Final Destination.

I think I’m going to change the theme of my blog to ‘The trials and tribulations of an-above-average-BMI female.” Very Mindy Kaling-esque.

The most ridiculous events happen to me when I’m trying to eat healthy. Ok, yes, the cupcake/macaroon fiasco of the past week was probably more of my own doing, but I swear there are external factors or should I say, the universe’s influence, that also contribute to my difficulty in maintaining a good diet/exercise program. And last night was proof.

So I’m sitting normally at my desk at work, successfully having only eaten 600 calories as of 5pm, and having more than enough calories left for my dinner because I am doing great at my calorie-counting, exercising, etc for the day. And then my phone rings. It is a delivery guy saying he has food outside. So I was like “Sorry, Sir, you have the wrong number.” He hangs up. My phone rings thirty seconds later. I answer. “You have food outside.” Again, “I’m sorry, you still have the wrong number.” And then he’s like, “Are you Amara?”

…

Uh, yes.

“Do you live on [he says my address]?”

Yea…

“There is a large pepperoni pizza here for you.”

I’m at work. I didn’t order this.

“Maybe someone at your apartment ordered it?”

No, I live alone.

“Well, it’s already paid for.”

Well, I’m not home to get it. I don’t understand how this happened.

“I don’t know, miss. I’ll bring it back to the pizzeria and figure out what’s going on.”

So then the pizzeria calls me.

Well, apparently, their computer system somehow magically generated an order for me since I was a former customer. A large pepperoni pizza actually. And they told me that the pizza was available for pick-up free-of-charge if I was so inclined to pick it up after work.

Like WHY does this happen!?

Of all their customers in Center City Philadelphia, how and why did they pick me?! It's like there is some radar that exists to find my weaknesses and subtly exploit them to make me fail.

It's like not only do I get magic free delivery, but also, this mysterious computer decides that the perfect order for someone who is trying oh-so-hard to lose just five more pounds is obviously, a large pepperoni pizza?! If this Higher Power wanted to make life just a little better for me, why would he/she/it not have delivered a side garden salad (ew, gross) and a diet coke to my door? Or maybe a gift certificate for some lipo.

It’s like I can’t anymore. I give up. I can’t fight destiny. 

This is some Final Destination ish.

I am meant to forever be an above-average BMI female. I'm just going to eat a cupcake and a macaroon, oh, and my large pepperoni pizza, and call it a day.

Hey Universe, you win.

Like A Crack Addict.

I am out of control. I’m like a crack addict. Or a dessert addict rather.

I’m not proud of this story, but I feel like I must share it for the sheer ridiculousness of it.

So beginning January 1^st, a coworker and I decided we were going to eat healthy [see post on ineffective New Year’s Resolutions below] because she is getting married in the fall and I am in a “Boys Don’t Like Fat Girls” weight loss competition to shed a few extra pounds from the holidays.  Well, she is a LOT better at this weight loss thing than I am. She always eats healthy, works out routinely, etc. Whereas, I NEED a cookie, a piece of cake or chocolate on a daily basis [I’ve blogged about this in the past before too]. And whenever I consume such things, I get a disapproving look or a shake of the head from her, which makes me feel guilty, especially because she always has the willpower to withhold from such amazingness. We also take lunch walks every day together so we’re not just confined to our desks and get some exercise.  But lunch walks in the city are awful for weight loss - smelling delicious things, walking past bakeries and ice cream shops and street vendors making gyros and all kinds of yummy goodness, KILLS ME.

So today on such a walk, the smells of lunch time in the city, made me REALLY not look forward to my cold hummus and cucumber flatbread sandwich and orange I had packed for lunch. I, therefore, decided to engage in a little white lie so that we could make an impromptu stop during the walk.

Ok, so I told her I had to get a cupcake for my friend’s birthday today. Except I don’t really have a friend whose birthday is today. It was mainly because I really wanted a cupcake. So we walked into a French Patisserie; I didn’t think they had cupcakes, but I always wanted to see the inside of this place… and then I find out they have French macaroons, which are my absolute FAVORITE dessert!!!  I was like crap, I HAVE to get two macaroons [pistachio and red velvet] because they are my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE, but I already told my coworker I had to get a cupcake for a ‘friend’s’ birthday.  So I bought my macaroons and we went onwards to Crumbs for a cupcake. I’m already kinda mad at myself for not having the willpower to hold off on the macaroons since I was already getting the cupcake.  But, my coworker suggests I get the ‘birthday cake’ cupcake for my friend since we don’t know what ‘she’ really likes [except that I do know that she does not like chocolate cake, only yellow cake], so I reluctantly agree on the ‘birthday cake’ funfetti cupcake…. And I bring it up to the register and the lady asks me if I would like a candle. My coworker is like “You should get a candle, that’s cute!” So I get a birthday cake cupcake with a candle.

For myself.

Oh, and two macaroons.

Now I’m walking back to my desk and contemplating how I can possibly eat this cupcake without my coworker walking by my desk and seeing it. And then turning an awkward situation into a MUCH more awkward one.

So I told Valerie this story, of course. She cracks up, tells me she can’t talk to me anymore and that I’m ridiculous. We forget about it and she proceeds to tell me a crazy story, to which this happens:

me:  LOLOL

you are out of control

i cant be your friend anymore.

Valerie:  umm...scroll up and re-read ur insanity

u lied to a co-worker

made up a friend

made up a friend's bday

lied to a shop owner

purchased a cupcake w/ a candle

and will eat it in SECRECY

not even the same level

I seriously have problems. I can’t even.

To quote Harvard Sailing Team [FYI - YouTube the video ‘Boys Will Be Girls’], “I love myself and I hate myself. But my diet starts tomorrow.”

Just another night with Valerie.

So Valerie came and spent last weekend with me and usually when Valerie comes, we have a very activity-filled and eventful weekend. So upon her arrival on Friday night, we went to an improv comedy show. I’m going to take a side bar to just note my thoughts about improv; I’ve been to two improv shows in the past month and I’m not really sure how I feel about them.  I did think ‘Whose Line Is It Anyway’ was funny, but again, their performances on the show had to be pretty amazing to make it on a television series in the first place.  Actual live improv shows are sometimes okay, and I do crack a smile often, but I never really laugh out loud like I do during stand-up.  And I understand it’s a lot harder to be funny when you are put on the spot than when you can practice jokes, a routine and the delivery. Overall, I guess I’m just not that impressed yet with improv.

Anyway, back to the night: after the show, we went to Walnut Room with Alisa and her boyfriend. So we have a few drinks and all is well on the dance floor until all of a sudden, a sneaker comes flying through the air and hits Valerie in the head, and less than a millisecond later, the other sneaker hits Alisa’s shoulder. So if you know Valerie, you know that when something like that happens, it’s like the world becomes silent just waiting for her reaction.  And this is why…

The first time I ‘experienced’ Valerie in this type of situation was at a frat party in Cornell circa 2003.  So as you know, it was the early 2000s and a frat party, so I was probably grinding up on some guy [of a certain ethnicity] in a bubble jacket with fur on the hood to ‘err’body in the club getting tipsy…’ after having one too many Milwaukee’s Best or Keystone Lights.  And at this point, I'm too into myself and singing along to the song that I don't notice where Valerie is or who she is with. Until suddenly, a crowd rushes towards the dance floor to watch something going on [most likely a fight] and I look up, only to see Valerie walking out of the crowd in the opposite direction a little too calm and collected for my liking.  So I asked her what had just happened and she said “Oh some drunk girl was dancing and spilling her beer all over my hair, so I didn’t say anything the first time it happened. But the second time, I turned around, and grabbed her hand with the beer can and crushed the can using her hand and threw it on the floor. I didn’t say anything though. She just started crying or something. Whatever.”  

So needless to say, a year or so later, we were all eating brunch one morning in New York City when a waitress tripped and spilled strawberry jam all over Valerie. Our entire table gasped and started saying a silent prayer for the waitress for her bad luck that of all of the six people at our table that she could have spilled something on, she had to spill it on Valerie.  Luckily, Valerie was in an exceptionally good mood and did not say anything to make the waitress wish she hadn’t been at work that day.  But needless to say, you can see why we were worried.  So, back to this sneaker incident…

The sneaker hits Valerie, the world goes silent. And everyone on the dance floor stops and turns around to see Valerie’s reaction. She grabs the sneaker from the floor and the other one from Alisa and is looking around to who she should throw these back at. Until some guy comes rushing up to Valerie apologizing profusely, while claiming that his friend was really drunk and just took his sneakers off and threw them into the dance floor without thinking.  [I think I’m getting a little too old for this type of situation to be commonplace at a bar.]  He asks for the sneakers back, but Valerie tells him “No, your friend can walk barefoot home.”  The guy begs her that it’s winter and really cold outside and to please give back the sneakers. To which Valerie shows little to no sympathy.  “Well, he shouldn’t have thrown them in the first place.”

And so, the night proceeds as if nothing happened with Valerie telling guys she can’t give them her phone number because she lives in Zimbabwe. 

We managed to thankfully, avoid public view for the rest of the weekend to prevent more incidents like this from occurring.  Although sometimes I miss the drama that Valerie brings with her to Philly every few months because it adds some flavor to the mundane nature of my normal life.

New Year. Old Me.

Let’s be real. New Year’s Resolutions don’t work. I’m not going to drastically be some new person between December 31^st at 11:59 PM and January 1^st at 12:01 AM. In fact, I was the same person, just a tad bit more woozy with that extra large sip of Moet [I had to throw that in there to validate my ballin’ status slash depleting bank account].  

The problem with New Year’s Resolutions is that it forces people to think they are going to make a significant change in their lives when they are really not mentally prepared for the change. From my experiences, when you want to make a large enough life change, you will.  You will get out of the awful relationship you’re in when you realize enough is enough...or maybe you never will.  You’ll stop dating the same scumbags when you’ve been hurt enough and/or you’ve gone through some form of therapy. You’ll start dieting when you see that awful photo of yourself in a dress you thought you looked cute in. Or when you go to the doctor and find out there is a health risk associated with your weight. Maybe that coincidentally falls on January 1^st. But more likely than not, your life-changing epiphany will end up being February 18^th or March 13^th of September 27^th of not 2013, but 2018 or maybe 2030.

What I hate the most are fitness resolutions, and that’s mostly for my own selfish reasons.  I absolutely DESPISE going to the gym between January 2^nd and mid-February because of all the clowns that think they are going to make a huge shift in their lives because of some arbitrary change in the lunar calendar. And for that reason, I have to wait an absurd amount of time awkwardly twiddling my thumbs in the corner for a treadmill or for a set of free weights.  Until I finally decide that I’d much rather run outside in twenty degree weather even if my legs get so cold that I can’t feel them move during my run. I wish American New Year fell on the same day as Sri Lankan New Year…  I would experience much more enjoyable outdoor fitness excursions in mid-April vs. January.

As you can see, my cynicism continues into the New Year.  So for those of you who thought you’d get a whole new me and a whole new blog, sorry. And I still probably won’t write in it more than once a month because I’m not inherently ready for that much of a commitment. Maybe that will happen on September 27^th, 2018 when I realize no one is reading it anymore because I’m so inconsistent with my writing frequency.  :)

Brief Thoughts on Chicago: Deep Dish and Deep Conversations

To give you an update on my life, Thanksgiving was fantabulous. I don’t even want to go into details about how amazing it was because it was more of a “you had to be there” kinda thing and if I try to poorly describe just how great it was, I would be doing an injustice to myself and my family.

Later that weekend, we had our ten-year high school reunion, which was mediocre, to say the least [or most]. I pretty much spent $50 to hang out with my own friends that I can hang out with for free for run-of-the-mill food, an awful DJ with an even more awful music selection, and subpar company (minus my friends, of course). And I’m not a hater, I swear. It was just that everyone stuck to talking to their own friends, there was really no mixing with different groups of people (which may be partly my own fault as well as that of my peers) and close to zero dancing (strongly correlated to the DJ). This is in no way a reflection of the hard work people put into planning it and I feel bad for giving it such a negative review, but sometimes it’s just a function of the group of people that end up showing up [myself included].

So last weekend, I went to Chicago to visit Jaime. Upon arrival (and after an inevitable flight delay, which cancelled our plans for the night; FYI - I really am not a fan of United, this is the second consecutive inconvenient delay I’ve experienced with them for non-weather related issues), we went straight to Pequods for some deep dish pizza. I know all Northeast Coasters are super annoying about pizza like “Ughh, gross, I hate Chicago deep dish pizza!  I only eat New York pizza. That’s the real thing.” However, as a fellow Northeast Coaster, I admit that I actually really like Chicago deep dish pizza; it doesn’t really fulfill my pizza craving like New York pizza does, but the thick, buttery, breadiness coated with mozzarella, smothered in tomato sauce and dusted off with my favorite toppings just resonates comfort with me. So needless to say, after a miserable flying experience, my dinner made the night a lot better.

We woke up the next morning to run a 5K Santa Run, which was pretty awesome. The weather was beautiful, sunny and in the 50-60s, and the run was at Soldier Field along the lake with 9,000 other people; Oh, and the best part was that we wore Santa outfits while running. The beard was very suffocating to run in, but the rest of the costume was relatively comfortable, albeit a little too warm. We decided to keep the Santa costumes on while doing some Chicago sightseeing. We found a back window to the aquarium to try and see the dolphins and beluga whales from outside without having to pay admission, but little did we know that the window was facing everyone who was watching the dolphin show. So before we knew it, everyone in the audience was pointing at us and waving (not only because we had our faces smashed up to the window like little kids, but also because all four of us had full-on Santa costumes on). And so, we ran away. Our adventures continued onwards to the Bean and a Christmas market before we stopped at a bar with a special of “Buy one drink, get a Jameson shot for free.” And then it was noon. And I was wasted. 

We went to dinner, to the infamous Second City comedy club (where I almost punched some lady behind me for her excessive and uncontrollable hyena-like laugh) and then to a bar. And then I was wasted again.

So I absolutely LOVED Chicago, and can totally see myself living there one day. But the one thing I can’t handle is how often strangers talk to you when you’re walking down the street. The friendliness of Midwesterners is baffling, while unnerving.  I think about thirty-eight people talked to us in a span of three hours to ask about the race, or where we were from, and what we were doing.   If I lived there, I’d probably have to leave half an hour before I planned to go anywhere in order to make up the time from unanticipated, in-transit conversations. So while I might not have an East Coast perspective about New York pizza, I definitely have one about public interactions. Don’t talk to me unless you know me or unless we need something specific from each other – i.e. a lighter, a dollar or directions. The buck stops there. Keep it moving. Thanks.