Then, about a block from the warmth of my apartment building, my nose is running, I can't feel my fingers, and the wind blowing on my face- creating wind burn, and the warm boots are scraping against the back of my heel, which will probably result in a blister. Then there is a red pedestrian light and I can't walk. Ugh, it's only 5 blocks and not even a full avenue to my boyfriend's apartment. I can do this... (enter blowing wind) but now my freshly blown out hair is twisting itself into securely fastened knots... only a little bit... Oh f*ck this! TAXI!!!!!!!!
Yesterday, after an unsuccessful visit to an art gallery in Brooklyn (the gallery is closed on weekends), we kept within a strict 5-block-2-avenue radius of both of our apartments. We never discussed it, but neither one of us could handle walking around without the safety of emergency heat. After a quick lunch of sushi at Haru, (where we sat in our jackets and hats, eating frozen sushi and --appropriately--the heat didn't kick in until our check came) we power walked home. From here, my eat-a-thon began.
Three orders of sushi and an order of edamame later (No, this is only what I ate), we stopped at the grocery store and I picked up vanilla wafers and an apple (because the apple was REALLY going to be my saving grace) for dessert. Wrapped in a fleece blanket on the couch, I devoured 1/4 of the pack of wafers, while watching all the shows I'd missed earlier in the week. Three hours later, I was still freezing... and after waking up my boyfriend by shoving him with my foot (he was asleep) too cold to actually get up, but preferring to bitch to him instead. Perhaps knowing the only way he was going to get back to sleep was shut me up, he grudgingly got me a down comforter and wrapped me up- with the fleece blanket and the cashmere wrap I was also bundled in-- and like that we stayed for the rest of the afternoon into the evening. We made plans to get up and meet for drinks, but I'm not convinced that either couple wanted to go. Too freaking cold!
A pasta dish and salad later, I was still hungry. While my boyfriend retired back to the couch, I retired to the kitchen to finish the bag of wafers and the apple and finished his dessert of chocolate covered pretzels-- conveniently packaged in 100-calorie packs of which I had 3 bags. Belch...
My sister loves to hear me talk about how much food I've eaten. I'm not sure why, but she laughs hysterically... almost to the point of tears...
It all started when I was a freshman in college. In high school, I played field hockey, ran, and was a cheerleader (and for the record, you MUST be in good shape to be a cheerleader-- all the moves have to be ready sharp) and came home from practice to home cooked meals. Yet in college, there was never a shortage of vodka and cranberry juice drinks (served until 1 AM 5 nights a week), pizza and loaves of bread infused with baked ziti (delivered until 4AM), Raman noodles (prepared in 3 short minutes at any hour), Colliders --ice cream and cereal topping combo (cab-rideable until midnight), and of course double stuffed Oreos (available at any hour). We had snack vending machines and a mini fast food market in the lobby of our dorm. In college, I learned the joys of ranch dressing and personal pies. (Yum!) and I never realized I gained weight until until one person made it abundantly clear: my mother.
We were in the dressing room of Bergdorf Goodman on one of my trips home from college. Growing up, I had never been larger than a size 0. I was and still am petite. Things were always big on me. We would have to take things in or bring hemlines up. Surrounded by european designer wears, diamond rings, anorexia, and cosmetic surgery, my mom came into the dressing room with me to try on some clothes. As I put on the size 0 shorts, they got as far as my knees when I realized there was no way on earth these would fit me comfortably. While I considered laying down on the ground and forcing them on, I asked the woman helping us for a larger size. As each consecutive size came into the room (size 2- size 4 and then a size 6)... my mom turned to me: "OMG, ALLIE, YOUR THIGHS!" And that was it. I remember it came out like one one word. All in one breath. Harsh... but a wakeup call. That was the moment, I realized... perhaps it wasn't my laundry service that had been shrinking my clothes, but maybe my new lifestyle. When I talked about this with my sister nearly (7 years later)... she laughs, stomach achingly laughs.
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| I cut my own hair after this photo |
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| My sister's final fitting |
As I sit here writing this, watching (at least 8x repeats) of Sex and the City on demand, I think about my sister and how much I miss her. When she was in town last, we went to Le Parker Meridien and had breakfast. It was the day after an huge snowstorm, but she, like me, didn't care about the snow or the cold. We wanted to go out and we did. That simple. We sat at breakfast and I spilled my heart out to her. I told her everything and anything. I knew she wouldn't judge me. I could just talk. She'd know if and when I was lying and keep me honest. We kept the coffee coming. We just talked. Now today I am sitting in bed, watching TV, and thinking about how much better and more fulfilling the time would be if she was here. She knows everything about me. Our lives had been a mirror of the other. Then we grew up. She fell in love with an amazing man and she moved away. She's so happy with her life (husband and puppy, included) and it's everything I've ever wanted for her. Just on Sundays when friends are busy... I always think it would be nice to have her apartment to run over to or someone to meet for coffee/diet cokes. Oh well... " 'Tis life," I guess. I guess its time to give my sister a call... :)
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