Diet

It starts now.

Not to sound all girlie and skinny=beautiful or anything, but recently I have increasingly started to dislike the way I look naked. I’m not comfortable in my clothes and I don’t feel pretty often enough for my liking. Ergo, healthy lifestyle starts NOW.

To help jump-start this I have come up with some guidelines. Not iron-clad (because as we all know, ‘Life happens’) but firm:

1) No eating after 8 PM if at all possible

2) No beer

3) Nothing that comes in silver paper or plastic that crackles (dark chocolate is NOT  junk food so long as its in moderation)

4) No white flour

5) Limited starches

 

Seems a good start, no?

 

 

Taco Night

Good god, I can barely breathe. I think my stomach has been stretched to such an extreme that I fear it has taken up some of the real-estate previously reserved for my lungs to expand into. But its OK, because if I die tonight I’ll die happy; full of fish tacos, mango salsa, guacamole, Mexican rice, 7-layer dip, three types of french cheeses, and if that wasn’t enough, maple pie, chocolate chip cookies, fresh fruit and vegan peanut-cocoa oatmeal squares. Oy.

So now I’m in bed feeling very much like and anthropomorphized whale. A satiated, newly-inspired-to-cook, exhausted whale.

*burp*

One of Us

My best friend in the world has held that title for going on a dozen years now. Its his birthday soon and his parents took him out for dinner tonight to celebrate. I was invited.
I know this may not sound like much but it is. He is gay and because he has not had a long-time partner for quite some time and because we are so close, I have come to be invited as a habit. Christmas I was at their family week at the cottage, I served as a bridesmaid at his sister’s wedding, I am in short, a staple in the family gatherings.
It feels so good.
I have had boyfriends and they have had families and I have gone on family vacations and dinner and all that, but never have felt so fully accepted and loved by a family other than my own (at least in my adult life).
We could not have had more separate upbringings. I am Jewish with an Israeli mother. His parents are WASPs. They ski. They golf. My mother bakes and crochets. He was in the marching band in his southern Florida high school. I took a pottery class at the local cultural centre. My family is loud, his, only after a few bottles of wine. I hug. They shake hands. You get the idea.
Despite this we are peas in a pod and our respective families know and are pleased. My family loves hm and vice versa. Its a warming feeling and I can only hope that when I meet the man I will spend real time with that my family love him as much and that his family opens their arms to me as widely as my BF’s have.
Its true that family is who you pick and not necessarily those with whom you share DNA. I have picked well.

Not Your Grandmother’s Tea Party (HM)

From 5:30 PM until just now (2:13 AM) I was at what started as a girls-only tea party (the partners were off together drinking scotch, smoking cigars and watching hockey).

It started with crustless finger sammies of all sorts, homemade scones with butter and jam, cookies, apple & berry crumble and jasmin-infused creme brule and slowly morphed into champagne with candied kuquats and choclate covered almonds and then red wine and more champagne.

As the menu morphed so did the conversation which meandered from literature to relationships to travel to orgies to alternative medicines to photography to families and back again.

I shoudl note that I arrived knowing only one woman in this very tightly knit group. The hostess I had met once, briefly but she was geenrou enought to extend an invitation to me and what was meant to be a stop-over on our way to a nightout of dancing turned into hours of laughter (to the pont of tears in one case), meaningful conversation and, after to menfolk decided that they’d have more fun with us, uproarious parlour games.

Its not often at the age of 31 in a city you’ve lived in almost all your life that one is given the opportunity to meet and spend such quality time with new people on an intimate level, but today I was given that gift. For that I am thankful.

My Happy Moment then is this night, filled with much laughter, interesting women, delicious food and the making of new friends.

PS: If you haven’t yet listen to Vanilla Fudge, DO IT. (yes, thats a band)

Happiness is a warm (HM)

bagel. Thats what John Lennon said right? Or something like that. If not, it *should* be what he said, because good lord is a hot Montreal bagel with tzatziki scooped right outta the container a thing of beauty.

But the real HM for me today was being out. Its not like I don’t go out, but this eve I rocked a great bra with matching underwear and did my eye make-up in a cat’s eye and looked (if you will permit me to be so brash) pretty fucking fabulous. It felt good. And when I feel good I am at ease with the world and all my interactions are easier and more relaxed.  Feeling good in my skin is the HM of the day.

Oh. And the bagels.