!" I looked down and I did! Not a six-pack, but I had two little ab-like things above my belly button. The beginning of flat abs? No. I still had my pooch. It just had muscle beneath it.

Fast-forward a couple years: I'd go to the gym. Go running. Whatever I felt like. But I drank. A lot. Either way, I gained the Freshman 15. Or 10. I've tried the Special K diet. One meal, and two bowls of cereal a day only lasted about 6 days. Atkins. I tried that in college. Considering I didn't have a stove, I lived off of cottage cheese and deli turkey for 3 days. South Beach. I started on a Monday, and lasted until Friday when I accidently drank a lot of beer.

Now: I have the habit of going in work-out spurts. I'll jog five times a week for a month. Then I'll quit. For about two months, I've been trying to do that again. Everyday, I set my alarm for 7:16 a.m., and I hit Snooze until 8:22. So last night, I strategically moved my alarm clock/radio out of arm's reach. So how'd that work out this morning? I literally got out of bed six times to hit Snooze. But it was a pain in the butt. I think it'll eventually work. Probably by next Thursday I'll be jogging around the streets of Hoboken. The only thing that kept me inside this morning was that it looked like it would rain.

At my therapist's urging, I've been keeping a Food Journal for three days. I have a goal of 1,500 cal./day.
Wednesday: OJ, Eng. muffin w/ PB, 2 grapes, alphabet soup, string cheese, oatmeal, oyster crackers, Eng. muffin w/ PB and banana. 1,615 calories.
Thursday: Eng. muffin w/ PB, (boss took us to lunch) mozzarella/tomato salad, French bread, Penne w/ Vodka sauce, cappuccino, fruit. 2,000 calories. Fuck.
Friday: (This is today. It's 12:30 p.m.) Choc. chip oatmeal, choc. donut (from Photo Dept.), chocolate-mint ice cream cake (from Digital Studio—they always force food upon me up there). 850 calories. Double fuck. No one else can hear it, but chocolate always taunts me in a threatening, mocking manner. I'd rather stick it in my mouth than get my ass beat by a chocolate donut. You'd do the same thing.

I have come to realize that if I keep this up, I am in no way close to losing 10 pounds. My goal is 10 pounds by Dec. 15. That's when I go home. I think I'll go buy some willpower. And some staples for my stomach.

PS I'm so excited! So I heard from friend of a friend that there's this miracle birth control out there—it's called Yasmin. Apparently, this friend of a friend who wasn't so well-endowed before now has D-size boobs and has lost five pounds. I called my gyno to inquire about this miracle pill, who said "Birth control is birth control, but Yasmin does decrease water retention." That would be the five pounds. But hallelujah! She called my pharmacist, and I am now well on my way to a pair of B-size boobs! It's about time. Sigh. Oh and FYI, THANK YOU SO MUCH for your support with that little surgery! I can't tell you how much you guys mean to me (meaning, my friends, not strangers who happen to read this). My doctor called yesterday, and it was some..growth change or something. Either way, it's benign, and I probably won't get cancer until I'm 45. :)

Wednesday, October 6, 2004

My Big Day of Fun

So I had my first surgery. No big deal. Basically, I had to get this small lump-thing removed from my right boobie. But that's not what I want to tell you about. I want to tell you about one of the funnest experiences of my life. And you know what? At the end, I remember being sorry it was over. No wonder they say drugs are addictive...

On the surgery table. All I could think about and/or look at was the hot, dark-haired doctor. Despite the mask and blue scrubs, I knew he was hot.
Me: Wow, this is so weird! Ugh, I can't
Assistant: Yeah
Me: What's this in my nose?
Hot Doctor: It's for oxygen.
Me: Cool. My nose itches.
Me: Wow. My nose really itches. Hey, I can kind of feel that.
Old Doctor: Let's give her more of the local...
A 1/2 hour must go by. I don't really remember what I was babbling about.
Me: My nose itches. Did you take it out yet?
Doctor: Yes.
Me: Well, can I see it? I want to see it.
Doctor: I showed it to you.
Me: No you didn't! I want to see it.
Doctor: Yes I did. You were asleep.
Me: No I wasn't! My eyes were open the whole time.
Old Doctor: You saw it.
Me: Well, can I ask you a question?
Doctor: No.
Me: Can I ask a question? What are you doing? Are you using stitches?
Hot Doctor: Yes.
Me: Well, did you take it out? Can I see it?
Doctor: I showed it to you.
Me: No you didn't! My nose itches. This is kinda fun. Are you stitching me up?
Assistant: Yes.
Me: I'm sorry. I'm being so annoying. I just wanted to see what it looked like!
Doctor: We don't have it anymore. It went to the lab.
Me: Well, I just wanted to see it! Am I OK?
Doctor: I'm 98% sure you're fine.
Me: When will I find out?
Doctor: In about a week.
Me: Well, thanks! My nose itches.
I get up. I get in the fun wheelchair. The assistant takes me up to the Graham Cracker and Apple Juice Room.

So I'm sitting in the big blue chair..dozing or something. I get four cups of apple juice and six crackers. A hot boy walks in and I decide I'd like to talk to him. He's on Anesthesia, too.
Nurse: Just walk slowly.
Boy: OK. This is weird.
Nurse: Just try to think about something else.
Boy: Yeah, like women.

The nurses laugh. I fantasize about going over there and giving that hot boy a lap dance. And we'd eat crackers and drink juice and eventually get married. Ha! And I can say... "Thank you for coming to the wedding. We met in the Graham Cracker and Apple Juice Room." But instead I sit and work on crocheting my winter scarf. Sweet Curtis comes and brings me flowers, and I buy him Italian dinner. And he my incessant chatter. Oh, and my fab roomie Courtney gave me pretty roses, too. I'm lucky to have lovely friends!

Now I'm tired, and my band-aid is...scary-looking. And I'm pissed because I have to wear my bra day and night for five days. Women! You know bras are fucking uncomfortable...especially in bed. Unlike SATC's Samantha, we don't wake up in our bras in the morning. F that.
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