Sunday, March 12, 2006

And up in the nursery an absurd little bird is popping out to say "cuckoo"

H said to me the other morning, “You are looking really hot. You’re tightening up!” The man must be smoking crack when I am not looking – the only thing tightening up around here is the waistband of my jeans. Yet when I was actually losing weight, before the carb-stuffing that the long, cold, dreary, grey winter in this godforsaken town requires, he was giving me grief over the baby-belly. So an incredibly liberating realization dawned on me – *my* fat is totally subjective to *his* mood. Do you have any idea how amazing it was to realize that none of his comments are based on any sort of empirical evidence? If I know that I can just plateau here, where clearly my body wants to be as it’s been there for years, and know that any observation on my weight that comes out of his mouth is contingent SOLELY UPON HIS MOOD – well, hell, pass the chips! And hand him the antidepressants! And I can be thin and beautiful all the time!

But I still can’t fit back into my wedding gown so I can’t do any housework.

Don’t ask.

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Amalah’s son is almost the exact same age as Terzo. They are two very cute babies. I feel somehow connected to the famous Amalah (that sounds like a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor, does it not?) due to the fact that we were birthing within 36 hours of each other. This whole Internet thing is so screwy, people.

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I got all dressed up last night – yes, I put eyeliner on! And high heels! Although, allow me to tell you, it’s hard to feel sexy when you are leaking breast milk! – and went out to dinner with my friend L, to celebrate her birthday. A few other friends were there, too. Friends who had very considerately brought her birthday presents. What, people? You KNOW I was raised by wolves! And I *did* get her a non-fat cinnamon dulce latte this morning – I mean, after making her very late for work, after conning her into giving me a ride, it was the least I could do. (I should’ve given her a copy of Bitter is the New Black! Why didn’t I think of that last night?) Also along for the festivities was her Turkish is-he-a-boyfriend-what-exactly-is-he sort of boyfriend-ish guy, who we oh-so-cleverly have nicknamed “Turkish.” We went to this great little restaurant that reminded me of L.A. in that I was fairly certain they were going to weigh us all at the door, and I? I was going to be over the weight limit: “You! You there! In the not-so-slimming black pants! Over the limit! You may not come in and stuff your face here, you’re too fat already! And we, we here are all thin and trendy and wear avant-garde hairstyles and black-rimmed glasses! So begone! Skedaddle! Va-moose!” But, no they let me in and let me eat a nice little pad thai. I am quite proficient with the ole chopsticks and until last night it never occurred to me that you might not be. (I could’ve given L chopstick lessons for her birthday! Along with those cool little rocks they give you to rest your sticks on between courses.) And then, for dessert, which the server kindly allowed me to have although after eating my entire plate of pad thai I probably gained three pounds in like ten minutes, I had cardamom crème brulee with crystallized ginger shortbread and a basil-coconut macaroon. Yes, it is one of those places that serves art as food. It was all very civil and nice, even if I couldn’t understand one damn thing Turkish was saying. I do have a couple pictures, but am not going to post them as I prefer to respect the privacy of both L and Turkish. Just in case the INS is out looking for him or something. (Kidding, L! Totally kidding! No, I DO NOT think he’s illegal!)

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And now, as I seem to have used my yearly allotment of exclamation points in one post, I bid adieu…to yew…and yew…and yew...

13 comments:

Lynne@Oberon said...

Haha! We have those restaurants in Sydney too - ones where you feel like you need a 'certified cool' stamp on your passport or something. And I ALWAYS feel like a hulking lump of lard whenever I am out and night time amongst the beautiful and childless .... even though I'm sure I'm not. And I'm sure you are not either :)

Kathy said...

This descrption of you and the restaurant made me laugh out loud! That's how I feel going into any restaurant at all.

Now I'm singing that song -- you gave me an earworm. :)

blackbird said...

I want that dessert.

I was A BRIDESMAID leaking milk.
In a princess barbie style dress.

Anonymous said...

Husbands! Gah!

The dinner out sounds fun. I bet you looked plenty hot, even with the leaky boobs.

Caro said...

Your restaurant description made me laugh too.

I was forced to learn to use chopsticks when we lived in San Jose. Every time we went out to eat dim sum, only chopsticks were on the table.

I would ask the server, "May I have a fork?"

They would say, "fork?"

Then they would never bring one. I don't know if it was:

a. They didn't speak English (quite possible)
b. There were no forks at the restaurant
c. They were having fun laughing at my dumbass trying to use chopsticks.

I am kind of rusty at it now.

Sarah Louise said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Sarah Louise said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Sarah Louise said...

Somewhere along the way, I figured chopsticks out. I like 'em!

Not liking the VW though. It has failed me like 5 times!!

Sarah Louise said...

or rather I wasn't paying attention and it posted five times...

lazy cow said...

Oh my God! Guess which *exact same song* down to the verse I was singing as I checked your post this afternoon!!

The restaurant thing: my girlfriends and I used to be so intimidated by cool restaurants that we had a 'designated bitch of the evening' who had to stand up for all of us and not take any crap from snooty waiters. Now I just don't give a fuck. It's all in the attitude, but I refuse to go anywhere I have to line up to get into.

Suse said...

The title of your post belongs on my post of today!

And now I'm singing that song too. Soon I'll move onto 'I am sixteen going on seventeen', and finish up by yodelling 'ONCE WAS A GIRL IN A PALE PINK COAT YODEL-EY YODEL-EY YODEL-EY-HEY-HO!'

So, thanks for that.

KPB said...

WAIT. Terzo is only two weeks older than Jasper?

Man, I feel like I've been reading your blog for years but that means its more like 4 months.

I so hear you on the Amalah thing - it's bordering on obsession, actually, no, it is a fully fledged obsession. And the thing I find most amazing is that the way she is with Noah, well, it took me three kids to get like that.

My current line:
I breed. I don't go out.

KPB said...

I just read your comment over at SF's - my GOD I thought I was the only idiot wanting a fourth - and your third is still so little (just like mine! Sorry, this sudden realisation is blowing my mind - I thought Terzo was about 9 months). Unlike with 1 and 2, it was very soon after number 3 that I looked at pregnant women and just knew I wasn't done. I miss being pregnant which I think is bizarre so soon after squeezing one out...