All Over the Board

1. About half a year ago, I noticed the beautiful salads the San Francisco Soup Company sells. So many people were happily eating them. They looked so pretty. So I got one. Then you know what else I got? Violently ill. That's right, the beautiful salad tried to kill me. I was so sad. For months I watched the happy people munching their pretty salads, wishing I could be one of them, knowing I wouldn't survive an attempted murder twice.
   
   This week I've been a little crazy, and today I decided to try the salad again. Let me tell you, they were just as beautiful today as they've been when the salads are in front of other people. The grass was just as green for me! It's now seven hours later, and I feel fine, so it seems like the first time was just an unfortunate fluke.
   
2. This may come as a shock to some of you, but GQ, my gay boss, is gay. I know! Anyway, one of our sub-tenant people was back in the office today after having gone camping for a long weekend. He and GQ were talking, and GQ asked where the guy went camping. They talked about location, and then I heard the sub-tenant say something about not being "too close to the homos or the meth-heads." Ever see those movies where someone's head dramatically jerks up and their eyes get wide? That was me.
   
   GQ didn't react at all to it, so I kept my mouth shut. Is it possible he missed it? GQ's been gay for like, his whole life, so maybe he worked out decades ago how to deal with comments like that?
   
3. Speaking of GQ! Recently, he and the other attorneys in our suite got their photos professionally done, for their respective websites. The photographer came to our office twice, and had zero sense of humor. One of the attorneys said, "One or two shots should be enough to capture my beauty," and the photographer was all, "What?!?! But how will I ... only two shots?!?! Blarphen?!?@?!" and we had to tell her she was joking. The photographer promptly developed a huge crush on GQ. To say she was disappointed would be a huge understatement. Her whole face fell, and she asked me a thousand questions about where he was.
   
4. The new season of Dancing With the Stars has begun this week, and the two people I was interested in seeing were Leah Remini and Snookie. I don't think Leah Remini is particularly smart, but she's funny. Sadly, it doesn't seem like she'll go far on this season. Girl can't dance. Plus she's very uncomfortable with her body (see: Amber Riley). Snookie however, can apparently dance. Shocker!

Fudgesicle Popsicles and You

The other day my throat started hurting something awful, and I decided that before this turned into a Big Sickness I had better get to the store and stock up on everything I'd need to get through it.

One of the things on my mental list was icepops of some sort. Soup was also on my list, but holy shit there is like a week's worth of sodium in every can of every brand of chicken noodle soup at Safeway, so screw that.

Anyway, when looking at the icepops a few different things were going on:

1. I was running out of steam and needed to leave close to Now to get home
2. There was a guy with a huge dolly unloading food which left very little space for people with wagons to get by him
   
3. There was a guy there with his daughter and their wagon, and neither of them had any sense of how much space they and their wagon were taking up

These three things caused me to grab the first vaguely acceptable pop from the freezer and just get out of there. Upon arriving home though, I realized the pop I'd brought home was not the pop I thought it'd be. I thought I'd gotten the skinny fudgesicle popsicles. Those are great because they're the perfect size and you don't feel like since you're eating them you should go make a macaroni necklace while sitting at a wooden picnic table at camp. You're just a respectable adult having a popsicle.

Turns out, I'd gotten the camp size fudgesicles by accident. I'm not a huge fan of these. Firstly, I'm not a huge fan of chocolate. I mean, it's okay, but like, chocolate does not make me happy. You know those women who laugh when eating salad by themselves? Those same women are the ones who close their eyes in bliss when they bite into chocolate. I'm not one of those women.

I just want a little popsicle, not one big enough that it could easily utilize two sticks. Two sticks is one stick too many, and quite frankly I am not a huge fan of those wooden sticks to begin with. The splinter factor is just too great. Plus there's the whole melting issue to keep track of, and who wants to keep an eye on melting chocolate when they're not feeling well? You might say to just eat the popsicle over a bowl, but again, who wants to have to clean up a bowl when they're not feeling well?

On Twitter, I made some comment about having bought the wrong size of fudgesicle, and at least three people expressed surprise that there are different sizes at all. So this blog post is meant to share and educate. There are different sizes. The smaller size is better. Though, not having a sore throat at all would be best.

Let's All Sit in a Circle

I love that rush I get when discovering not only a new author I love, but one who's written tons of stuff. That rushing thrill of New! Reading! Material! Then you curl up inside all that reading, and when you emerge in a daze with the way you think about things changed for life, in the back of your head all that's going through your head is What the hell will I read now? Wow. I guess I just really, really love reading.

I just need to pause to say that my apartment hallway is very echo-y, and I can always hear everyone who walks by, talks, or makes any noise. Right now a very chipper older late is talking to a man with a heavy Spanish accent who is responding to her politely but you can hear in his voice he wants to get away. Anyway, the point is, this woman has the same squeaky voice as my old cousin Clara, who was old for my entire life. She always used to confuse me with my mom, and it really made me twitch when she'd tell me, thinking I was my mom, that she remembers when my mother was alive. My mother *IS* alive, it's *HER* mother who died! Get it right, woman! Of course I could never say that - I'd just listen to her tell me stories about "my" mom and commit them to memory so I could tell my mom later, and she could collect other people's memories about the mother she didn't get enough time with.

Moving on! Back to reading! Good blogs are a great thing to discover because bloggers have archives. Archives mean days of reading material. I'm always flattered when I, my blog, represents that to someone else. People I'd never meet in real life. People who, even if I met, would agree we had nothing in common. Except people will write more than they will say (if their family isn't reading), so you can find those commonalities after all.

Charlene from -lifedramatic- recently found my blog and not only is she reading the archives, but she's commenting on things I'd forgotten about writing. She responded to an old post where I solicited questions with hers, and here's her list, along with my answers.

1. Don't keep me in suspense. Did you ever get a camera? What kind? Where are the pictures?? :)
Yes, I was given a camera. I don't know how to say what kind of camera it is properly, so I've gone meta and taken a picture of it with Photoshop for you. It says it's a Panisonic Lumix, with 5.0 megapixels and um yeah. I really, really want to be one of those people who takes their camera everywhere they go and takes cool pictures of a sewer grate or a businessman fixing his sock that make people stop and think, but I haven't reached that level. Then, before I could keep trying to reach it, my camera used up all its battery juice and buying new batteries for a camera simply is not a priority when you're scraping together money for rent each month, you know? So that's where I'm at with my camera.

A couple of years ago I went to LA, and I did take some awesome pictures if I do say so myself. I crossed a foot bridge in Santa Monica and took a picture of a Coke cup discarded carefully on a step that I really liked (yet can't find now). It doesn't help that I don't understand Flickr - why are the pictures I've taken in Photoshop on Flickr, and how did they get there? Where is my precious Coke cup picture? Where are all the old pictures I took on my camera and (thought I) uploaded to Flickr?

2. You mentioned you were in therapy for a long time. I'm in therapy now. Have been since my first husband started cheating on me, and never left her. I see a lot of things through your posts that I should be doing but haven't been able to yet. For example, doing things to help me not feel depressed. I find that I kind of wallow in the depression, like I'm in a maze and I can't really find my way out. How do you do it?
Wow. Well. Two or three things.
1. I am sorry your first husband cheated on you. It seems more common these days for people to forgive that, and although this may fall into the "you can't know until you're in that situation" I don't think I'd be able to forgive that. I believe in the "if you aren't into me enough to not cheat on me, then just break up with me honestly" religion.
2. Let's be honest here, okay? I'm not always able to snap out of it. Being out of work is very, VERY difficult. A little while before moving out of Florida my messiness reached an overwhelming head, and another person had to come in to help dig me out. I swore to myself it would never get to that point again. It hasn't, but I have been known to send in my unemployment form a week or two late because I lost it in the pile of stuff on my ottoman and haven't had the wherewith all to dig it out. So, I'm not perfect.

At least a decade ago I read an article in Newsday about how people with learning disabilities function better if their outside world is neat and organized. It took me several years to get my life in line with that, and found it was true. My brain is so busy translating what people have said into words and concepts I understand (and then I have to race to listen and process while also listening to their next thought and saving that for translation while responding to the first thing) that it creates more work when things are physically a wreck. So I try to stay neat. When I don't, I have absolutely noticed a correlation between seeing a wreck and my heart sinking and becoming overwhelmed.
3. The way I do it when I'm doing it is, I have a set schedule. So when I'm working, I know what errands I'll run on my lunch hour on which day, and which days I'll go to the library after work. When I wake up I smooth out my blanket to make my bed look neat (tucking in the blanket takes too long). On weekends I buy five breakfasts (or one cardboard tin of Quaker's Instant Oatmeal) so I'll have quick breakfasts each morning I'm at work. I feel no difference (other than hunger) between eating breakfast and not in terms of being productive, but study after study, decade after decade swears eating breakfast is good for you, so I eat a healthy one.

I keep in mind when I'm depressed all the other times I've been depressed (yes, I realize that sounds depressing) and that if I can just force myself to shower and get dressed, then I'll be able to take out the garbage, which will mean I'll be ready to go through mail that's piled up, etc. Things can spin out of control. But they can also spin into the control if you just start the spin. You have to find what will start your spin.

3. What would you do if your neighbor got a pig and you had to hear it grunting and squealing when you were trying to relax? (Seriously, this just happened to me...)
Charlene, this does not sound pleasant ... wait. Is it a baby pig? Because those things are cute! Did you see the movie with that Dawson's Creek kid who played Knox and his friend had a pig named Bacon?

To answer your question, I would ask the city/town if this was legal, and if it was not, because I'm somewhat passive-aggressive I'd consider reporting them. In the meantime though, I might ask the neighbors if they could move their pigpen to the center of their yard so the noise was traveling so well into my space, and I'd look into what kind of white noise I could employ to drown out the pig noise. Wind chimes probably wouldn't cut it, huh?

4. I've always wanted to visit California and SF in general! I love seafood. Do you like any seafood? (I know you said you are a picky eater).
Yes, I love seafood too. Every time I am at Whole Foods I check to see if the scallops are on sale. I'm not sure I've found any stellar seafood restaurants here, but I haven't specifically looked, and don't dine out much these days.

5. Have you ever been to whereever it is you can go to see the seals there? Seals are smelly, but they're cute too.
I think you're talking about Pier 39, where there are sea lions. Yes, I've been there. More than once. Maybe it does for other people, but for me, it never gets old to see the sea lions sunning themselves and pushing each other into the water, and flopping back up to dry off from a swim.

6. What's your favorite thing about SF?
People ask this a lot. I don't have a good answer. This is the first major city I've ever lived in, so I really have nothing to compare it to. I love that the weather makes it easy to spend time outdoors. I love that there's tons of free stuff to do and watch. You can make a full day out of watching the Gay Pride Parade, a full morning out of watching Bay to Breakers take off and then going to the Ferry Building for the farmer's market. You can surround yourself with tourists or escape them by going to the places tourists never know about. You can learn (if you're me) how to become comfortable being the only white person on the bus. Hell, you can learn how to use city buses, something that was foreign and scary to me at first.

This is the place where I learned how to make friends. Where I learned to cut myself a little slack. Where I got to hone the art of agreeing to disagree, of stretching my mind to see other people's viewpoints. I don't know that these things happened because I am in SF, just that they happened while I was here. But when I have entertained thoughts of leaving here and moving elsewhere, I have worried "what if I can't make friends?"

7. I grew up in North Miami, FL. It sounds like when you were in FL you were in the Pompano area. Why did you move there?
You nailed it. I moved to Florida because I wanted to move out of my parent's house. When I looked at apartments on Long Island, they were all depressing illegal basement apartments in the back of people's homes. I distinctly remember looking at one with my dad, and then quietly telling him, "This is the kind of place that's great for committing suicide." My grandpa lived in FL - he had an apartment in an old-people community, and mostly lived at his girlfriend's apartment (in the same community). When I considered the idea of moving to Florida, he allowed me to stay at his place for a few months while I got myself established. I knew of one girl around my age when I moved to Florida, and she was a real estate agent. She showed me four apartment complexes, all places she'd show her sister, and I picked the one with the most natural sunlight. The master closet was big enough for a controlled cartwheel. There was a laundry pantry in the kitchen. There was so much space in that apartment that I had multiple empty cabinets. So that's why I moved to Florida, the specific city within Florida, and the specific apartment complex.

8. Will you please post a comment or two on my blog? :)
Already done!

Don't Tease Me, Bro!

Pretty much everyone I know from the East Coast loves Dunkin Donuts coffee better than any other chain's coffee. I don't drink coffee, but I do love hot chocolate, and have found that the hot chocolate taste test aligns quite nicely with the coffee test. There is not one Dunkin Donuts in California. (By the way, I've found that Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf & Names of Coffee Shops That Are Too Long has hot chocolate most like Dunkin Donuts, so their coffee may also be most similar.)

Anyway. There's been a grassroots effort to bring Dunkin Donuts to California. Ben Affleck even started a Facebook page all about it. It hasn't happened yet, which makes me sad. However. Dunkin Donuts is now selling their packaged coffee in West Coast supermarkets. Of course this does not help me, the hot chocolate drinker, but I'm still supportive of the overall cause.

Lately, because of this supermarket thing I suppose, when watching tv Dunkin Donuts commercials appear. Since I don't drink coffee I forget all about the coffee-in-supermarkets thing, and stupidly get all excited, thinking surely Dunkin Donuts wouldn't advertise here if they weren't here! Then I remember about the coffee-in-supermarkets thing and my heart sinks. I hate being teased. I don't even like to window shop unless I can afford to pop into the store to buy whatever catches my eye.

So Dunkin Donuts, please come to CA. You could start small - set up shop at LAX and SFO to see how it goes (it'll go great, I assure you!) before branching out to shops all around town. It would be great on multiple levels. Fabulous, inexpensive coffee and hot chocolate, but also, we'd always know where to find a cop when we needed one! You'd be providing a community service, when you think about it. Okay then, so I'll look forward to seeing you soon. Glad we had this little talk.

My Halloween Utopia

Wouldn't it be awesome if instead of those little short people knocking on your door looking for candy, someone knocked on your door and offered you some of their candy? This would be the ideal situation for me. Because all I want is one. Not an entire bag, not lots of different candy, just one or two cups.

My mother was always a door-hog when it came to Halloween, pushing me away from the front door with her body when the bell rang, even going so far as to block the opening by standing in front of the door so not only was I unable to ever give out candy, but I couldn't see the costumes people wore.

Eight years ago I moved out, but the only time candy was involved in door-knocking it was in Florida, and two of those little short people wanted me to buy it from them for some school thing. So I don't ever bother buying candy. But I could really go for a cup or two. Would it be terribly wrong to mug a shortie for that? I wouldn't take ALL their candy...

Really? You Care?

By now everyone knows Starbucks is closing a slew of their stores. What I don't know, is why this is such a big deal. Granted, I don't drink coffee (I'm Mormon, don't forget). But I do drink hot chocolate and let me tell you, Starbucks' hot chocolate sucks. Dunkin Donuts is best, followed by Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.

What blows my mind even more, is that as of last count, 151 people felt compelled to COMMENT on the story in the SF Gate about the closing of the stores. What the hell could there possibly be to say? It's JUST coffee. You can get coffee in other places. If your addiction is so great, maybe you really SHOULD become a Mormon and stop drinking it.

Thank you, that's all.

Tuesday Farmer's Market

Have I ever mentioned that I love the Farmer's Market at this time of year? Because I do. Very much. Plums, pluots, white peaches, cherries, blueberries ... all so good. So, so very good. (Look at me! I could practically be a food snob with how much I love it all!)

This past Saturday, I went to the Farmer's Market as I almost always do (hello, Stalker), and they were having a cherry tasting for free. Normally you can taste anything at any stand for free, but last weekend they had one table that had cherries from each of the different farms that were at the Farmer's Market.

I totally tasted from each farm. The winner? K&J Orchards, hands down. Their cherries were big and plump and not damanged at all. I went over to their stall and picked up some chandler bing cherries. Asked the boy manning the stall if he'd be back on Tuesday for the weekday farmer's market. "Well, I won't, but my dad will." Good enough for me!

Totally loading up for the week (that last trip was just to get me through the weekend) on all the great fruit in season now. If I were all fancy-like I'd artfully arrange the fruit I bought and place it just so in dishes I bought specifically for plums and bowls I searched high and low for to house cherries, and take pictures of them for you, complete with perfect lighting. But I'm not.

So instead, you get pictures other people have taken. If you got my pictures, you'd see a plain silver bowl with some paper towel and the blueberries washed and plopped in there. That is, if you could see them in the darkness that is my kitchen. Oh well. The important thing is that they taste good, right? Right.

I Don't Even Like Tea

I'd had to stay late at work that night, and not just an extra 15 minutes. We're talking hours, with attorneys standing over me as we tried to get into Pacer to look up a case and then file something. When I finally got out of work it was raining and cold. I had neither an umbrella nor a hood nor a warm-enough jacket.

In high school I liked going for walks in the rain, especially when I could play November Rain on my walkman. Teenage girls like doing depressing things like that.

Now I'm an adult, don't like being depressed, and don't particularly enjoy walking through the dark and cold and rain after a long day of work. What I needed in life that night was soup, and it inspired my decision to stop at the dim sum restaurant near home.

Rain dripped down my hair and face, and my jacket and shoes were soaking. I didn't even want to walk too far into the restaurant lest I get everything wet. But even after I gestured to my wet bags the owner waived me over, so I went to place my soup order. She gave my order to a waiter and then scurried away. When she came back from the kitchen, I was still standing where she'd left me, and I watched as she pulled out a chair at a table, and placed a glass on it. She told me to sit, and pointed to the glass. I didn't want to mess up the table; I wouldn't be staying long. But I sat, and picked up the glass. It was warm tea. Not hot - it didn't burn my mouth, but warm, and as I swallowed it warmed my body.

Immediately tears were in my eyes. I don't know how people like JD Salinger do it. I don't even aim to be alone but yet I am, and it apparently affects me so much that I am moved to tears when someone sees that I am cold and wet and does something to help.

I kept sipping the tea, to drink up the feeling of being actively cared for, until my soup was ready. The owner looked over periodically to check on me, and that "being cared for" feeling overwhelmed me.

By the time my soup was brought out to me, I'd drank almost half the glass. I get all verklempt every time I think about it.

We ARE Mature Professionals In Our Early 30's

Golden Boy invited me over for dinner tonight. This afternoon we were on the phone when he brought up the subject of this evening's menu, and he asked, "I took out filet mignon; that's okay with you, right?" I confirmed, and Golden Boy continued, "Great, so I'll make up some of those, Crazy Girl will make broccoli, and I'll make potatoes Ruth's Chris-style."

I then asked, "And what should I make?"

Without missing a beat, he replied, "A doody in your pants."

Of course.

Pass the Passport, Maybe (Thanks J)

My new boyroommate has done a lot of traveling. Mostly within Central Europe. He was shocked to find out I've never left the country. I'm always shocked to hear that other people have. Guess I have no sense of wanderlust, because a part of me is absolutely baffled at what would inspire someone to go someplace where they won't understand things. Of course, I come from a different place than most, since I want to understand much more than I'm able, whereas I suppose most people find a way to understand anything they want.

Yet a tiny part of me is curious. I think it's from living in San Francisco, a major city. In South Florida, nobody travels. I mean it - you honeymoon in Disney and then take all your vacations in Key West. If you have relatives there, you go to New York once every few years, but you hate how busy and crowded and dirty it is. But in major cities, people go places. Like to other major cities.

I'm tempted. My friend told me to start out slow - go someplace where they speak English, at least. Like London. I might be able to do London. I read British Glamour. I like the song Here Comes the Sun. I ate a scone once. I even know "chips" are really french fries.

Except, remember on The Real World, London how hard it was to figure out the front door of their apartment? And what if I got lost trying to take the Tube somewhere, and the people there were like the kids I went to high school with, and gave me wrong directions? Plus, I don't really like fish all that much.

Okay, not London. What about Paris? Every girl is supposed to want to go to Paris, right? I could be like Sabrina, and come back beautiful. I could acquire a cute, French accent. Supposedly they teach English in the schools there. So what if there are no anti-smoking laws?

Well, here's what I imagine.

1. I would arrive.

2. Day one - would not leave hotel due to not being able to figure out fancy lock on hotel door. Convince myself that's okay, because I can "adjust to time difference" and finish reading airplane book and magazines.

3. Day two - would figure out lock and venture around lobby of hotel. Spend at least four hours people-watching in lobby before going back to room, depressed that I can not understand what anyone is saying. Before going inside room, cry in hallway for half hour at not being able to figure out lock on door from outside. Console myself with thoughts that the people walking by who give me strange looks will never see me again, so it does not matter that I cried in front of them.

4. Days three and four - stay in hotel room, scarred from last time I left. Call my brother and cry about how hard it is to be somewhere I don't understand what's going on around me and how much I hate myself for not being able to learn new languages and learning disabilities really suck.

5. Day five - embarrassed that I'll be leaving soon and will have to face Americans who will ask what I did in foreign country and don't want to have to admit "nothing," force myself to leave hotel. After writing out on two pieces of hotel stationery diagram of door lock, complete with step by step instructions.

6. Walk three blocks to left of hotel. Find cafe. Say, in my best, yet awful and improper French, "I'm sorry, I do not speak French; do you speak English please?" only to have people laugh at me and ignore my request for water. Cry.

7. Try to walk three blocks to my right to get back to hotel, only to find myself in very seedy area, sun has set, and now I am hopelessly lost. Pull out diagram of door lock to see if stationery has hotel phone number, only to realize I can not figure out how to use pay phone. Spend night sitting in a curb. Pigeons poop on my head multiple times. When I get back to my hotel, find I've lost my precious diagram and spend 20 minutes outside door trying to unlock it.

8. Finally get inside and to to take shower to wash off bird poop, which has congealed into my hair overnight. Can't figure out complicated shower, wash hair in sink. Lay on bed and cry myself to sleep.

9. Arrive back in the States after being fleeced by a cab in Paris to take me to airport, where I am most proud that I got it down to a solid ten minutes to work the lock on my hotel door. Frantically run to Borders to write down sightseeing places in Paris to lie about to people when they ask where I went while abroad.

It might not be as bad as that, but keep in mind that I don't drink wine or coffee, and don't like cheese. You can survive on Evian for a few days straight, right? And they'll let pb&j sandwiches through customs, right?

Five Hours Down, Five To Go

Charlie and Oliver were brothers, and one encouraged the other to pay attention to the "little people" he encountered, like cab drivers. Charlie and Oliver are characters in a Brad Meltzer book, but I still think it was good advice.

I would say that 75% of the cab drivers I encounter in San Francisco are regular people, who just happen to have a hard job. Generally I try to talk with cab drivers - I consider it an opportunity to practice small talk, which I'm not good at. So yes, I use cab drivers.

Earlier this week I felt myself coming down with a cold, and by the time I woke up this morning my throat felt like someone had sand-papered it. Breathing is difficult. The sinus pressure in my face is painful. My brother and his fiance had invited me to their house for Thanksgiving, and I wanted to go. So this morning I made two pies without breathing on them and in the afternoon I mascara-ed up to haul myself deeper into the city for Thanksgiving dinner.

While at my brother's house, his fiance found some cold medicine I could take. Although I had to continuously excuse myself from whoever I was talking to in order to find tissues (Golden Boy, sorry I used up all your tissues), tonight was fun.

I met some very cool people, tried some new foods, and aside from the Cold From Hell, had a good time. When it was time to head home, I knew I was going to get a taxi - waiting for the buses was going to take too long, and my bed was calling for me. My brother and his out-of-town friend walked me to a major intersection, and in less than five minutes I was able to hail a cab.

$1,883. That's how much it will cost my cab driver to get a plane ticket to Nigeria, he told me. He then talked about money for the next half a dozen blocks we drove down on Market Street. I felt like he was trying to butter me up for a big tip. I round up, but not that far up. I asked if he was at the beginning or the end of his shift, and that's when he told me. He'd been working for the last five hours, and he had five more hours to drive around the city. Ten hours on Thanksgiving. You could make the argument that since he's not American, why would he want to celebrate Thanksgiving, but are you really that cold?

He's lived in San Francisco for ten years, and is 47. His fiance is 21 and he wants to bring her to America from Nigeria. He asked if I would like to see a picture. Sure. Okay, he told me, after he has my confidence. Huh what, now? Yes, that's what he said. And that's when I mentally moved him out of the 75% of regular cab drivers.

"Are you married," he asked me. I told him no. My throat hurt when I spoke and I had no more small talk left in me. "Do you want to be?" he inquired. Asking someone whether or not they want to be married is a pretty heavy question for a cab ride.

"If it happens, great, if it doesn't, that's okay too," I told him. Right then is when I think he stopped liking me, because he started humming and didn't speak to me again until he arrived at my apartment.

I wonder about Nigeria, and what the social customs are there related to marriage. I wonder if the 21 year old woman in Nigeria knows what's waiting for her if she marries this much older man and comes to America. Is there some little Nigerian community in the Bay Area, like there's Little Havana in Miami, or will she be terribly homesick while her husband works long hours for little money? I wonder if the Bay Area is the part of America she wants to come to. I wish I knew more.

I rounded up. Happy Thanksgiving.

The Way Diets Should Work

(Why yes, this IS one of those "yet another female blogger writing about dieting" posts.)

So I've been trying to diet the last few weeks. I'm not doing Weight Watchers or South Beach or anything like that. Those things wouldn't work for me. I'm simply trying to eat less, and make better choices. That's it. And it's slow, but working. Although only one person has noticed I've lost weight. Maybe I need to lose more, since even to me, it seems that my clothes fit exactly the same as they did pre-diet.

Maybe October is a dumb time to start dieting, right before the Season of Gluttony begins. But actually, I think it's perfect for me. Now portions in restaurants seem to big for me to finish, no matter how good they taste. I'm forcing myself to let go of finishing things because otherwise it's wasting money.

Apple, the receptionist, keeps a dish of candy on her desk, and constantly offers some to everyone who walks by. One of the things I don't like about this job is the amount of after school special style peer pressure that goes on here. Multiple times each day I am offered candy. Multiple times each day I say no thank you. My mother told me that if you always reject offers, they'll stop. It seems she was wrong in this case.

However, yesterday I was jonesing for something sweet, and took a mini-box of mini-Tootsie Rolls. There were probably about a dozen inside the box. Each one, the size of a Good & Plenty. I had two, then put the box on the other secretary's desk. Two was enough. Two tasted good and was plenty for me.

There are is no junk-food in my house. I looked at the times I tend to eat too much, thought about what it was about those times that made me want to eat too much, and made some changes.So now I have a snack around 4p.m. at work. Grapes, apple slices, almonds and walnuts, something like that. This way when I get home I'm not starving for dinner, and don't eat a snack while cooking dinner. And after dinner? I chew gum, or have fruit.

But you know what? I never noticed how often people are offering food! It's really annoying to constantly be rejecting things you want to say yes to. Which made me think: if you say no to something really tempting, I think the universe should let you lose more weight. If today I eat the same number of calories as yesterday, but today I turn down cheesecake and pretzels, I should lose more weight today than I did yesterday, because today was harder.

Don't you think that would help people stick to their diets? I do. Who's with me?

Organic Epidural

While I was at Safeway yesterday, I found organic Kraft macaroni and cheese. It was a dollar more expensive than Spiderman, but I decided to try it anyway. I love Kraft mac & cheese.

So I made some last night. Then I ate some. It tasted okay. Nothing great, nothing awful, you know? It does NOT taste the same as regular Kraft macaroni and cheese, but it doesn't have that bad aftertaste that Trader Joe's and Annie's have.

Then a few hours later, I went to bed. 15 minutes after laying down, I began having the absolute worst cramps I've ever had in my entire life. It was horrible. I was in excruciating pain. I tried to psych out the pain. "Women give birth in fields. That's got to hurt way more than this; therefore this doesn't hurt that much. How do I feel now?" Didn't work. I wondered exactly how much more childbirth hurts than what I was feeling. Two times more? Ten times more painful? I came to the conclusion that if I ever give birth, there will be a reservation for an epidural in my name. Back and leg pain? No problem! But I am apparently not cut out for any sort of stomach pain.

After about an hour I felt better, and went to sleep. When I woke up this morning everything was fine. In wondering what caused my horrible cramps, I mentally listed everything I hate yesterday. The only thing I'd never had before was the organic mac & cheese. Clearly, organic is NOT better. I'll never make that mistake again.