As I search for the muscle to massage, my fingers can't help but be interrupted by bone. For there is no muscle on this body, only loose skin surfacing the bone. Emaciated bodies do not appeal to me. Yet they are the Vogue of my mind. As thin women walk down the street I notice my mind start to silently spit at them with thoughts of envy and accusations. " How lucky she must be never having to count calories!" or "How easy she must have it, while she slips everything on in the dressing room!" or "What great at sex she must be for she can ride on top and do it in the full light!"
Like the obsessed Frodo, salivating for the ring, I used to pray every day, asking God to remove my hunger or magically take away my belly bulge! I used to wonder what karma I must be living out with this body and wish for the gift of being thin in my next life.
The gift of being thin. It is the egregore of today. The WMDs that all are looking for but only few find and when they do find them they create massive destruction. Killing the inner spirit of children and polluting the standards of beauty. It has taken on a whole new shape, all the pun intended, in our societies twisted and narrow, yes, a pun again, mind or lack of. For when you are starving, your brain does not seem to function as well.
We see thin as in, even though we have to squint to get a glimpse of what we are looking at. I used to think thin people were strong willed, disciplined, and at the same time carefree and lucky. How happy and free would I be if the fluctuations and calculations of weight were not on the forefront of my mind? How much more work I would get done and how rich would I be! What would my world be like if I did not think about weight? I would save hundreds of dollars and save hours spent obsessing, crying, and eating away my struggles. I would swim more and have sex more and laugh more. The world would be my oyster and I wouldn't have to eat it!
I used to think skinny was IT until, I could not find the a pressure point. There are no pressure points in bone! There is no muscle to hold up the skin that creates a curve or a wave of what created masterpieces by artists over centuries. There is nothing to hold on to when the room is cold and the heart needs a friend. There is no conversation over what cheese pairs best with this chocolate or wine, for these bones do not know cheese. Nor do they know taste. They have been deprived from their senses, cut off from nutrition and held captive before the ego of restraint.
Have you ever touched a thin person. I mean skinny. I mean boney, meatless, maybe with an eating disorder, maybe not. Maybe through genetic-karma or maybe through natzie discipline. Regardless of the circumstances, have you ever held bone? Well, try massaging it. Try cuddling up next to it. Try eating next to it. It ain't easy.
I was giving a facial to an emaciated woman one night, and as my fingers searched for places to go, my head became clouded with horrible visions of starving children in 3rd world countries. It does not look good. It might look good covered with Versace, but it does not feel good. And I can assure you it does not taste good. The bone was hard and the skin draped over it like polyester on an iron fence. I pulled and dug, searching for the tension, searching for some meat to mold my healing fingers into and found nothing. Finally I found something. For the sake of comparison, imaging a Turkey leg at the State Fair and a frog leg at the little restaurant in Louisiana. The meat from the frog leg that I found was jaw tension. It must have been from something, for it sure as hell wasn't from eating. You know how sore your jaw gets when you are gnawing on beef jerky or frantically eating away your pains with nuts? I know that feeling all too well. But, this was unlike anything I have touched before. This was like teeth gnawing at teeth, bone devouring bone. For in my mind that is what I imagined her binge to be. Mental mirages where grinding the teeth to air is like a cheeseburger in paradise.
When you have no fat, you have no support, no leverage. Its like missing protein in a meal, you get hungrier sooner than later. Well I was hungry for a body. A life. All I saw were bones and a big head on top. The sagging breasts were the least of my worries. There was nothing to hold on to, no curves to gaze at, no ass to sit on. The front looked like slate rock covered with some pubic leaves and the back was like 1970's drapes hanging from the ceiling. Lovers don’t want that. They want an animal not a coat-wrack. Botechelli not PeeWee Herman. They want an ass to grab on to, breasts to pull and tug, a belly to see. Men are scientists, they want to know that when you eat, the food goes somewhere. Here I could only see the food in two places, in the toilet or locked in the fridge.
That was the other thing. I open the fridge and find pizza, peanut butter, cheese, chips, meats, chocolates, all stuffed, I mean stuffed to the point that it was difficult to shut the door. The fridge had not been cleaned out since Twiggy came to New York and it smelled like the kitchen of a highschool cafeteria. How? Why? How? How is it possible for a refrigerator to be so full and a body to be so void?
I finished the massage, said my goodbyes and spent my drive home digging deep with in myself. As I took off my clothes I thanked every inch, nook and cranny of my body, climbed in bed, grabbed my big ass, held onto my boobs and thanked my tummy for coloring my life with tastes! The Birth of Venus is my new mental image, not Victoria Secret adds!
When I see the lesson, the beauty, the fragility, the truth in situations like tonight, I am strong, for I just discovered the right pressure points for my body; my own; muscle, not bone!
Pizza Drive-through
There are no darn Pizza Drive-Throughs in this city! Of all foods! You have the burger and chinese joints, tacos and donuts stands, but no pizza! What is better to eat at 1 in the morning after 2 bogus parties with no appetizing food to nibble on and one hell of an identity crisis... Pizza! And drive throughs are crucial b/c who wants to get out of the car and be seen in public buying a greasy, cheesy pepperoni pizza all decked out in high fashion and make-up alone at 1am? Especially when you claim to be vegan! But lately this vegan experiment is slowly becoming my Dr. Jeckel and Mr. Hide moment...during the day I am good with the no cheese and meat but lately these nights have brought out the 'animal' in me.
It all started with me getting the news that I will be attending 3 different parties in Malibu. One being at Greta Garbos' old mansion, the other being at a restaurant opening, and the last one being at a producers' loft. That all sounded great, but I had been running errands all day in the valley dressed for a funky night consisting of one party and possibly dinner after. If I had known I was going to all these 'fancy' parties then I would definitely have dressed differently. So I was in a bind...should I go home to change into a more appealing outfit and be very late or should I take my chances in Ross and Macy's to find a new outfit? I decided to create my outfit in the spur of the moment and dive into Macy's! In that huge store, I loaded up my arm with all different styles of clothes, so much that I loss circulation. I then begged the woman to get me a dressing room where I polluted it with my ravenous attempt to find the perfect outfit... on top of that, an outfit that hopefully matched my red heals and black jewelry.
I soon began to realize that it was not only impossible to find an outfit in panic mode, especially one that matches red shoes, but it was ridiculous to even attempt. So I quickly got my original clothes on, popped the boobs out, and fluffed the hair, as I took a deep and said in the mirror, "I look and feel great!" (hoping and trying to believe myself).
I snuck out of the dressing room, dodging the poor girl who works there because I felt so bad for her help and my lack of purchases. I ran to my car and found myself in the lovely weekend traffic on my way to the first party. At this point I am already late but decide to pump myself up by listening to my Arabic music and dreaming of me in Egypt belling dancing on a Sphinx.
I arrived at this gorgeous mansion on the ocean in Malibu and as I walked down the stairs, I slowly began to smile with wide eyes realizing the laid back atmosphere I was entering. Of course, I was the dressiest one there and the only one wearing heals! My guest compliments how I look and I respond, "OH thank you, but if you only knew... now where is the wine!" We mingled there for a while and then headed onto the next party... I was constantly laughing at my idiotic panic over my attire as the night and casual people progressed. Everyone was dressed very simple and looked pretty normal. I was expecting Martin Scorcessi in a suit talking in the corner and Nicole Richie all decked out fainting at the buffet table at these parties and instead I got normal full figured, nice group of people.
The night ended late and I started to make my long trek home. A few emotional topics were discussed over the last glass of wine, which set the tone for my hour drive back. And which of course made me yearn for food. But in LA food is not available after 12 unless you go to Von's.; which is completely out of the question. If only there was a Pizza Drive-Through open! I looked at every corner and even searched for it in my GPS but could not find anything. Finally I got the great idea of going to Westwood. College kids know how to eat late and I was ready to eat! I found it; New York Pizza by the slice, perfect! So, I illegally parked and walked by the Middle Eastern restaurants where all the men howled at me as I passed. I smiled and blew off their compliments b/c I was on a self destruction or indulgent misison..call it what ever you want to call it ,for me it is indulgently self destructive! I order my pizza and had a lovely conversation with the chef. Awaiting the pizza to pop out of the oven, my attention was drawn to this woman eating alone in the corner. She was in her mid 40's and a little on the chunky side, but she was happily sitting alone devouring her pizza. I got mine to go so I could hide it in my car and fill my long drive with tasty treats. As I was walking back, I just so happen to pass this cookie parlor that was bright with lights and packed with people. I snap, "Nope!", and keep walking for about 3 steps as my body unconsiously turned around and like a possessed doll I walked right into the parlor. "Hell, I'm eating pizza at 1 am why not have cookies and ice cream, too"? I figured. Damn the gods for they did not have peanut butter cookies, so I settled for choc chip walnut with cookies and cream ice cream. As I was paying, I looked over my shoulder and who did I see behind me? That woman in the pizza restaurant. We smile at each other and she says," Some night, huh"? I nervously chuckle and force a smile with uncomfortably wide and scared eyes and say," uh huh..its been one hell of a day" She nods as if she understands, I get my huge ice-cream cookie sandwich, place it on top of my hot pizza box and walk away again like a guilty child who just stole from the cookie jar. I decided to sit outside and watch the action as I gnawed on my cheesy pizza... and guess who sat next to me, slurping up her ice cream? The pizza woman. I tried to avoid her as much as possible and I also tried to avoid eye contact with anyone passing me b/c I was not in the mood to talk and not in the mood to listen. I finished my pizza, got back into my car and headed back on the long drive home as I ate that ice cream like it was the last meal of my life! Even licking the cup it was placed in and loving every bite. When it was all gone, I was left with 20 minutes of driving in my car filled with the worst gas and mental indigestion. But it sure was a fun, little, self destructive indulgent adventure that left my life a little more colorful than if I had simply found a pizza drive-through.
It all started with me getting the news that I will be attending 3 different parties in Malibu. One being at Greta Garbos' old mansion, the other being at a restaurant opening, and the last one being at a producers' loft. That all sounded great, but I had been running errands all day in the valley dressed for a funky night consisting of one party and possibly dinner after. If I had known I was going to all these 'fancy' parties then I would definitely have dressed differently. So I was in a bind...should I go home to change into a more appealing outfit and be very late or should I take my chances in Ross and Macy's to find a new outfit? I decided to create my outfit in the spur of the moment and dive into Macy's! In that huge store, I loaded up my arm with all different styles of clothes, so much that I loss circulation. I then begged the woman to get me a dressing room where I polluted it with my ravenous attempt to find the perfect outfit... on top of that, an outfit that hopefully matched my red heals and black jewelry.
I soon began to realize that it was not only impossible to find an outfit in panic mode, especially one that matches red shoes, but it was ridiculous to even attempt. So I quickly got my original clothes on, popped the boobs out, and fluffed the hair, as I took a deep and said in the mirror, "I look and feel great!" (hoping and trying to believe myself).
I snuck out of the dressing room, dodging the poor girl who works there because I felt so bad for her help and my lack of purchases. I ran to my car and found myself in the lovely weekend traffic on my way to the first party. At this point I am already late but decide to pump myself up by listening to my Arabic music and dreaming of me in Egypt belling dancing on a Sphinx.
I arrived at this gorgeous mansion on the ocean in Malibu and as I walked down the stairs, I slowly began to smile with wide eyes realizing the laid back atmosphere I was entering. Of course, I was the dressiest one there and the only one wearing heals! My guest compliments how I look and I respond, "OH thank you, but if you only knew... now where is the wine!" We mingled there for a while and then headed onto the next party... I was constantly laughing at my idiotic panic over my attire as the night and casual people progressed. Everyone was dressed very simple and looked pretty normal. I was expecting Martin Scorcessi in a suit talking in the corner and Nicole Richie all decked out fainting at the buffet table at these parties and instead I got normal full figured, nice group of people.
The night ended late and I started to make my long trek home. A few emotional topics were discussed over the last glass of wine, which set the tone for my hour drive back. And which of course made me yearn for food. But in LA food is not available after 12 unless you go to Von's.; which is completely out of the question. If only there was a Pizza Drive-Through open! I looked at every corner and even searched for it in my GPS but could not find anything. Finally I got the great idea of going to Westwood. College kids know how to eat late and I was ready to eat! I found it; New York Pizza by the slice, perfect! So, I illegally parked and walked by the Middle Eastern restaurants where all the men howled at me as I passed. I smiled and blew off their compliments b/c I was on a self destruction or indulgent misison..call it what ever you want to call it ,for me it is indulgently self destructive! I order my pizza and had a lovely conversation with the chef. Awaiting the pizza to pop out of the oven, my attention was drawn to this woman eating alone in the corner. She was in her mid 40's and a little on the chunky side, but she was happily sitting alone devouring her pizza. I got mine to go so I could hide it in my car and fill my long drive with tasty treats. As I was walking back, I just so happen to pass this cookie parlor that was bright with lights and packed with people. I snap, "Nope!", and keep walking for about 3 steps as my body unconsiously turned around and like a possessed doll I walked right into the parlor. "Hell, I'm eating pizza at 1 am why not have cookies and ice cream, too"? I figured. Damn the gods for they did not have peanut butter cookies, so I settled for choc chip walnut with cookies and cream ice cream. As I was paying, I looked over my shoulder and who did I see behind me? That woman in the pizza restaurant. We smile at each other and she says," Some night, huh"? I nervously chuckle and force a smile with uncomfortably wide and scared eyes and say," uh huh..its been one hell of a day" She nods as if she understands, I get my huge ice-cream cookie sandwich, place it on top of my hot pizza box and walk away again like a guilty child who just stole from the cookie jar. I decided to sit outside and watch the action as I gnawed on my cheesy pizza... and guess who sat next to me, slurping up her ice cream? The pizza woman. I tried to avoid her as much as possible and I also tried to avoid eye contact with anyone passing me b/c I was not in the mood to talk and not in the mood to listen. I finished my pizza, got back into my car and headed back on the long drive home as I ate that ice cream like it was the last meal of my life! Even licking the cup it was placed in and loving every bite. When it was all gone, I was left with 20 minutes of driving in my car filled with the worst gas and mental indigestion. But it sure was a fun, little, self destructive indulgent adventure that left my life a little more colorful than if I had simply found a pizza drive-through.
Tasty Chewing
There is just something about chewing that is so tasty!
I have been fasting for four days. Nothing has entered my system except for gallons of lemonade, maple syrup and cayenne pepper. So when I entered my haven of Whole Foods I got a little excited. I was very proud of my fasting accomplishments. I felt detoxed and a bit lighter. But all the cravings did not cease. If I could pick one thing to devour it would still be my vice; nuts. I waited all week to take this trip to Whole Foods. Just walking in the door gave me a sense of worth and excitement. I decided to take it easy and only nibble here and there. I am also sticking with my vegan regime, (honestly, so that I can have vegan deserts and not feel guilty). Carrot cake is ok to eat as long as it is vegan, right? So I picked that baby up and popped open the plastic top and ripped off a piece of the corner with my dirty fingers and filled my mouth with that delicious, cold, hard, carrot cake. This first bite was better than any orgasm I have had lately... and believe me I have not had many, if any. The ecstatic rush I got the moment that moist, hard flesh of the cake entered my mouth and my teeth bit into the meat of it as my saliva digested the tangy zip of the flavors... If only I could enjoy men this much I would be a hell of a lot skinnier! But these bites are too good to be true. I have to pace myself from swallowing too fast so I won't upset my stomache..another new rule of mine..taste the food, Ana. Chew and swallow it with respect and patience...the two things I do not associate with food let alone many other things in life; patience and respect. So as I am devouring this cake (vegan, remember) and picking out some fruits and veggies for my week, I am instantly in a Grand mood. All worries are gone, I am safe and full in this colorful Land of OZ. Everyone is looking around at labels and picking apples, the meat men are chatting with the fillets, the cashiers are nibbling on Goji Berries, the police men are watching the door while eating organic cookies, the vitamin guys are reading about kelp and I am just basking in heaven! THis is my home. It all tastes so good! I am safe and I am full-filled; literally!
As someone accidentally bumps me with their cart, I awaken from my bliss. Time to pay and leave before they think I am stalking the bulk section. So I make small talk with the vitamin guys, getting my usual pro-biotic, energy pills, and whatever else they recommend for me to try...and I say goodbye to my home. Perfectly ending the day, sitting outside, finishing my meal, and watching the other smiling faces nibbling on their salad bar selection. I end with the true realization that there is just Something about chewing that is so tasty!
I have been fasting for four days. Nothing has entered my system except for gallons of lemonade, maple syrup and cayenne pepper. So when I entered my haven of Whole Foods I got a little excited. I was very proud of my fasting accomplishments. I felt detoxed and a bit lighter. But all the cravings did not cease. If I could pick one thing to devour it would still be my vice; nuts. I waited all week to take this trip to Whole Foods. Just walking in the door gave me a sense of worth and excitement. I decided to take it easy and only nibble here and there. I am also sticking with my vegan regime, (honestly, so that I can have vegan deserts and not feel guilty). Carrot cake is ok to eat as long as it is vegan, right? So I picked that baby up and popped open the plastic top and ripped off a piece of the corner with my dirty fingers and filled my mouth with that delicious, cold, hard, carrot cake. This first bite was better than any orgasm I have had lately... and believe me I have not had many, if any. The ecstatic rush I got the moment that moist, hard flesh of the cake entered my mouth and my teeth bit into the meat of it as my saliva digested the tangy zip of the flavors... If only I could enjoy men this much I would be a hell of a lot skinnier! But these bites are too good to be true. I have to pace myself from swallowing too fast so I won't upset my stomache..another new rule of mine..taste the food, Ana. Chew and swallow it with respect and patience...the two things I do not associate with food let alone many other things in life; patience and respect. So as I am devouring this cake (vegan, remember) and picking out some fruits and veggies for my week, I am instantly in a Grand mood. All worries are gone, I am safe and full in this colorful Land of OZ. Everyone is looking around at labels and picking apples, the meat men are chatting with the fillets, the cashiers are nibbling on Goji Berries, the police men are watching the door while eating organic cookies, the vitamin guys are reading about kelp and I am just basking in heaven! THis is my home. It all tastes so good! I am safe and I am full-filled; literally!
As someone accidentally bumps me with their cart, I awaken from my bliss. Time to pay and leave before they think I am stalking the bulk section. So I make small talk with the vitamin guys, getting my usual pro-biotic, energy pills, and whatever else they recommend for me to try...and I say goodbye to my home. Perfectly ending the day, sitting outside, finishing my meal, and watching the other smiling faces nibbling on their salad bar selection. I end with the true realization that there is just Something about chewing that is so tasty!
The Celery Selection
I don't want to eat celery at a party!
Especially when I do not know anyone in the room nor do I really care to increase my friend circle. Now I have nothing against celery. It is packed with fiber and nutrients somewhere in between the flavorless green crispy water. Celery is great stuffed with crunchy peanut butter or dipped into a hot cheesy artichoke ranch dip...but alone, no thanks. I love how it is perfectly placed next to its other dull siblings; the cherry tomato, the carrot stick and the broccoli floret....come on, who wants to eat these at a party?
What I love about shitty parties is their selection of cheap cheese. When you have shitty people filled with shitty lighting and shitty music, who the heck wants to eat celery and broccoli when you have gallons of cheese cubes and M&M's awaiting your bored palate. FIber and calcium do not matter when the room is void of taste and the only thing to tickle your palate is partially hydrogenated corn syrup. When the room is saturated with boring people I will never exchange my number with, I immediately start to crave the saturated fat and the buffet table becomes my new best friend. And what better to wash down the pepper jack cheese (with fake pepper, of course) then a bottle of 2BuckChuck with the label obviously ripped off to disguise its pungent taste. No new friends, no photos taken, no life changing discoveries made, all you leave these parties with is gas and indigestion.
I love witnessing the women and their shift in tastes. I recently watched one middle sized woman linger around the buffet table at a party and eat carrot stick after carrot stick. Even though her eyes were glued to the brownies like Frankenstein stalking his mistress, her mouth was chomping on the orange root. Then as the night progressed and the wine got thicker she moved on to the nuts while her zombie eyes were still fixed on the brownies. I started my countdown as to when she was going to burst and I predicted the exact time. The hosts were changing the music, her date was in the restroom and most people were outside having a smoke when she walked over to the table and took 3 brownies in her hand and wrapped a cookie in a paper towel and quickly found her way to the kitchen sink, stuffed her face, threw away the evidence, refilled her wine, applied lip gloss in the mirror as she checked for black crumbs in the teeth then joined her friends for a smoke. Mission accomplished. I laughed with complete compassion for her because at least she goes to the kitchen to hoard whereas I go to the bathroom. Stuffing my purse with cookies is truly a talent of mine.
The next night I am invited to a posh industry gathering. Its in the Malibu Hills and is hosted by a gorgeous man wearing a suit who is never home and a beautiful woman wearing silk who never eats. Yet, they bring out the best players for this party, picking a fabulous local restaurant to cater the food. I walk into this mansion, with soft jazz playing, candles lit around the corners of the room as the lights from the other million dollar homes in the hills fill the grand open windows, and I am greeted with the 'Boring Bean Pole' and the 'George Clooney-Wanna Be'. As they escort me into their home, I walk past life-size photos of her naked body painted by famous artists from Latin American countries. Strange how the naked interpretations of her look nothing like her body. The woman in these paintings has curves, breasts and an ass. Actually, these paintings look like my body! After searching for an ounce of fat in her size 2, I do not see the hips, breasts or booty as depicted in the paintings. Though I am still confused at this misinterpretation, I take it as a compliment. 'George Clooney-Wanna Be's' might not like a full bodied women, but famous Latin American artists sure do. I knew I should have been born in Puerto Rico!
So as the skinny hostess and spiritless man escort me to the kitchen I am faced with what looks like the golden city of Lost Horizons. 3 tier silver platters of chocolate puffs, pastries, scones and biscuits, like the ones at high tea at The Grand Hotel in Brighton. Meat and Cheese from around the world with a magazine collection of bread to accompany them with. Seafood, salami, quiches, crab cakes, mini taco's and every dip imaginable. And cookies, oh the cookies; chocolate, peanut butter, snicker-doodle and sugar. How much fun are we going to have in the bathroom together. But as I suspected, I look around and see that in this home, the food section is not the popular spot to be. So I sip my wine as I try to drown the rumblings of my tummy with distant conversations with people way out of my league.
One thing I do notice at this party is that there is no celery. There are no vegetables except for in the empanada's and cream filled dips. I also see that the caliber of cheese and wine makes me feel so special to be in the same room with them. I am already exploding in my Spanx panties inside this new suit I bought. Oh the joys of suits! They look so sophisticated as they cinch in and button over your protruding stomach rolls. But I can't eat! Its not that there is an electronic zapper when I go to the food table. Its just that I have this Paris Hilton devil inside my head. Every time I order a big meal or get up for seconds at a buffet I hear Paris laugh. I see her sitting in the corner watching me put these excess calories into my mouth. She shakes her head and gives me a look of disapproval. As I put the food stuffed fork into my mouth and I promise myself this will be the last bite, she gives me a cynical tilt of the head as if she knows that it will not be the last bite, and of course it isn't. She snidely remarks that if only I ordered the salad instead of the Gyro I could have worn 'That Dress' to this party. We all know 'That Dress'. The dress you spent way too much money on and wore it once many months ago with pride. Showing off your sculpted arms by lifting your wine glass with gusto and sitting anywhere and everywhere with out the least bit of worry over what surprise guest might pop out from your stomach- you know, Roly and Poly!
But back to the party, which had an unexpected ending. Lots of interesting conversations that lasted until I could not take it anymore. It was as if I became the woman from the previous party where the carrot sticks and cashews were not enough for me. I told Paris to shut up, dropped my purse, strutted over to the table like the Mistress about to mount Frankenstein, picked up a peanut butter cookie, stuffed it into my mouth and started to moan and make 'When Harry Met Sally' orgasm noises. As I shouted the experience of the wonderful flavors that were exploding in my mouth the people started to look over at me. One by one they came to the table and bit into the cookies. Soon the food area was filled with skinny women and tan men stuffing their faces with cookies and making a melody of orgasmic chanting. This was much better than any celery selection!
Especially when I do not know anyone in the room nor do I really care to increase my friend circle. Now I have nothing against celery. It is packed with fiber and nutrients somewhere in between the flavorless green crispy water. Celery is great stuffed with crunchy peanut butter or dipped into a hot cheesy artichoke ranch dip...but alone, no thanks. I love how it is perfectly placed next to its other dull siblings; the cherry tomato, the carrot stick and the broccoli floret....come on, who wants to eat these at a party?
What I love about shitty parties is their selection of cheap cheese. When you have shitty people filled with shitty lighting and shitty music, who the heck wants to eat celery and broccoli when you have gallons of cheese cubes and M&M's awaiting your bored palate. FIber and calcium do not matter when the room is void of taste and the only thing to tickle your palate is partially hydrogenated corn syrup. When the room is saturated with boring people I will never exchange my number with, I immediately start to crave the saturated fat and the buffet table becomes my new best friend. And what better to wash down the pepper jack cheese (with fake pepper, of course) then a bottle of 2BuckChuck with the label obviously ripped off to disguise its pungent taste. No new friends, no photos taken, no life changing discoveries made, all you leave these parties with is gas and indigestion.
I love witnessing the women and their shift in tastes. I recently watched one middle sized woman linger around the buffet table at a party and eat carrot stick after carrot stick. Even though her eyes were glued to the brownies like Frankenstein stalking his mistress, her mouth was chomping on the orange root. Then as the night progressed and the wine got thicker she moved on to the nuts while her zombie eyes were still fixed on the brownies. I started my countdown as to when she was going to burst and I predicted the exact time. The hosts were changing the music, her date was in the restroom and most people were outside having a smoke when she walked over to the table and took 3 brownies in her hand and wrapped a cookie in a paper towel and quickly found her way to the kitchen sink, stuffed her face, threw away the evidence, refilled her wine, applied lip gloss in the mirror as she checked for black crumbs in the teeth then joined her friends for a smoke. Mission accomplished. I laughed with complete compassion for her because at least she goes to the kitchen to hoard whereas I go to the bathroom. Stuffing my purse with cookies is truly a talent of mine.
The next night I am invited to a posh industry gathering. Its in the Malibu Hills and is hosted by a gorgeous man wearing a suit who is never home and a beautiful woman wearing silk who never eats. Yet, they bring out the best players for this party, picking a fabulous local restaurant to cater the food. I walk into this mansion, with soft jazz playing, candles lit around the corners of the room as the lights from the other million dollar homes in the hills fill the grand open windows, and I am greeted with the 'Boring Bean Pole' and the 'George Clooney-Wanna Be'. As they escort me into their home, I walk past life-size photos of her naked body painted by famous artists from Latin American countries. Strange how the naked interpretations of her look nothing like her body. The woman in these paintings has curves, breasts and an ass. Actually, these paintings look like my body! After searching for an ounce of fat in her size 2, I do not see the hips, breasts or booty as depicted in the paintings. Though I am still confused at this misinterpretation, I take it as a compliment. 'George Clooney-Wanna Be's' might not like a full bodied women, but famous Latin American artists sure do. I knew I should have been born in Puerto Rico!
So as the skinny hostess and spiritless man escort me to the kitchen I am faced with what looks like the golden city of Lost Horizons. 3 tier silver platters of chocolate puffs, pastries, scones and biscuits, like the ones at high tea at The Grand Hotel in Brighton. Meat and Cheese from around the world with a magazine collection of bread to accompany them with. Seafood, salami, quiches, crab cakes, mini taco's and every dip imaginable. And cookies, oh the cookies; chocolate, peanut butter, snicker-doodle and sugar. How much fun are we going to have in the bathroom together. But as I suspected, I look around and see that in this home, the food section is not the popular spot to be. So I sip my wine as I try to drown the rumblings of my tummy with distant conversations with people way out of my league.
One thing I do notice at this party is that there is no celery. There are no vegetables except for in the empanada's and cream filled dips. I also see that the caliber of cheese and wine makes me feel so special to be in the same room with them. I am already exploding in my Spanx panties inside this new suit I bought. Oh the joys of suits! They look so sophisticated as they cinch in and button over your protruding stomach rolls. But I can't eat! Its not that there is an electronic zapper when I go to the food table. Its just that I have this Paris Hilton devil inside my head. Every time I order a big meal or get up for seconds at a buffet I hear Paris laugh. I see her sitting in the corner watching me put these excess calories into my mouth. She shakes her head and gives me a look of disapproval. As I put the food stuffed fork into my mouth and I promise myself this will be the last bite, she gives me a cynical tilt of the head as if she knows that it will not be the last bite, and of course it isn't. She snidely remarks that if only I ordered the salad instead of the Gyro I could have worn 'That Dress' to this party. We all know 'That Dress'. The dress you spent way too much money on and wore it once many months ago with pride. Showing off your sculpted arms by lifting your wine glass with gusto and sitting anywhere and everywhere with out the least bit of worry over what surprise guest might pop out from your stomach- you know, Roly and Poly!
But back to the party, which had an unexpected ending. Lots of interesting conversations that lasted until I could not take it anymore. It was as if I became the woman from the previous party where the carrot sticks and cashews were not enough for me. I told Paris to shut up, dropped my purse, strutted over to the table like the Mistress about to mount Frankenstein, picked up a peanut butter cookie, stuffed it into my mouth and started to moan and make 'When Harry Met Sally' orgasm noises. As I shouted the experience of the wonderful flavors that were exploding in my mouth the people started to look over at me. One by one they came to the table and bit into the cookies. Soon the food area was filled with skinny women and tan men stuffing their faces with cookies and making a melody of orgasmic chanting. This was much better than any celery selection!
Skinny Cheese
I swear, every industry party and lavish lifestyle gathering always have a huge spread of fine cheeses. And ironically, the hostess is always dressed in a tight silk dress that loosely fits over her size 2 body. Even if she is close to 5'10 she is a size 2 serving 10 servings of cheese. I do not understand. I arrive in my colorful and cultural outfit, ready to smooge as myself and hopefully meet some spirit filled people. I of course have given up cheese for the better portion of a week, or sometimes a day, and am not about to let these people into my secret obsession with it. The smiles start to come out, greeted with wine and champagne. I gulp it like its water and I've been in a desert for months and refill my glass before the next person takes their second sip. After a few glasses of wine and a few conversations and introductions I hear my name from across the room. I ignore it at first b/c I do not know anybody here at this party, but it seems to get louder and louder. I turn around and look and do not see anyone I recognize until I spot its source. Its Brie! Oh God, Its Brie! Brie is here. She is in the corner screaming my name. I haven't seen her in ages! She is actually with some other acquaintances of mine. Gouda and Manchego. Oh my gosh, I have not seen them for so long! And I have missed them so. I look at Brie with longing eyes and go over to embrace her. I feel like Maria in West-side story, running to meet her Tony. I get to the table and grab that knife like a sword-fighter handles his rapier and cut a huge slab off for me, my brie, all for me! Oh, as that juicy lava of cheese flows into my mouth, I take a gulp of my luscious Syrah and smile like a baby who just took a shit. Oh, the ecstasy, the taste, the sensations! I come out of my trance and suddenly feel all alone. Mainly because I am alone. I am the only one at the food table. I look over at the size 2's and see their skinny bones yappin away at men with suits. I admire their hip and trendy fashion of designer dresses that cling to them like coat-wracks. And I notice the only thing their hands touch all night is a glass of wine and a man. Never do they set food into this country of cheese where I am living. I walk away. I tilt my head up and smile with a simple satisfaction of confidence and security. I make my way over to the groups and join in the conversation. After a minute or so of talking to this and that producer about the power or the media and the spiritual transformation we are all in right now...yadaa yadaa yadaa... I start to lead him into dominating the conversation bc I can not form my own words anymore. I can not even hear myself think! Brie keeps screaming my name. I put my back to her and engulf my every breath into what this boring man is saying but I can not get that sound out of my head. "Come" Brie chants like Annabell Lee! "Come to the sea and taste me! I am free and kind, soft with a chewy rind, I taste so good going down and will never leave you with a frown, Come to the see and taste me, I am your best friend, Brie!" Oh Brie, I long for you. I only had one bite and you were so good. So I go. I divorce this mans conversation and slowly walk over to the table. I am back home in the land of cheese. This time I want to go traveling. Maybe to Mexico and taste the Manchego, or to Germany for the Gouda. I do love Holland for they have some fabulous sheep milk there and of course, France, where Brie and Camembert live! And you know what, its ok to be a solitary backpacker at this party of life!
Oh the tastes of traveling!
Oh the tastes of traveling!
The Hunt for Leftovers
As the other realtors finish their meeting in the lunch room, stuffing the fridge with their leftover pizza, donuts, and cheesecake, I toss my salad into the trash. Oh how delicious! There is nothing like eating iceberg lettuce with vinegar and a tomato while the others stuff their faces with warm cheesy pizza. The story of my life!
Its time to get back to work so the happy hefty folks head back to their cubicles and open houses. I offer to stay around a bit to clean up the kitchen and to brew some coffee. As I close the lunch room door I slowly turn around to face the fridge. Its as if I was in the rocks of Scylla being called by the Sirens in 'The Odyssey'. The smells of cold pizza and soft cheese cake haunt my senses and a Pavlovian salivation starts to occur. I take a step toward the fridge but immediately jump back to the door and silently shout , "No! I will not eat it!" My mind rushes with the weekly dinners of salmon and broccoli and the daily workouts of cardio kickboxing. I envision my size 6 jeans that are buried underneath my newly acquired 'Stretch' and 'spandex' pants and I hold strong in my affirmation that I am healthy and thin! But the drool for saturated fat is consuming my reasoning! It was as if I was being called up to the stage for the 'Price is Right' as I quickly ran to open the fridge door. I felt like Dorothy in the 'Wizard of Oz'...Pizza slices, donut holes and cheesecake crusts started to come alive and sing a song welcoming me to Munchin Land! I came into a trance." Oh they joy", I thought, "The colors, the tastes, the textures...gooey and cheesy, salty and sweet and all for me"! It was like Christmas day when I was 5! All the presents just waiting me for me to unwrap! I grabbed a slice of pizza, topped it with a piece of cheesecake salivating over the long awaited flavorful calories. The pause of satisfaction lasted only about 2 seconds before I stuffed that glazed donut in my mouth in one whole bite.
Bang! I heard a noise. Oh no! What if it was someone coming into the room?, What would they think of me if they saw me hovering in front of the fridge with their donuts smashed in my mouth? All their speculations would be true! They would mock me and ruin me! For I am always talking about health and exercise and I am always eating salads! My cover would be blown, my secret would be out! My heart skipped a beat and I had a rush of fear take over me. I chawed down on that donut so fast that it was like draino going down a clean drain. I quickly shut the fridge door and with a hand full of calories, I got a bunch of napkins and stuffed all my hoarding into the white veil of disguise. I moved over to the coffee station to brew some water. I am perfectly placed so that if someone comes in the room they would never suspect I am devouring their leftovers. I stand there with an orgasmic smile and a sore jaw from chewing as the water starts to boil. I make my coffee, toss the empty white, oil soaked veil of disguise into the trash and head back to my desk. Fweew, I made a clean break, and nothing can disturb me now except my lactose intolerance.
Its time to get back to work so the happy hefty folks head back to their cubicles and open houses. I offer to stay around a bit to clean up the kitchen and to brew some coffee. As I close the lunch room door I slowly turn around to face the fridge. Its as if I was in the rocks of Scylla being called by the Sirens in 'The Odyssey'. The smells of cold pizza and soft cheese cake haunt my senses and a Pavlovian salivation starts to occur. I take a step toward the fridge but immediately jump back to the door and silently shout , "No! I will not eat it!" My mind rushes with the weekly dinners of salmon and broccoli and the daily workouts of cardio kickboxing. I envision my size 6 jeans that are buried underneath my newly acquired 'Stretch' and 'spandex' pants and I hold strong in my affirmation that I am healthy and thin! But the drool for saturated fat is consuming my reasoning! It was as if I was being called up to the stage for the 'Price is Right' as I quickly ran to open the fridge door. I felt like Dorothy in the 'Wizard of Oz'...Pizza slices, donut holes and cheesecake crusts started to come alive and sing a song welcoming me to Munchin Land! I came into a trance." Oh they joy", I thought, "The colors, the tastes, the textures...gooey and cheesy, salty and sweet and all for me"! It was like Christmas day when I was 5! All the presents just waiting me for me to unwrap! I grabbed a slice of pizza, topped it with a piece of cheesecake salivating over the long awaited flavorful calories. The pause of satisfaction lasted only about 2 seconds before I stuffed that glazed donut in my mouth in one whole bite.
Bang! I heard a noise. Oh no! What if it was someone coming into the room?, What would they think of me if they saw me hovering in front of the fridge with their donuts smashed in my mouth? All their speculations would be true! They would mock me and ruin me! For I am always talking about health and exercise and I am always eating salads! My cover would be blown, my secret would be out! My heart skipped a beat and I had a rush of fear take over me. I chawed down on that donut so fast that it was like draino going down a clean drain. I quickly shut the fridge door and with a hand full of calories, I got a bunch of napkins and stuffed all my hoarding into the white veil of disguise. I moved over to the coffee station to brew some water. I am perfectly placed so that if someone comes in the room they would never suspect I am devouring their leftovers. I stand there with an orgasmic smile and a sore jaw from chewing as the water starts to boil. I make my coffee, toss the empty white, oil soaked veil of disguise into the trash and head back to my desk. Fweew, I made a clean break, and nothing can disturb me now except my lactose intolerance.
The Peanut Butter Chronicles
As I dip my organic peanut butter rice crispy in to the organic peanut butter jar I question the source of comfort. It was my second stop at Whole Foods in less than an hour...with a believable justification that I have a long drive home...so fill it with Peanut Butter, why not? And besides, I am starting my cleanse on Monday, beginning with the maple syrup fast and ending with a colonic hydrotherapy and lymphatic drainage. I laugh at myself thinking how anyone else in the world can be such a walking (or in this case driving) contradiction. Not only am I eating my peanut butter in complete ecstasy, I am listening to Esther and Jerry Hicks' book on tape, "Ask and it is Given". My phone is filled with saved messages of men, young and mostly old, inviting me to dinner and drinks around the city, my car is filled with forgotten head-shot submissions, 3 pairs of running shoes, a couple of inspirational books, and about 10 water bottles. So as I happily drive the long route home through Sunset Boulevard and smoke my 'last' cigarette (I Swear,) I keep asking my self the same questions...How much longer and I going to keep this up? What is this void that I am trying to fill? Why can I not just be still? And when does this roller coaster end?
Its been 9 months since I moved to LA and these feelings of stuffed dissatisfaction yet grounded in believable excuses seem far too familiar to me. I look back as a child and can give countless accounts of 'poor Ana', 'left out Ana',' to tall' and 'too mature' for the cool kids, 'too loud' and 'too opinionated' for the stepfathers, and 'too much' for even myself to handle. So again, I ask myself, when can I let this all go?
This city has been so much fun...9 months of being pregnant with my soul. And I am very bloated right now...not to mention extremely hormonal! But at every milestone of a month, or an infomercial, or a sexy older man, that inspires me to loose the weight, get in tip top shape, clean the house, wax the cooch, and get busy with the latest trends and hotspots...I keep running into this roller-coaster.
Its like that feeling of fear when you are slowly reaching the top...and you can hear the chains pulling the cart inch by inch...and every new breath is a clearer view of the city as you make that climb. But once the top is in view, the fear of doubt consumes the cart and the cart pauses...it is tilting at the top of the coaster...facing the world at all angles...and you are alone in this cart on top of the world with no where else to go...but... DOWN!
The first leap of gravity that pulls you to the earth and takes your breath out of your lungs is met with complete fear and helpless resentment. NO! I do not want to go back down, damn it! I just got up here...I just figured it out...I have 2 more weeks to loose the weight, a hot date on Wednesday, a meeting with someone in power, a photo shoot to attend, or a homecoming in the works! "I can't let go and go back to my old ways", my ego says. So as I am pummeling down into self sabotaged oblivion, I scream, cry and tighten my body like a corpse being put into its tomb.
Again! Here we go, starting over at the bottom. Spirit I know you see what is going on! Lift me up!
As I walk into my home of disarrayed tokens of memories and compulsive hordings...I feel full. I feel tired. I feel lost with the amount of work that is ahead. Then the brain kicks in with all these desires and promises of tomorrow this and tomorrow that. I go to my kitchen counter filled with banned diet pills, milk thistle, green powder, fiber supplements, and dirty dishes and stare blankley...as if my consciousness was laughing at the oxymoronic display of excuses. I make my peppermint tea to calm my bloated tummy and lay out my lemons, cayenne pepper and maple syrup for my fast tomorrow, arrange my numbers of people to call back and postpone dinner and drinks for next week along with eyeing the psychics number that I am calling tomorrow for a small fee of $160 to tell me the magic answer to all my problems, and finally, I go sit on my computer and check messages of approval and hope!
I am left with this. This is where I am at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night.
Sipping my tea, trying to figure out me.
Its been 9 months since I moved to LA and these feelings of stuffed dissatisfaction yet grounded in believable excuses seem far too familiar to me. I look back as a child and can give countless accounts of 'poor Ana', 'left out Ana',' to tall' and 'too mature' for the cool kids, 'too loud' and 'too opinionated' for the stepfathers, and 'too much' for even myself to handle. So again, I ask myself, when can I let this all go?
This city has been so much fun...9 months of being pregnant with my soul. And I am very bloated right now...not to mention extremely hormonal! But at every milestone of a month, or an infomercial, or a sexy older man, that inspires me to loose the weight, get in tip top shape, clean the house, wax the cooch, and get busy with the latest trends and hotspots...I keep running into this roller-coaster.
Its like that feeling of fear when you are slowly reaching the top...and you can hear the chains pulling the cart inch by inch...and every new breath is a clearer view of the city as you make that climb. But once the top is in view, the fear of doubt consumes the cart and the cart pauses...it is tilting at the top of the coaster...facing the world at all angles...and you are alone in this cart on top of the world with no where else to go...but... DOWN!
The first leap of gravity that pulls you to the earth and takes your breath out of your lungs is met with complete fear and helpless resentment. NO! I do not want to go back down, damn it! I just got up here...I just figured it out...I have 2 more weeks to loose the weight, a hot date on Wednesday, a meeting with someone in power, a photo shoot to attend, or a homecoming in the works! "I can't let go and go back to my old ways", my ego says. So as I am pummeling down into self sabotaged oblivion, I scream, cry and tighten my body like a corpse being put into its tomb.
Again! Here we go, starting over at the bottom. Spirit I know you see what is going on! Lift me up!
As I walk into my home of disarrayed tokens of memories and compulsive hordings...I feel full. I feel tired. I feel lost with the amount of work that is ahead. Then the brain kicks in with all these desires and promises of tomorrow this and tomorrow that. I go to my kitchen counter filled with banned diet pills, milk thistle, green powder, fiber supplements, and dirty dishes and stare blankley...as if my consciousness was laughing at the oxymoronic display of excuses. I make my peppermint tea to calm my bloated tummy and lay out my lemons, cayenne pepper and maple syrup for my fast tomorrow, arrange my numbers of people to call back and postpone dinner and drinks for next week along with eyeing the psychics number that I am calling tomorrow for a small fee of $160 to tell me the magic answer to all my problems, and finally, I go sit on my computer and check messages of approval and hope!
I am left with this. This is where I am at 10 p.m. on a Sunday night.
Sipping my tea, trying to figure out me.
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