Walking to work this morning I passed the craziest, yet most stylish homeless lady I have ever seen. She’s anywhere between 45 and 108 years old, long witch hair, layers of clothing color coordinated to her shoes. Her shoes were pristine, brand new lilac old school New Balance. The layers were all the colors of spring. Her face was covered by a thin blue open knit scarf – possibly mohair.
I was staring at her shoes and we were about to pass when she suddenly shouted at the garbage can to my right, “Kill it, kill it ‘til it’s dead!”
We parted ways.
Some hours later I overheard part of a conversation of our resident “formerly homeless” paper seller who stands outside our building all day hawking the independently published Homeless Newspaper.
I was crossing the street when I thought I heard her say to the lady buying a paper, “Meat is evil.”
I was still getting my head around that as I picked up the lunch for my boss’ meeting. I had requested from our staff 6 Turkey Sandwiches and chips. The order placed by helper – 5 sandwiches, 3 soups, 6 cookies. WTF?
Churchy people always seem to know the exact recipe for making something so wonderful into something so completely disgusting.
Churchy bible study lady was talking in the breakroom about her weekend. She went on an adults retreat to the Smokey Mountains – home of Dollywood, clog dancing, religiousity of the overly zealous variety and moonshine. In addition to a rousing bible study on Friday night the group of twenty faithful did a lot of cooking.
One brutally detailed concoction involved pancake batter poured in a bread tin with a sausage link every two inches. Everyone got a pancake with a sausage embedded in it!! Am I the only one who is repulsed by this?
Apparently so, because the recipe has been making its way around the office email.
Now while I am no stranger to pancakes and sausage the visual of a wane slice of batter with a bas relief sausage link is wholly unappetizing.
The upside is you could say, “What is this piece of shit?” and mean it as more than just a figure of speech.
17 more days, unless you already count this day as one down. In which case then it’s 16 days which is just two short of 14 so I may as well just call it two weeks.
A fortnight.
For the sake of those who are unaware, I love food and I love to organize. Therefore it has always brought me immense pleasure to keep my refrigerator tidy and few things are as pleasing or fulfilling than cleaning out my refrigerator and organizing same.
The first thing I do when I enter the house is check the refrigerator, if I know you well I will check yours too. It’s just something that fascinates me – not necessarily because I am hungry, but because I like to see what’s in there. It’s a glimpse of your attitude on food and quite possibly a window to your soul.
Your refrigerator tells me what you like to eat and how you like to eat it. Do you have a ton of take out containers? A vast array of condiments? Do you have hidden moldy tidbits in the back? I take great care to keep my refrigerator free of anything older than a few days. The condiments are thrown out regularly, unless they have great packaging and then I will make a mental note to keep and not use. In fact, my refrigerator is always so clean and organized that I have used it for further organizational purposes. I keep my passport in the butter drawer and important papers in the crisper. My night cream and facial spritz are nicer cold. I keep my fancy jeans in the freezer overnight because I read an article that you shouldn’t wash them for several wearings and the freezer will rejuvenate them.
The refrigerator is my go to for all things important in my life and on Sunday it was carted away to its new owner. Not surprisingly, despite the fact I have been prepared and/or preparing for my overseas move for some time, the loss of the refrigerator has hit me the hardest. My stainless friend is gone, an empty spot where it used to live reminds me that in 20 days I leave the Dirty South for Clogidonia.
It’s oddly liberating this fresh start.
A gay homeless youth roaming downtown this morning loved my black and oxblood houndstooth trench and felt the need to stop me and comment upon how “Fierce” it is. Do they have Project Runway in the shelters? Maybe he wasn’t homeless. Maybe he was just a dirty hipster.
At any rate – I am not sure how I feel about this.
A) Flattered. It is a great coat; or
B) Self concscious. This boy was dirty, but he did have kind of great style for a street urchin.
Maybe the homeless, a population often filled with mental disorders, just have no filter. Maybe everyone likes my coat, but they know it would be awkward to stop me on the street and comment – at length.
Maybe I am over thinking this.
Yesterday a metaphorical weight was lifted from my shoulders when I finally gave my notice at work. I had been so hesitant to tell them due to the current economic climate and my own extreme desire to keep my private life private that I tended to overeat a bit. Yes, you can get puffy on a vegan diet. It’s the evil carbs I tell you!
Even so, feeling a bit blue due to my bloat I knew that I needed to break the exciting news to my HR department and the three people who are my immediate bosses.
Imagine my amazement when, after telling everyone (they were very happy for me), I felt not only as though a weight had been lifted but also that actual weight had disappeared.
I am, apparently, a nervous bloater – like those puffer fish with spines that used to hang from the ceiling at Trader Vic’s.
Everything fits better today and it’s wonderful
The 3 month vegan has had it. Here’s what has been happening. I have been pretty fastidious in adhering the vegan philosophy but completely disregarding the skinny bitch aspect of it and, in doing so, completely missing the point of the whole experiment. The point was not to reduce my carbon footprint or save cuddly bunnies and chickens from cruelty. No, the point was to miraculously become model thin while feeling superior to everyone else for not eating meat.
This experiment has failed and I fully admit that the blame rests on my shoulders, like a furry non-faux mink stole, head intact, it’s eyes glowing with disapproval.
Some people can lose weight on a low fat diet, some on all vegetables, some on powders and bars. I, however, need to have a little lean protein in my life. I think my main problem (aside from sugar) is that I am mildly allergic and not terribly fond of soy products, the bean and rice combinations to get a complete protein were upping my carb intake too, too much. I am also sick of rice and beans and hemp milk and seeds. Then I don’t eat them, then my nails peel. Then I have a day where I eat something totally non-approved – like hawaiian pizza, or a burger or frozen yogurt.
I will be 3/4ths vegan from now on. It’s brilliant – it even has a 3 in it and it involves Kristen Math so that’s always a treat.
Three meals and a snack a day – that’s 4 meals, three of which will be entirely vegan and skinny bitch approved (recap on that – vegan + no sugar and no white flour) – the fourth will have the addition of a lean protein. I am going to go with egg whites or turkey as my foray into beef eating (see prior blog) didn’t really work out so well (too much, too soon).
It’s almost like how normal people eat – fancy that concept.
Sometimes I like to nap during a massage and other times I like to talk. Luckily I have found an amazing therapist who understands this. The last few months I have fallen asleep on the table and just barely grunted if she torqued something a little too much during my weekly make my wrist normal session. Yesterday, however, I was chatty as could be.
Why?
We were talking about vegetable eaters (of the vegetarian and vegan persuasion) and their proclivity to cheat with, of all things, hamburgers. Having been a mostly good vegan for a few months and an almost vegetarian for months prior, I understand the need to have the kind of wildly inappropriate break from a regimen. It’s akin to soldiers on shore leave. I wanted a lusty hamburger all of a sudden, so I emailed a friend, the Burd, upon my return to the office.
The Burd is a culinary co-conspirator – a lover of food and fun and happy to accompany me to a greasy spoon for an equally greasy burger. I somehow felt the need to tell our waitress that I was going on a bender after 2 months of veganism and I needed a cheeseburger, stat!
She was happy to oblige and even suggested I have it on grilled bread, with sautéed onions and bacon. I then ordered a Guinness. You only die once and I happened to have a few bus tokens in my pocket for Charon, the ferryman – bring on the grease hell!
One quarter of a giant burger, half a Guinness, and about 10 mini packets of saltines later I recalled my talking about her vegetarian friend’s willful slips up with burgers and how she inevitably then pays the price through extreme physical discomfort – I had laughed at that, but I am not laughing now.
Last night I went to dinner, alone – something I have never minded. I do not understand the stigma of the solo diner. Is it sad? I don’t think so. I enjoy my own company and my trashy gossip magazines inserted between the pages of an already-read Harper’s magazine. I don’t think I should have to stay home when I want someone else to cook and takeout is never an appealing option. If anything it’s the opposite of sad – it’s a celebration of self worth – or it can be, at least.
For some time now when I want to have a solo decent I-didn’t-cook-it-myself meal I will head to Midtown Café because it’s close and they do not pipe-in ridiculous music. It is blessedly quiet, abuzz only with the murmurs of happy conversation and hushed mastication. I can have a glass of wine and make a meal of their vegetable sides and they are always accommodating of my desire for olive oil instead of butter and will even steam instead of sautee – depending on my mood. These are professionals and they know their clientele – a fact which, under normal circumstances, is laudable, but when you are willfully “cheating” on your diet not so much.
You see, they know me and they have, apparently, deduced that I am a vegan or at least a vegetarian so when I ordered seared ahi tuna last night I was met with a slight gasp and a mini-barrage of questions.
“But, wait aren’t you vegetarian …or….?” I take their visible confusion for nosiness and it is, because why should they care? Small talk for the sake of small talk – can’t they see I am reading about the decline of the American newspaper (really, about Jennifer Aniston back with John Mayer)?
I am mad because I have been caught – caught red handed, or red ahi-ed as the case may be.
It’s fucking fish – healthy, cancer fighting, Omega-3 fatty acid rich, sushi grade deliciousness and I am feeling chocolate éclair sized guilt….so I ordered key lime pie for dessert too.
Key Lime Pie is practically a fruit smoothie, right?
Today is Bosses’ Day – the day when we are asked to remember our employers and all they do for us, like pay us for the work we do and refrain from hitting us. I am pretty lucky in that I work for some pretty decent people and I love an opportunity to cook so I eagerly signed up for the Bosses’ Day Breakfast.
It’s a potluck breakfast buffet of sorts. Signup sheet, etc. I believe nearly an entire hog was sacrificed and 2 gallons of butter spilled to provide this morning’s spread. Sausage balls, pigs in a blanket and sausage biscuits sidled up next to cheese grits with bacon and mini quiche lorraine (frozen appetizers). A box of doughnuts snuggled next to 5 tubs of assorted flavored cream cheeses meant to spread not on bagels but on croissants.
The sole vegan offering was a bowl of previously frozen fruit salad that had been defrosted in the microwave 10 minutes prior to serving. It looked warm and bruised. How appetizing.
Of course, I’d like to think the sole dietary as well as visually appealing standout were my corn muffins. While not vegan, at least they were not likely to give anyone a heart attack. Made with egg beaters and skim milk and filled with fresh corn kernels and green chile they were a big hit.
The dregs of the breakfast still linger in the breakroom, with each passing moment gathering more and more potential food poisoning. Why is it then I have the strongest urge to snap up a pig in a blanket?
A call to the office locusts!!! Please (re)descend!!!!
