Getting Ready For Bed, and Dieting
I have gotten to the point where I am so unhappy with the way that my ass looks in my pajama bottoms, that I just go without them. Might as well look at that plump (read: fat) ass in all its tight underwear glory than to mope around the apartment pinching and tugging and over-speculating at what point this month I grew an extra ass cheek.
Why do girls, anyway, spend so much time telling each other that they’re fat? I am a repeat offender of this and am the first one to admit that I am not fishing for compliments. It’s really more a case of the other phenomenon women are especially good at: talking aloud. And the reality is, feeling fat is always on the mind.
We must focus on other things. Shopping, so that you can pursue the logical solution of either 1) buying clothes that will finally fit and flatter, or 2) buying clothes so excruciatingly adorable that you have no choice but to lose weight. You know what you tell your girlfriend: “It’s a little tight, but that’ll just motivate me to go to the gym.”
Well, we know how that one turns out. Option 1 works out more favorably than option 2, and you are left with half a closet-full of last season’s hottest numbers that you could never wear. But the wardrobe permissibly grows larger because you’re able to still exercise option 1 with reasonable regularity.
It's What's For Dinner
I don't know why it's OK to eat beef but it's not OK to eat veal. Adult or child, you're still killing the animal and eating it. I don't see why it's more just to kill an cow than a calf. Is it because the cow can "handle" it better? It's not like he has a chance to enjoy the repercussions of a death he could better withstand.
I had veal for dinner and it tasted good. And yet the whole time, I still had some reservations putting forkful and forkful of perfectly encrusted lemon-infused veal Milanese into my mouth, because there was something mildly disturbing about eating a younger cow. I went online and did a little bit of research; then talked to a few friends and asked what their position was on veal consumption. And what I have to conclude is that the whole hullabaloo is psychological. You shouldn't kill any animals and eat them; and if you somehow do, I think at that point the distinction between adult and child is moot.
I had similar issues today eating anchovy, but it was sort of more because it smelled really freaking fishy and yet didn't taste that way. It seems like every sense except taste seems to govern my diet.
It's Fine, Really
OK, so nobody reads my blog. Or if they do, I can probably count all these people on one hand. And it can be a disfigured, maimed hand short of a few fingers. Whatever.
But I thank you,
my loyal readers, for your continued patronage and support. Without you, I would have nothing to do at work.
In a rare moment of candor, I'll deliver my version of a State of the Union address:
I am healthy and happy right now. Sometimes my haircut is not exactly as I'd like it, and I'd prefer more muscle tone around my abdominal region and arms. But I have a wonderful core of friends who call me daily with exciting little tidbits about their lives -- which keeps me feeling included and amused. I live in a quaint little apartment that actually is the perfect refuge after a long day, and I like that things smell fragrant and different from room to room, cementing the fact that each space has its own personality and purpose. I have some moderate buying power, enough to keep me armed with those stylish little knick-knacks I love. I have more autonomy than I would have ever imagined I could have. And everyone in my family seems to be doing OK.
I do worry about getting a job next year, or applying to another law school to get a masters in something. I mask some of my jealousy and worry when other classmates talk about "getting offers" and other lofty employment plans. And I often censure myself for not being more motivated or proactive about the many opportunities that I could actually pursue. I know that my greatest fault is that I am lazy.
I wonder if I can ever really be in a relationship, because it's been so long since I was in a real one. And at that, was it a real one? Where some people have an attachment to being monogamous relationships, I feel like I'm developing -- or finally recognizing -- an attachment to being single. It's nice to be flirted with, and to be able to flirt. It gives you that neat little non-committal buzz.
I'm a little bit burned out today, but I guess this means it's been a good week.
Story of a Haircut: 3 Weeks Later
Amazingly, the haircut that was so God-awful three weeks ago has grown out and it's absolutely perfect now. Do I credit the hairstylist for having the most amazing foresight -- or just comment on her good luck that it all worked out, because I was ready to sue the salon for reparations for emotional distress?
These are the big questions of life. Also, what's going to unfold next for Bennifer. I don't believe for a second that they've split up. All the reports -- and I've pored through them between the Associated Press, Reuters, and E! -- that the most definitive report still comes from a "source close to Affleck." So, forget it.
Jack Tripper -- you were our hero! The 80's Revolution really feels the loss of John Ritter.
In San Diego, Where I Go...
For my pre-work double iced mocha: Chatterbox Cafe on 1st Ave.
For my breakfast bagel, Asiago cheese with veggie shmear: Einstein Bros. Bagels on Robinson Ave.
For my Asian pears: Trader Joe's on University Ave.
For my chicken tikka masala in a fix: Tandoor on Friars Rd.
For my magazines: Borders on Camino del Rio North
For my bi-monthly hair appointment: Robert Cromean on Garnet Ave.
For my monthly facial: Jennie on Third Ave.
For my kebab in a fix: Mezquite Grill on Robinson Ave.
For my Italian food shopping: Mona Lisa Foods on India Ave.
For my workout: 24-Hour Fitness on Fifth Ave.
For my shoe shopping: Let's Go on Girard Ave.
For my vintage shopping: Buffalo Exchange on Garnet Ave.
For my guilty pleasure shopping: Neiman Marcus on Friars Rd.
For practically everything else: Target on Camino del Rio North
In Los Angeles, Where I Went...
For my pre-work nonfat mocha: Starbucks on Santa Monica Blvd.
For my breakfast scone, blueberry: Starbucks on Santa Monica Blvd.
For my English double Devon cream: Bristol Farms on Westwood Blvd.
For my fish bowl in a fix: Wahoo's Fish Tacos on Wilshire Blvd.
For my magazines: Marck's Westwood Newsstand on Westwood Blvd.
For my bi-monthly hair appointment: Jacques Michael Salon on Pico Blvd.
For my Thai food in a fix: Sanamluang on Hollywood Blvd.
For my Italian food shopping: Bay Cities Grocers on Lincoln Ave.
For my workout: 24-Hour Fitness on Pico Blvd.
For my shoe shopping: Bloomingdale's on La Cienega Blvd.
For my guilty pleasure shopping: Barneys on Rodeo Dr.
For practically everything else: The Beverly Center on La Cienega Blvd.
