{October 26, 2011}   Addendum to ‘My Morning’

An additional detail to this morning’s story is that I decided that my shirt no longer matched the rest of my outfit now that I’m wearing BRIGHT tights.  once again El made me promise to post this update to My Morning in a word for word addendum.  Here goes:

So I bought a new shirt and it was on sale for half off and matches this skirt really well, better than anything else I have.  so that’s great.

downside, I just went in the bathroom and you can totally see the shadows of the butterflies on my bra.  Should really be wearing a solid color bra with it – oh well, can’t have everything.

Sadly (for you) I will not be posting any butterfly bra pictures.   I will be watching hours of BSG and eating some sort of jerky tomorrow though to make-up for today’s complete girl-out.   If you’ve found yourself chuckling at my apparel misadventures, please take a moment to CLICK HERE to donate to Feeding America and let a WGWaFA know you care.

If you are curious about exactly who your donation helps – a new study, Food Banks:  Hunger’s New Staple, recently released by Feeding America finds that many Americans chronically depend on food pantries and other charitable food services to feed themselves and their families. The study provides an inaugural in-depth look at the frequency and duration in which low-income families seek food assistance from food banks and the agencies they serve.


{August 1, 2011}   My Food Break-up

Recently, I spent about a week in San Francisco for work.  It was beautiful (everyone in NYC get ready to hate me because I missed the entire heat wave) crisp air, bright sunny days, and I had gorgeous views of the city from my amazing hotel room with its fluffy marshmallow bed.  For the most part I did two things there,  I worked a lot and I ate A LOT.  Including:

  • Amazing hotel breakfast buffet
  • Beard Papa
  • Ghiradelli Peanut butter hot fudge sundae
  • WINE
  • late-night room service dinners
  • A 3 course meal at Kokkari where I had GOAT! (somewhere out there I imagine my half-Greek Ex is shaking his fist at the sky “Now you try it?!” ) and more Wine
  • And a friend’s birthday dinner at Mission Chinese Food where between the five of us we literally ordered, and ate, half the menu.  I had Pork Belly!! (again imagined fist shaking)
  • Birthday cupcakes – the last of which I had for breakfast the morning I flew out.  hey, it was a carrot cake one.  That has to count for something.

So I find it a bit ironic that after eating ALL of San Francisco it was on my first day back to work that I came down with one of the worst cases of food poisoning or stomach flu (the debate still rages) that I’ve ever had.  After eating what? An egg-white omelet, Whole Foods salad for lunch, and an apple with almond butter as a late-day snack.  You  may not want to hear what happened next, but I had to live it so now I’m sharing.

After work, I went to see my friend’s show at the Game Play Festival at the Brick theater in Williamsburg. I was flying solo for the show BUT wait a minute, as I was waiting in the lobby I looked up to see a familiar looking fellow.  Why?  Because we had both worked for a Children’s Theater like, “wait, how the frak am I this old?” years ago.  Based in Minneapolis, multiple teams of two actors are put-up in the same house for a week as they rehearse their various shows before they are given cars, maps (pre-GPS kids), a company bank account and released (two by two ) into the world to bring THEATER to the childrens.

Said fellow and I weren’t on the same team but lived in the same actor house. Our last night, the Company took us all out for a fancy dinner. That night he and I both had an incredible amount of wine and there was a walk-in closet in our company house.  And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Mr. Children’s Theater and I did the small talk thing (you know when you sum up years and years of  NYC artist struggle, love, chocolate and masked disappointment in like 2 minutes of chit-chat, mutual nods and smiles?) as we took our seats.  The show started. The pain hit.  My stomach hurt. Why? I couldn’t tell.  But it was not good. Not good at all. I tried to concentrate on the show which was so fun.  Only I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the growing hot white pain in my innards.

Am I going to throw up? No, I couldn’t possibly. God it hurts. Why does it hurt? Breathe, just breathe.  It’s hot in here. Like really, really hot.  Why is it so HOT in here? How the hell can they do a show in this heat? BREATHE. I can’t it’s too hot.  So Hot.  Why is it so hot in here?! Please don’t let me throw up. Please.  I can’t possibly throw up.

I tried various tactics.  Deep breaths, fanning myself with the program, subtlety unbuckling my pants.  Sweat was pouring down my back and I’d completely soaked through the armpits of my shirt (sexy!) and suddenly my mind screamed

Abort! Abort mission. Go. Go. For the love of Starbuck, grab your gun and bring in the cat. NOW!

And in a full body sweat panic mode, I did something I’ve never done before (well, 2 things). Grabbing my purse, I pushed past my over-a-decade-ago-closet-hookup and bolted from the theater in the middle of a live performance.  The fresh air made me feel better for like a nanosecond.   Not knowing what to do – for something wicked was still this way a comin’ – I darted across the street and into the Alligator lounge.   I’d gotten drunk in that bar enough times to earn me a belated puke.  But imprisoned in the tiny, dank women’s room, nothing happened.  Cursing my body for its long history of stubborn hurl-withholding, I tried to figure out what the hell now?  Anyone who has been in the women’s bathroom at the Alligator Lounge knows I couldn’t stay there for much longer.  I came up with a brilliant plan.

I was going to somehow get my fetal-positioned-self to my former roommate’s house who lived only a few blocks away.  I had lived, payed rent and definitely gotten drunk there more than enough times to earn myself a belated puke.  My rational mind knew she was working late but stumbling over to her building, looking much like Vincent D’onofrio as he transforms into the BUG in Men in Black, I prayed and prayed she would be home.  Please, oh God, please.

She wasn’t home. Her cell was off.  Which didn’t really matter because she might be the last person on the planet who doesn’t text.  Because she was working – she didn’t see the emails that I sent to both her gmail and outlook emails. The subject of the last being NEED HELP.

I crouched on the steps to our building, the pain now making it unable for me to stand.  I called my sister, friends, no one answered. I was stuck there for almost an hour.  Clearly, this was where I was going to die.  I had just gotten my Bluecross card out of my wallet and was contemplating calling 911 for an ambulance when my sister called me back.  I blurted out everything that you’ve just read in one long gaspy melodramatic weepy sentence and my sister very logically told me to get my ass up and walk somewhere to get help already.  Only, being much better at the grown-up thing than me, she was way nicer about it.

I got up and paced a bit. Testing the waters.  Then, yes, yes, it was finally showtime. I shouted into the phone at my sister wildly:

I gotta go. I gotta go.  I gotta go!

Out of some sort of loyalty to my former building of residence, I scooted over to next building where I proceeded to projectile vomit food from other universes into a poor innocent trashcan.  This went on for longer than I care to describe.

Then came that tiny miraculous post-puke window where you suddenly feel okay.  I was going to live!  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the glow of a cab coming up the street.  Like a good New Yorker, in one fluid motion I wiped the hurl from my mouth and stuck my hand in the air.  The cabbie kept quizzing me about which route I would like to take. Slumped over in the backseat, I looked up at him with hollowed Dickensian eyes and begged,

Please sir, please just take me home.

I stayed home for the next 72 hours.

There really is no silver lining to this story except maybe for the fact that not only did I lose the weight I gained in San Francisco, I lost 3 more lbs.  Though I can’t recommend this weight loss plan to anyone.  As of today food and I are still on a break.  I’m not hungry and have to force myself eat the most basic things in the name of nourishment.  You hear that food? You broke my heart.  And I always thought of you as the one person who would never, ever hurt me.

But an even greater question remains, do I dare eat the almond butter that I have here in the fridge at work? It was the last thing I ate that fated day.  It’s so expensive and I had just bought and opened the jar that day.  What do you think? Seriously, I’m seriously asking here.  Thank you to everyone who sent well wishes and checked-in on me.  I’m going to play the pity card now, if you really want to make me feel better please CLICK HERE and donate to Feeding America in the name of healthy food for people in real need.

This Webisode Wed was a write-in suggestion from a friend I met on an online date.  Proving that online dating can be good for something.   It’s called “Yacht Rock”, and it chronicles the (fictionally) tumultuous friendship between Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins.  Sometimes the guys from Toto, Steely Dan as well as luminaries Steve Perry, Christopher Cross and Michael Jackson show up.  And Hall and Oates are the villains.

In his words:

If you need more than that to give it a chance, than I have already failed.

et cetera