The Weight of My Weight

As an adult I have tried not to hide my fatness behind sugary words to make them more pleasing to the people around me or the strangers that see me. Fluffy. “Curvy”. Fun Size. Party Size.

Nah. I am fat.

The words out there designed to make my body more accepted and marketable to potential lovers, bosses, friends, or whoever has the misfortune of getting caught in my personal magnetic field are not my words. They are not the words I choose to define me. I do not care about someone’s discomfort with the word fat or the preoccupation society has with it. I move and giggle and take up space in a world that thinks being fat is the worst thing you can be. I live every day trying to balance the self-loathing coded in what seems to be every cell, every fiber, every particle in me with the urge to love myself and my stretched out skin and my flesh. Most days the balance tips in the direction of self-loathing, all of my progress sliding to the floor and shattering only to make the next day harder; each time asking myself do you need to radically change yourself to love yourself.

The Husband had bariatric surgery about a year and a half ago. He has done phenomenally, sticking to his medical program and shedding weight. He moves better. He feels better. Medical issues he had have cleared up. I went with him to the information session for surgery. I went to the consultation and follow ups for my own potential surgery - a gastric bypass to help with the  weight, pain, and medical issues that can sometimes accompany being fat. Everyone, the medical practitioners as well as myself, agreed I needed to work on my mental health and bring down my A1C before we could really moved forward. I never went back. Not because my process was delayed but because I can’t decide if it is right for me.

I don’t know if I have ever taken a diet seriously when I have tried to lose weight so a step like this seems drastic. I don’t exercise really. I gained back every pound I lost while working with doctors and then some. I am not happy with myself most of the time. But is something like this going to change that for me? Or will I just continue this balancing act at another size?

And then the internal argument bombards me with mixed messages that weigh me down further and make my heart ache. How can you feed into diet culture? How can you go outside when you look like this? Why let society dictate your appearance? How can you be a feminist if you think like this? Why did someone marry you, you cow? Why can’t you just practice what you preach and be stronger when it comes to body image? No one really loves you. No one really likes you, they just tolerate your existence because they feel bad for you. WHEN THE HUSBAND LEAVES YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE SO DISGUSTING, NO ONE WILL EVER WANT TO BE WITH YOU. YOU WILL DIE ALONE.

Let me tell you, this shit is exhausting. But I get it. I get why I fight this fight in my head. I preach the gospel of accepting yourself and your body to everyone yet at the end of the day I have nothing nice to say about myself or my body - other than I think my eyes are nice because they are so dark you can see through them to the depths of hell and that I am doing a-ok in the breast department. I try to reconcile this drift between who I am to myself and who I am to others. How can I continue writing as my authentic self if my self is in what seems like a lifelong civil war?

So I simmer, letting these thoughts marry until over and over the same thought bubbles to the surface gasping for oxygen: is thinness the key to happiness?

I can’t believe it is. That is one thought I can reject even if it fights its way to the top continually. Rearranging my organs can’t cause happiness. Starving myself can’t cause happiness. Fighting myself can’t cause happiness. Could this be the moment where I let go of the years of bullshit? The diet culture and shame that seem to be bred into me?  Is this where I lean in to the wind and let my weight, for once, work in my favor - letting it tip me over so I can fall in love with myself?

I will prepare a parachute, just in case.

-MPA

Back on the Horse?

Wow. So I never ended up making that Singapore Chow Mei Fun (womp womp). And life has been cray, 50 Shades of Cray. BUUUUT, a lot of awesome stuff has happened with a dash of terrible and a lot of crying.

On an extremely positive note: I am an Auntie again! The wee neice is beautiful and perfect. And has the coolest room ever, thanks to her crafty mom and carpenter dad.

I also took on a new RHPS role: Dr. Frank-N-Furter! This is/was awesome. However, the lead up to it was...not. It was a week of tears. I am pretty sure I cried myself dehydrated. I had packages of costume pieces and make-up stolen after delivery (Bless Amazon for being so great about stolen shipments/refunds.). Costume pieces not fitting. Things being comically too small. And some epic last minute punting by The Husband.

The show was good. For those who are unaware of my RHPS nerdage: The cast I am in is one I directed for a few years a while back. I spent years stage managing shows or just taking notes while directing. I am hyper-critical of my own performance (not as much for others). I got in my head, BAD. I decided EVERYTHING I did was out of sync with the movie, so I set up camp in my head and totally psyched myself out. I can say I didn't totally suck. It needs some work, but it is not the end of the world.

Even more fun, was the show the night before. Getting to see a friend tackle the same role and NAIL IT was so exciting. It isn't often a bunch of new Franks drops in your lap and this October our cast has 3! Bow chick wow wow.

More interesting posts to follow, I swear.

The Crackhead Argument

Lately, The Establishment has been quiet. Less people in and out. No children and infants hanging outside. It was the calm before the storm.

As The Husband and I were leaving to head out to Arlington yesterday, a… gentleman left The Establishment. He looked inebriated. At the very least hopped up on something. His gait was swirvey at best and he didn’t look like he was of sound mind. He was in front of us by a few yards. Then the spectacular shouting match started.

From behind us, another… gentleman started to engage the head lady at The Establishment in what can only be described as the “no, YOU’RE a crackhead” argument.

It goes a little something like this:

Head Lady in Charge: You’re a fucking scumbag!

Gentleman: I’m a scumbag? You’re a fucking crackhead! Fucking meth head!

*back and forth for a minute on each being scumbags, crack heads, meth heads and crazy pieces of shit*

Gentleman: Just remember, my cousin is a cop you bitch!

HLIC: You’re a fucking scumbag! Your crackhead!

The man ahead of us, looking like he was a tweaker who just got some sweet Shaboo, stopped and waited for the other gentleman and they walked off into the hot afternoon together.

Because Gloucester.

The "Dressing Up" Experiment

It's a fairly well known fact that getting a new 'do can make you feel like a million bucks. Fresh hair easily corrolates to fresh attitude. Last night, I did not put myself down at all while having an intimate discuss with The Husband. I even went as far as pointing it out. It went like this--paraphrased to keep the identity of the innocent secret and because I can:

MPA: Beautiful Amazon friend's butt would be much better to bongo on than mine.
TH: ZOMG, you have a good butt. Blah, blah, blah (*please read that the way Ke$ha sings it).
MPA: Silencio. I didn't say anything negative about my tush. I am merely pointing out that the shape of hers--
TH: YOUR'S HAS A GOOD SHAPE!
MPA: I am not saying anything bad about my butt. I am just pointing out that the shape of hers is better for bongoing and would be, in terms of tone, much better than mine. I am in no way saying mine is bad.

Boom.
It happened. I didn't put myself down. I could have. It would have been so easy to slip a quick dig in, but I didn't. It was weird. And surprising. But strangely nice.

So, I decided to take that and run with it. Knowing I am capable of not being terrible to myself coupled with the notion that altering something about yourself can equal a new 'tude, I decided to create an experiment. If I dress up, will it impact the way I view myself/help me further this being nice to myself thing I have going on?

Step back, y'all! I am doing (social)science.

 

 

Here is the formula:

 

(SpH*2) + (GgS/Mu*SkCardie)/HSg= New MPA

 

For those of you not up on my COMPLETELY made up fashion math:

SpH=Spikey Heel

GgS= Gold glitter Skirt

Mu= Make-up

SkCardie= Skull Cardigan

HSg= Hot Sunglasses

 

I've discussed make-up before. Black eye liner, gold and neon eyeshadow, and oxblood lipstick go a LONG way in my book.

 

The shoes are TEH SEX.

The outfit is cute. and easy. I told The Husband I felt like a fat hooker and that I was totally ok with it.

Here are the results:

I feel like people are looking at me differently. Like they feel like I am a put together person.

I feel like I look good. I even complimented my legs with hte heels on.

I have not turned any compliment into a negative.

I don't feel better about myself/more confident/anything like that.


Verdict?
I clean up well, but looking #swankyasfuck does not make me feel better about myself.

The Concept of Home

There are two things in my family that seem to be temporary situations: marriage and where you live. Something I continually struggle with, in my lighter and darker times, is the concept of home.What is it? Where is it? Where is mine? Why don't I feel like it applies to me?

Please understand that I 100% mean the abstract, conceptual meaning here. The place where you feel home instead of your physical habitat. Nor am I talking about the idea that home is where your heart is, because to quote Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog: "...Home is where your heart is/So your real  home's in your chest." I've never been one to share feelings. And while co-habitating with The Husband is great, I don't feel like I am "home" because he is there.

We moved around. A lot. Or at least a lot for the average family. Places I can remember living? 13. 14 if you count my semester of dorm living and 15 if you count my Aunt's house in San Diego where I spent most of my summers. There were 3 (I think) other places where we lived but I was too young to remember. Other than a trailer in New Hampshire, we didn't own any of the places where we lived. When you move around that much you learn not to become attached to the house/apartment/cottage/whatever where you lay your head. I have learned a lot moving around this much: Moving is terrible. Never fully unpack--you don't know when you'll have to pack it all up again. Always know where your empty boxes are or where to get some (working retail really helped here!). Use those 3M sticky hooks instead of nails so you don't have to fill holes later. Resepct the integrity of the place and clean the hell out of it when you leave to make sure your get that security deposit back. Learn to make do with the tiniest of kitchens.

That lack of attachment has always made me feel like I don't have a "home" to call my own. The nomadic instincts are still in me. I cruise craigslist all the time for apartments and condos and houses. Not that we are in a position where we could afford to move/rent/buy anything else right now, but there is a weird bit of hope that comes through when I comb through these ads. An idea of what could be. A buried need to feel the security of having both a home and a "home." To not fear the security deposit. To decorate and paint and create living spaces unabashedly. To throw a dinner party or any party really and not worry about the space. The freedom to do anything I chose in the privacy of something that is truly mine (well, ours). And to not worry about if there is lead paint in this old ass apartment if I become pregnant.

But "home" isn't just a home. It's where you are truly rooted. For some, their home country or the town they grew up in, etc. provides that feeling. I suppose, the closest I have is Gloucester. It's about as homey as I can muster. not a terrible place but there is much to be desired. Sometimes I wonder if going back to San Diego would be a better fit and make me feel more at "home". Unfortunately, I can't shake the feeling that, much like my father, "home" is Hawai'i. Beautiful, magical, mysterious, something that I feel a part of and is a part of me.

Maybe I am not destined to know. Perhaps I am meant to be nomadic, never truly rooted. I just often wonder what I am missing by having a home but never a "home."

Birthday! And What I Learned While Being 28

The Husband knew exactly what I needed for my birthday. Just us, on an adventure, shopping, and dinner. Whattaguy!

We went to Kittery, Maine to the outlets for some much needed bra shopping. Then we went to Newington, New Hampshire to the Fox Run Mall. There are two things here that I love more than anything: Torrid and a candy store that has the BEST CARAMEL APPLES on Earth.

The candy store stopped selling these delicious, godsent apples during the summer. I literally cried the fattest tears of my life when we found this out. Y U NO HAVE MY APPLES???? Its the ONE THING I was truly looking forward too, ya know, other than hanging with The Husband. I was ready to take a picture of its majesty and posting it all over the internet. Instead, I was devastated by not having a sugary apple. What has my life become?!?!

I’ll tell you. It has become skull print and I couldn’t be happier. I got a skull print cardi, a skull print sweater, and shorts with skulls, knives, 13s, and generally spooky shit on them. Not a bad haul. Thank the lawwwwd that Torrid caters to spooky loving fatties!

But before the skull bonanza, The Husband recovered the day by purchasing me my very own dinglehopper! I immediately became sad that I chopped all my hair off and am far less mermaid/manatee like now. But I have a dinglehopper! Of my very own!

DINGLEHOPPER!

Dinner was at the British Beer Company which was quite delicious. I suggest the steak and ale pie with bubble and squeak potatoes. And duck confit egg rolls!!! Nom! But seriously, bubble and squeak potatoes are the best mashed potato dish I have ever had. What is this weirdly named dish I praise so high? Take some mashed potates, add cabbage and chopped meat (they use bacon), and fry. Boom! Life changed. Don’t worry, I am sure I will make this soon and post the tasty results.

 

Almost Birthday

Tomorrow marks a whole 29 years of me crawling/walking/stumbling around the Earth.

I HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE celebrating my birthday. I have actually had consistently terrible birthdays since my teens with a few decent ones peppered in to get my hopes up. This is something I have made peace with and I generally try to spend my day holed up, avoiding contact with the outside world.

 

Facebook is the beign of my existence that day. I appreciate that the FB lets everyone know when your birthday is in case they didn't know/forgot/whatev. Given the fact that most of us store everything electronically instead of taking the time to commit things to memory (phone numbers, birthdays, events, etc), it makes sense to gently nudge ourselves with information we may not recall easily. Good on ya, FB. A fair ammount of people I am friends with on the site are not people I see often but still enjoy being in contact with. A smaller margin is family and friends or coworkers I see on teh regular. A slightly higher percent are people I added in the area when I was working for a local business and trying to expand our customer base. I never unfriended them. I thought it was rude. Some of these people I knew from highschool and don't even like (I was commited to getting more foot traffic. What can I say? I am a loyal employee.).

 

For some reason, people that have never liked you (and vice versa) or don't actually know you feel compelled to wish you a happy birthday because it is popped up on the side bar. As well as people who legitimately only speak to you once a year, when they wish you a happy birthday on facebook. My phone blows up with alerts. Its overwhelming, slightly touching, and weird all at the same time. I suppose it is similar to when you are talking to someone you just met and realize a life event just happened and you congratulate them/wish them well or what have you. You have no connection but it is the social norm to do so. No one wants to look like that asshole who avoids this construct in our culture.

 

It's nice that in our busy world, we stop to wish these people in our lives-however peripherally-a happy day. It's some faith in humanity restored. Unless they are someone you have known issues with. Then I think it looks like a bit of one-uppsmanship.

 

I plan on laying a little low. Getting some lunch and then going shopping with The Husband. Nothing overwhelming, aside from the influx of wall posts.

 

There is a wee tradition at work where the day closest to or day of your birthday (at least on my side of the office) where your desk gets decorated. Since I am not in tomorrow, I got decorated today. Last year was filled with epic hand made signs and drawings of Hello Kitty and Pinke Pie (adorbs!). This year is just as nice. Thanks, co-workers! Its just enough celebration for me :)

 

 

So many drinks at my desk 

 

 

Here's to cute clothes, tasty food, and most people I know being at Boston Comic Con-hopefully too busy to drain my phone of all of it's battery. :)

"The Establishment"

I do not live in the best part of Gloucester. It is certainly not the worst, but there is a half-heartedly scrubbed area on the front of the building where you can still read the green spraypaint that says the only word you need to understand some of my neighbors-Meth.

Some of my neighbors are perfectly respectable! Others border on suspicious to say the least. A few doors down is what will hear by be know as "The Establishment." Upon first moving in, I noticed one of the many bumper stickers on their front door was a warning that a crazy bitch lived there. I appreciate the headsup. Truly. Over our few years on the block, the stickers changed and the odd cast of characters have not... At least not that much. Due to the constant stream of people in and out, The Husband and I decided that The Establishment was an illegal boarding house. After discussing it with a friend who knows the seedy underbelly of the area pretty well, and their seeing some of the individuals milling about, confirmed there was a known dealer of the drugs in there. None of this bothers me. To each their own. Until your friends come up to my car window, clearly jonesing and looking for you, I won't car. Even then... I will care some but once they are ambling in a different direction all is well.

The jonesing guy did happen. He was totally cool when we explained that even though we were parked infront of The Establishment that we didn't know any one inside. He milled around their door then shambled down the street.

Since then, the street pharmacist has appeared to leave and the foot traffic has calmed down. Sadly, with him went the very large, derpy husky that jung out of the window.

For a while a sign of cardboard let you know "PUT IT OUT OR STAY OUT!" Perhaps to ward off the previous mix of people coming by? Maybe they quit smoking? Although, one of the ladies there did ask someone walking by if they had a ciggarette. So maybe trying to quit? IDK.

We had been Establishment-incident free for a while, but then Saturday happened. Our car was parked out front and as we were getting in I noticed an adorable child, approximately 3 years of age standing outside. Alone. Well, alone in the sense that there was no adult with him. There was an infant with him in a carriage. Being naturally curious, like a 3 year old do, he was playing with the part of the carriage that sheilds the infant from the elements. It was a pretty cool day for the summer, no blazing sun but some nice breeze. The proprietor of The Establishment came out and told the kid not to play with it because its too cold for the baby.

Yeah. You read right. She left the house to tell him its too cold outside for the baby. While these children are waiting outside for whoever brought them there. She did stay out there with them, at least until we left on our bougie trip to Whole Foods. I was so concerned... Like what are you doing in this place that makes you feel it is ok to leave an infant and a 3 year old outside in not the greatest part of town?

We returned from our trip to Whole Foods and parked in pretty much the same spot. The children were now inside, The Husband pointed out as the carseat part of the carriage was missing. Then I saw the screen door. A shirtless 3 year old stood staring at me. This child proceeded to grill me on why I was parking there. Why don't you park in front of your own house? Why do you live here? The longer the questioning went on, the less I could understand him. He divided his time between grilling me and letting everyone in The Establishment know he was grilling me. We made a break for it when he got tied up talking to those inside. We grabbed our haul and walked away. The Husband reminded me you can't reason with a 3 year old.

He has a point. You really can't reason with a child that young. However there is no understanding your neightbors sometimes.

Hopefully, they will get up to their old hijinks and I can start filling you in on the regular of the weird shit going on at The Establishment.

Tutorial: Buffalo Cauliflower

In an effort to try new recipes (ala TBT #9) and to eat vegetarian half of the week, The Husband suggested trying buffalo cauliflower "wings" MONTHS ago. This has made the weekly menu a few times but always gets knocked out for other tasty treats. This week, we bought a beautiful head of cauliflower from Whole Foods and stuck to the plan (go Team Awesome!).

I watched a bitchin' tutorial from The Rad Fat Vegan on youtube and read a few recipes to get a general idea of how to make it, then struck out on my own. We had a tight budget this week so I opted to use regular flour instead of buying tummy-friendly flour (read as: GF flours/rice flour/etc), but stuck mainly to the ingredient lists I saw-which were surprisingly almost all the same.

I could have baked them longer as I longed for more crunch. The Husband did not like it. At all. Good on him for trying, though. Veggies are still an exciting new frontier for him.

Here's what you need:
Software:

• 1 head of cauliflower
• 1/2 cup of flour
• 1/2 cup of water
• 2 tbs buttah
• Your choice of buffalo sauce or hot sauce
• The Holy Trinity (salt, pepper, garlic powder)
• Cooking spray and/or parchment paper
• Bleu Cheese or Ranch dressing for dip-dips

Hardware:

• Baking sheet
• Measuring cups
• Whisk
• Large bowl or 2
• Wee bowl (microwaveable)
• Thongs
• Cutting board
• Kitchen knife

Now let's make some veggie "wings"!

1. Preheat your oven to 450 (Crank the AC if you have one in the kitchen-450 is sweat inducing- you lucky, lucky bitch).
2. Cut that beautiful head of cruciferous goodness (that's the cauliflower)! Cut out the green leafy bottom. Then cut into bite-sized florets.
   
3. In a bowl add flour and The Holy Trinity to taste. mix together with whisk and start adding water slowly. The batter you end with should be pancake batter thick or a little thinner. If you don't like the consistency, add more water or flour until you are happy with it.
   
4. Ready your baking sheet for a trip to tasty town. If using parchment paper, you don't NEED cooking spray but feel free to use it if you like. Otherwise, spray yo' sheet.
5. Now dip that shit! Cover the whole floret in batter and shake off the excess. Place on sheet. Repeat until all the cauliflower is coated, then toss in the oven.
   
6. Bake approx 10 minutes. Batter should be kind of firm but not browned.
7. While its baking, make some sauce. Melt the butter in the microwave-or if you are in a teeny tiny apartment and don't have a microwave, make a double boiler and melt some butter. Pour in Buffalo sauce (I dig Frank's or Archer Farms-the Target brand) and add some garlic powder. mix together. I think I used about half of the bottle.
   
8. Take the veg out and toss it in the sauce, coating each piece with firey deliciousness. Return to baking sheet and pop back in the oven.
9. Bake another 15 minutes or until the batter has firmed back up. Bake longer for a crunchy coating.
   
10. Plate and serve with a side of dip-dips. I prefer Marie's bleu cheese dressing.
11. Die of happiness before the cruciferous-ness works its questionable magic (wink, wink).

Happy snacking!
-MPA

TMI Time! Fat Girl Problems: The Search For Sexy

**This post will, toward the end, discuss a sexual encounter with The Husband. It is fairly detail-less and not at all porn-y but the disclaimer is there.**
 
I follow some body positive blogs on the internet and tumblr. While I identify with those that lean on the more fat positive (duh.), I feel strongly that it is just as hard to be “too” skinny as well. Lately, a lot of the blogs I have looked at are focusing on larger women wearing whatever they damn well please (Fatkinis, crop tops and leggings, etc) regardless of our fatphobic culture. The idea is to own your largeness instead of being afraid of it. To find what makes you the whole motherfucking package to someone. But mostly, to see the beauty others seen in you and feel sexy (so scandalous for a fattie!) in your skin.

 

How does one feel sexy while fat while living in the good ol’ USofA? Is it lingerie? Is it walking around the house naked as a jaybird while telling yourself you are sexy? Is it wearing whatever you please, whenever you please and not internalizing the stares or comments?

 Clearly, I have no idea. I never have. Sexy is not something I feel. There are days why the jiggle of my thighs or the swaying of my arms/wings doesn’t bother me. Days when my double chin doesn’t disgust me to some degree. For years I stopped going to the beach on the premise that I was doing others a favor-they didn’t have to see me in a bathing suit. In all actuality, it was my deepest fear that people would stare and make comments-or mistaken me for a very white, beached whale that had this misfortune of eating a plus-sized swimmer before getting tangled in her tragically ugly clearance one-piece. I mean, Jeezey Creezey, I have been in a Rocky Horror cast on and off since high school and two weeks ago wore the least I have ever worn in a show (It was a bitchin’ Eve costume I made for an Epic Rap Battle pre-show). Even then all I kept saying to The Husband and anyone who listened was how naked I felt. But the subtext there was not that I was showing a lot-I wore a tunic length tank top with a garter belt, two pairs of underwear, and fishnet thigh highs (in the RHPS that is pretty damn covered!)-but more that I felt like I looked… Fat.

Now, I am fully aware of my size. I 100% am fat. There is no sugar coating that. The word fat doesn’t bother me. If anything, the only term that bothers me is the hushed way people describe you as “a bigger girl.” Just grow a pair, say fat, and move on. Obviously I looked fat. You can’t hide what you are. My concern wasn’t that I hoped I somehow looked less large than usual… but that I looked fat in a way that makes thinner people look at me with pity. The look that toes the line between feeling bad that I look the way I do and being disgusted that I have the audacity to dress in so little in front of them. This look is what has made me take a back seat in the show since high school. I can count one hand the times I have played a major role in the show. Each one had options for remaining fully clothed. Each pre-show I was in kept with that trend. I spent most of my time doing tech work or stage managing.

 Recently, I lost a little weight. I am not trying to diet. I am trying to eat better: less take out, less meat, and more veggies. I am trying to limit gluten so I don’t spend hours in pain. Exercise and I have a very limited relationship. Will that change? Yes. Not because I feel like I need to be a size 2 but because I want the next big adventure in my life to involve children and I need to take care of myself before I can take care of others. This weight loss isn’t major. It’s a step in feeling more comfortable in my skin. Comfortable but not sexy. I give far fewer fucks about my thighs jiggling or touching or the inevitable chub-rub I get when wearing skirts and dresses. In an effort to embrace this new-ish me, I decided to leave the lights on during sexy-time with The Husband. *Please note, this incident took place at the height of my weight loss a few months ago* Lights on. All jiggly parts visible. Not cowering in the dark or hiding under a blanket. I, for the first time in recent memory, attempted to own my largess. Things were going quite well, until I looked at my shadow.

 What possessed me to look to the side where the wall was is unknown. But there, where my back should be was a tsunami of back fat that rippled and threatened to break on my head, drowning me in an eddy of shame. I could feel it move but it wasn’t until I saw it that everything came crashing (da dum tsss) down. If I can see this, how terrible must it be for him? The current is moving away from him, so I guess it is ok? How disgusting am I? How grossed out must he be that this is what he married? I have waves of back fat that could devastate a small island nation. And then I started crying. Uncontrollably. And then weeping. Unable to breath, weeping, panic attacking, nauseated, nose running, hot mess crying. Nothing gets you a one way ticket out of boner-ville like the above stated trauma. Naturally, The Husband handled it like a champ assuring me he did not feel that way and that I was beautiful, etc. It didn’t help. If anything, it made me feel worse. This is when I really jumped off the better eating wagon. Which naturally made me feel even more terrible about myself.

What have I learned from this? I have no idea how to feel sexy. Wearing next to nothing: Epic Fail. Losing weight and lights on sexy time: Epic Fail. Maybe the answer is to get a crop top and some (more) leggings. Maybe the answer is using RHPS to put myself out there more in front of others. Until then, I will rock my graphic tees, jeans, and cardigans while lamenting it isn’t cool enough out for tent-like sweatshirts.

-MPA

Anniversary Scavenger Hunt

Clearly, I didn't get this done alone the way yesterday. I was too busy enjoying it and too nervous to drop my phone in some sand. My apologies!

I got up early enough to beat my mug into perfection.

This was a struggle, not the mug-beating but the getting up. I had stayed out late with a friend and JACKED my foot up. Naturally, I had taken my sandals off on Pavilion Beach so I wouldn't get sand in the footbed. I channeled my inner geology student and climbed some rocks... barefoot. I slid a little and jammed my toe and foot. Ouch. It's ok. Dr. The Husband fixed me up, washing sand and debris from my wound and dealing with me crying like a child when he used alcohol and skin sheild.

The premise of today's hunt is for me to travel around to places that have some kind of meaning to us and meet up with friends along the way to navigate me through the guessing. I have italicized its meaning for those who are curious.


First Stop: Pleasant Street Tea Company in Gloucester
This is our coffee place. This is were we go if we want coffee or tea and aren't running late for life. Upon arrival I cheated and looked around the parking lot across the street to see if I could easily identify any of them. Success! I go in and find our friends Jaimie and Paul along with their fabulous daughter. Order a fancy coffee and caught up while the wee one rearranged the shops furniture (the feng shui must have been off).

Second Stop: Tuck's Candy in Rockport
I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE taffy. OMG. So friggin much. The Husband has learned this well because everytime we are downtown or in town for the 4th of July, I have to stop. We arrived and I was handed off to my next guides, Krystal and Tristan. We shopped for delicious candy (taffy and old fashioned candy sticks for me!) before departing on to the next stop.

Third Stop: Pavilion Beach in Gloucester
Pavilion, famouse for The Greasey Pole and Seine boat races is my thinking spot. If I am having a rough time dealing with something or we get into a fight and I need to leave, The Husband knows he can find me here--perched on a rock. Possibly the one that jacked me up on Saturday.Still with the awesome Krystal and Tristan, we parked in St. Peter's Square, home of St. Peter's Fiesta. We deviated from the plan and went on a hunt for coffee. Lone Gull was open and we sat in wonderfull leather seats and drank our deliciousness. [Side Bar: San Pellegrino Pompelo (Grapefruit) soda is fantastic! I don't usually go for white grapefruit products but this was totes worthit!) We trecked back to the beach where we talked and I started to sun burn--something I didn't find out until much later.

Fourth Stop: Captain Dusty's in Manchester
We love ice cream. We have three spots we like it from, Captain Dusty's or Richardson's for hard serve and Long Beach Dairy Maid for soft serve.The fourth stop brough great joy to me! Waiting at the ice cream shop were my brother-in-law, sister-in-law and their two adorable wee ones! There is something so terribly adorable about listening to children order their own ice cream. One so confidently, like he was born to annihilate the cone and the other so sweetly, with a shy little 1-inch voice. After enjoying my kiddie sized wildcat (butterscotch ice cream with oreos in it. Seriously. It's real.) we headed to my next destination.

Fifth Stop: West Beach in Beverly Farms
Prior to meeting The Husband, I would drive by West Beach. Sometimes I would get huffy and be like "really, Bev Farms? You need a private beach? *scoffing noises*" Then we met and his family is partially from there. Do they neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed a private beach? Meh. Is it one of the best beaches around? Hell to the yes. It's beautiful and even though I received the WORST sunburn of my life there, I'd happily go there anytime. Perks to being a private beach? My sister-in-law and I had a cup of Chard while relaxing on the veranda. Does it get any better? I don't think it does. Fun Fact: West Beach was where we originally planned to have our wedding ceremony. It also home to many family events in the summer.

 

 

Sixth Stop: Salem Willows

I arrived at the Willos to find my pal Aimee waiting. Why the Willows, you may ask. What is so special about a few arcades, delicious candied popcorn, chow mein or egg foo yung sandwiches? It was the spot of our second date and being the gentleman he is, he gave all of our tickets to a child after. Aimee and I decend upon the madness and do the smart thing: only cash in $2 each for playing. I could have wasted all of my money on the skee ball. I have a problem. We played in one arcade where an adorable little girl stole all of my tickets when I finished playing. NBD, wee one, i don't need them anyway. Seriously, what am I going to get for 20 tickets or less? We wandered over to the other arcade where I was met with my second arcade love: Pin Ball. I am no Tommy, but I love that shit. I did terribly and it cost three quarters to play (a bit pricey, me thinks). Of course I did terribly, I played Monopoly... I hate Monopoly more than any human should hate something. #YOLO

 

 

And there was more skee ball to be played in the second arcade!

We gave our tickets to the cutest little guy who was rocking out to Guitar Hero. I didn't even though they made an arcade version of it! Guitar Hero wasn't the only musical...thing in the second arcade. They had the creepiest old display that if you put in a dime, old scary monkeys "played" music.

And the one in the bottom right corner looked like he was playing with boobs.

Dirty monkey!

Seventh Stop: Salem Beer Works (in Salem... if the name didn't give it away)

For a long time, this was our spot. If we were going out to dinner, 9 times out of 10 you could find us here. We've had a lot of good food, good beer (for him), and good laughs, like that time we both ordered foot long hot dogs and died after they came out:

                                                                            

Aimee and I enjoyed some lunch while discussing the important things in life: people we don't like, work, food, and pets. :)

Eight Stop: Tuck's Point in Manchester

This is the site of our wedding ceremony.

Aimee left me in the company of Sam and Stan, the maid of honor and best man of our wedding. Sam had a cute bouquet for me that was similar to my wedding bouquet. We milled around breifly and after almost being run over by a child on a bike, decided it was time to head to the final stop.

Nineth Stop: My In-Laws' home in Manchester

Not only have they been lovely and welcoming since day one, they were kind enough to let us live there with them for a while AND it was the location of our reception. I won the in-law jackpot, y'all.

I was blindfolded for this. I walked down the yard, led by Sam and Stan, like I was drunk. There, waiting for me was a kilt-clad Husband on one knee holding a ring he gave me as wedding gift. He proposed to another year, but naturally before he got a word in he was told the blind folding would never again happen (I know how to make him feel loved.). I accepted in front of everyone and we had a lovely bar-b-que with those nearest and dearest to us.

It was a a wonderful day, filled with pure joy and love. I couldn't have asked for a better anniversary.

 

The only thing I'd do differently? Wear sunblock.

The photo doesn't do it justice. It is way worse than it looks.







Whaaaaaaaaaat? *Confused Face*

As I explained on my facebook, I don't spend much time or thought on promoting this blog. It just doesn't cross my mind.

After the ramen post, I put a link up and holy shit! I got 60 views in a day. I feel almost internet famous. Like F-List fmous but still almost internet famous. So, thanks for reading!

Today will be mildly uneventful. Just some errands then meeting up with an old friend later on. Oh. And currently binge watching Gavin and Stacey.

Tomorrow, The Husband is sending me on a guided scavenger hunt for our anniversary.  I am very nervous about it. Mostly, because I haaaaaaate not being in control. I am going to post about it throughout the day, editing the same post with updates.

Until then, thanks again for reading!

Asian Food Love, or How to DIY Ramen

Lately, I have had an insatiable need to eat Asian food. All of it. Pho? Yes, please. Chinese everything? I'm on it. Dumplings? Lawwwwwwd. I love dumplings. And ramen. Sushi. You name it, I want it IN MY BELLY, right meow.

Happy Dumplings in Gloucester (https://www.facebook.com/#!/Happy.dumplings.gloucester) is my jam. They have insanely good dumplings of the traditional (pork and cabbage, pork and chinese chives) and untraditional (beef taco is soooooooooooo good). Their dipping sauces are ON POINT. The steak and cheese eggrolls come with a horseradish dressing that is perfection. They have spicy ramen with beef or pork that you can pick you can customize by picking your noodle type (lemme holla at them (gluten free!) rice noodles, plz). Soft boiled egg, bean sprouts, bok choy (may be even DJ Baby Bok Choy)... My brothy dreams are made of this.

But their hours, at least for this month, don't jive with my work schedule. My wallet doesn't want to shell out for take-out elsewhere when this is all I want. AND I certainly don't want the pre-packaged stuff at the store, even if it is $0.60 a package. There is like 2400 grams of sodium in that! And the noodles aren't gluten free.

What's a frugal bitch to do? Make that shit yo'self, gurrrrrrrl... And by shit, I mean ramen. Dumplings are too time consuming for a week night. Is it authenic? Naw. But is it tasty? Hell yes.

Here's what you need:
1 carton of Trader Joe's Miso Ginger Broth
2 baby bok choy, cut as small or large as you like. Feel free to use more. I wasn't sure how The Husband would feel about this so I went light.
1 package of shitake mushrooms. I got mine pre-cut.
Garlic
Soy sauce
1 package of firm or extra firm tofu (I don't remeber what I used), drained, pressed, and cut into cubes
Half a package of bean sprouts
Sesame Oil
Hot Sesame Oil
Sriracha (gotta get my rooster on)
Olive oil
Salt, pepper, garlic powder (The Holy Trinity)
Half a package of rice noodles
Eggs
A pinch of sugar
White vinegar--OPTIONAL

How to jerry-rig some ramen:

1. In a bowl, whisk together soy sauce, sesame oil, sriracha, and The Holy Trinity. Give it a try and add more to suit your taste. Toss cubed tofu in this. I poured the tofu and sauce into a large ziploc and upt aside until I was ready for it.
2. Empty the broth into a large pot. Set the burner on low. Stir occaisonally.
3. In a frying pan, heat some olive oil, sesame oil, and hot sesame oil on medium to medium high heat. Toss the mushrooms and baby bok choy in this to coat. Season with The Holy Trinity.
4. In a medium pot, cook rice noodle as directed on package. (Boil water, add noodles, cook for 3 minutes, drain)
5. Add garlic to the veggie mix (and more oil if needed. On the second go of oil I used Olive and regular Sesame). I love garlic. I have one of those large jars of minced garlic and added two heaping table spoons. Mix together and add bean sprouts. Cook until bok choy is tender. (I like mine a little crunchy)
6. Add veggies to broth.
7. Into same frying pan, dump tofu and marinade. Cook until hot, turning to get sides browned.
8. When noodles are done, add to large pot and mix well. Bring het up to medium high. Add a few dashes of soy sauce.
9. Add Water to the noodle pot and a capful or so of white vinegar. Once the water is simmering, poach them eggs!
10. Ladle out some ramen. Make sure to get some of everything! Spoon some tofu over the top. Add your poached eggs.
11. Send me a thank you email.

Husband-less Weekend Report

The Husband-less weekend went fairly well. I survived and he is home, so all is good. I accomplished less than I wanted to on Sunday but it happens.

Friday I worked. I took the train in and on the short walk to the station in town, I saw a fork on the ground. And by fork I mean DINGLEHOPPER. I didn't pick it up and I have regretted it since. I know, I know. I don't have a clue who's grubby hands or diseased mouth was on that thing, or anything else that could be on it from laying on the side of the street. I just wanted to take copious ammounts of selfies and send hilarious snapchats to friends and family of me using a dinglehopper. I have this bright red hair... What else am I supposed to do with it?

But, no... I left it there. Naturally after work, on my way to get some affordable, delicious sushi I looked for it but couldn't find it. Could there be another "red head" in town with my dinglehopper? There are enough seagulls around, could Scuttle have picked it up and brought it to a more worthy mermaid? Crushed, I ate my seabrethern and planned my Saturday.

 

 

Saturday... I got ready, and left early to walk to the train for two reasons: to search for my dinglehopper in the daylight and to get a spinach bagel with bacon-chive creamcheese. No dinglehopper. It disappeared, making me question my sanity. Was it ever really there? Was I just having another fantasy where I was a Disney princess? I wanted it to be part of my world. I drowned my sorrows in a coffee and stuffed all the feels back down with that magnificent bagel. For real. Whoever came up with spinach bagles and bacon-chive creamcheese is a NATIONAL TREASURE. Took the train to North Station and didn't know there was a day-time Bruins play-off game. Ugh. So many people. The highlights of people I saw in relation to the game:

• The Child wearing a Bruins jersey, Bruins foam hockey puck head piece, and a foam bear paw with claws on each hand.
• The DJ outside of the station.
• The insane ammount of women wearing cropped leggings to a HOCKEY RINK.
• The lady wearing short that were as long as underwear. Literally, the jersey she was wearing was the same length. It's an ICE hockey game.
• The homeless guy screaming about how much he loves hockey and the Bruins.
• The drunk guy that liked my hair.
• The nice guys I smoked next to explaining to someone that you knew the Bruins won because the people wearing Montreal jerseys weren't getting beat up.

 

I took the subway to Malden for the Big Thrifty event. Scored some deals and headed back to North Station. Upon arrival, a gentleman who looked like a young Henry in the show Eureka. I was so confused by it.

I could do worse, amirite?

Took the train to Salem, where I got a psychic reading after running into some friends I haven't seen in like 6 years. The reading went better than expected and I left in a good mood. I got some terrible food (worst mozzarella sticks of my life) before heading to the train station. I naturally befriended a recovering addict who was having a rough day. We, along with the other patrons of the MBTA got a real treat. We got to witness an EPIC break-up phone call. Searched AGAIN on the walk home for my lost dinglehopper but it really is gone. :(

 

Sunday was the most useless day. I got dressed and walked to Happy Dumplings. I have been talking about going there while The Husband was away for a week. I got there and their May hours do not include being open on Sunday. I walked back home with a great sense of failure, ordered some chinese food that I didn't want because all I wanted was Happy Dumplings, and binged on Cake Boss on Netflix. Made nachos which were hella good at about 9pm then did the laziest thing ever: I watched Priscilla, Queen of the Desert because it was what was still in the XBOX.

 

 

So, all in all, not bad. There were some high points and some lows but I survived. I'd prefer not to do it again for a while, though. And I seriously need some Happy Dumplings ASAP.







A Husband-less Weekend

Tomorrow, The Husband is flying to Florida for a few days. Usually, I am the one who goes away alone for a conference every year. The tables have turned and I have NO IDEA what to do with myself.

Here is the list of things I may or may not do while husband-less this weekend:

• Make fish cakes.
• Eat ramen and dumplings from Happy Dumplings in Gloucester
• Snuggle the cats.
• Go to The Big Thrifty in Malden (??? unsure on this one).
• Be touristy in Salem and get a psychic reading.
• Watch awful TV on Netflix.
• Write a video pre-show script for Rocky Horror
• Try my very best not to sleep all day err day

The only thing on this list that I know will 100% happen is snuggling the cats. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Back on Track?

This week I am getting over an awful chest cold that rendered me pretty useless. Tonight I make my "triumphant" return to kitchen witchery, whipping up some veggies and kielbasa which will be served over fries, as tacos, or as tostadas. I haven't quite figured it out yet. **UPDATE 5/1/14: None of the above. I made kielbasa, onion, mushroom, and pepper (bell and poblano) NACHOS. So wrong but so damn right... But I made my own tortilla chips so that counts, right?!?! Apparently my new fall back is FUCK IT! MAKE NACHOS!**

Other than that, I have returned to my meatless lunches and overall am feeling a little bit better. I am doing a daily yogurt (right now Chobani flips since they were on sale and are SO FLIPPING DELICIOUS [did you see what I did there?]!) for a snack at work. And eating a cucumber every day with a little bit of Kalamata Olive Hummus. Today I also rocked a Trader Joes Pizza Veggieburger. Lots of water and some seltzer. Minimal caffeine (like one caffinated beverage a day). Maybe a few sips of The Husband's full flavored soda. And some chips, because...chips.

Let's discuss the hummus and veggieburgers, shall we?

This kalamata olive hummus... I don't know how I feel. This is less Trader Joe's fault and more my forgetting that in the world of olives, kalamata is not my favorite. And there are some pieces of olive and pit in the hummus. Not terribly off-putting but I am hella nervous I'm going to crack a tooth on a piece of pit while at work. If you dig the kalamata and hummus and don't care about the possibility of needing dental work this is the hummus for you. Flavor is very olive-y/brine-y. Nice with cukes.

So, I know these veggieburgers are going to make me sick. I knew purchasing them they were not gluten free. But Pizza? In a veggieburger? What sorcery is this? Delicious sorcery, that's what it is. They are super tasty. I cooked them a little long so the edges were a little tough but nbd. That's my fault. Not too heavy on the basil (thanks the laaawwwwd), or cheese, or sauce. Or in not crazy speak: well balanced. My only ish? They are a little greasey.

Looking forward to continuing this habit. Maybe adding my smoothies back in too.

I realized, going through my phone that I have a bunch of food porn pictures. Maybe some more tutorials soon?

Fighting Food

I made a list around New Year's, aside from my TBT, of goals for the year. There is a little overlap but I decided instead of resolutions (which I inevitably break within a week) I would list out somethings to work on:

• Make healthier choices in terms of food and exercise.
• Work on my TBT list.
• Actively "date" The Husband.
• Spend more time with friends.
• Experiment more in the kitchen, both in terms of ingredients and recipes.
• Cut myself some slack. (self depreciation doesn't have to be my go to)
• Go back to Disney.
• Start learning a new language.
• Work on Rocky Horror costumes for Eddie and Frank, maybe Janet.

Food has always been my drug of choice and probably always will be. For me, nothing beats a terrible day like tearing into some food. I am not discerning either. While I am no Anthony Bourdain, there is little I will say no to. Stuffing myself to uphoria was the easiest way to cope in a world I felt I had little control over. Now, as an adult, I get to deal with the aftermath.

The Husband and I decided to start eating healthier. It certainly helped that I had been eating less gluten. The cutting out of breads and traditional pasta made the jump to healthier eating seem easier. When we went to  Disney World this winter, The Husband rediscovered mushrooms and green beans...even going as far to admit mushrooms made his meal better. Whoa. For him, that is huge. When we met, he was staunchly anti-veggie. Over our first 4 years together, I intergrated a lot of onion and pepper into our diet. I would also harrass him into trying other veggies that I made. He came around to asparagus on his own and I felt so proud of him. But then mushrooms were added and I was elated.

It was him who suggested we eat vegetarian a few nights a week. I tried to make it 3-4 out of 7 nights. I also cut meat out of my own lunches for a while as well as breakfasts.

We both saw the benefits of this change pretty quickly. He slimmed out in his chest and waist. I honestly don't think I look any thinner but people have said I do so I will go with that. We also felt better. We live on the fourth floor and the stairs became much easier as we ate better. The more gluten I cut out, the less migraines, nausea, and gastro issues I experienced.

Lately, we have fallen off the wagon. There has been a lot of take-out recently. My depression and anxiety have been pretty terrible. I don't want to cook (which is something I love doing) or do dishes or really do anything but sit on the couch and harrass the cats to sit with me. I have not been as careful as I should with gluten and have made myself sick almost daily because of it. But it didn't stop me. My personal well being was forgotten in order for me to feed the demons I have.

Addiction is something people don't like to talk about. When they do, it's usually only in reference to drugs, alcohol, and nicotine. Food should be right up there. It is a way of feeling high while remaining functional. The cravings can be painful. I try to keep snacks at my desk that won't make me feel guilty or shame if I eat them (vegetable root chips, gluten free rolled oats and sugar free syrup in the fridge), to help tame the need to eat while retaining some of my goal to be healthier.

Eggs and steamed rice have become my go to for nights I can't bring myself to answer the door for delivery... Wondering if the delivery person is silently judging me for ordering again in the same week. You'd think this anxiety would motivate me to cook and get back on track. That's a big fat no. It makes me want to have The Husband answer or have us alternate who goes in to pick it up so its not always the same face. My shame and guilt consume me, causing depression to a point where my body hurts. I feel like an awful person and a terrible wife.

The worst part in all of this, is that I am one of those assholes that watches food documentaries, who will shell out more money to buy organic and non-GMO products. I get on my wee soapbox to talk about chemicals we ingest and the state of farming in the country. But once the depression and anxiety hit hard... NONE OF IT MATTERS. I am 15 again: Boys don't like me because I am fat and ugly; I think no one actually likes me in general, they just pretend so they don't hurt my feelings; I am not good enough for anything, EVER; I am not worth saving.

I know these are all things I have to work on. I suppose in reality enough people like me for being me. And at least one boy likes me... He heard Beyonce and knew he had to put a ring on it. The rest? I am not on board with refuting yet. I am hoping sticking to eating well and cutting myself some slack will help.