Back in the day, when I was either living on my own or before Mr. Fizz showed a tendency to become the next Alton Brown, I seem to remember that I was capable of cooking balanced meals. You know – carbs AND protein. I could even rigorously avoid carbs for weeks.
However, now that Mr. Fizz routinely whips up little dinners of, say, freshly made pasta and grilled lambchops whenever I have to come up with a meal all I can think of is mac and cheese. To which Mr. Fizz (who always has BabyFizz’s best interests at heart) enquires, “But what about your protein?” I always try the same excuse – there’s plenty of protein in cheese! Especially yummy processed American cheese! – but usually Mr. Fizz directs me toward some better balanced meal.
Unfortunately, Mr. Fizz is on a business trip this week, and left me with only one meal (fresh pasta and pesto), which I ate last night (lots of protein in pine nuts, right?). Today’s dinner – mac and cheese. Tomorrow? Probably the same, except that I need to buy more mac because I am too lazy to make homemade pasta.
Was walking through a parking lot on the way to work – a parking lot with very narrow spaces. Attempted to fit between two parked cars, first front on (no dice) and then sideways. Stupid side mirrors were at JUST the wrong height, and made passing through impossible. I had to back up, making that little beeping sound to myself, and find some cars parked farther apart.
Also, my nose is (I swear) getting fat.
I was approached by a very shy teenager on the T today, who asked how far along I was. I told her – “seven and a half months, which means about two more months to go!” – and made my usual jokey comments about hating the heat and all. The very shy teen then told me she was only one month pregnant, and was very nervous about the pregnancy.
At this point I had to get off at my stop, so I only got to mumble a few words of encouragement to her. I felt bad not being able to talk longer – did she want to be pregnant? Was she ready for the permanent physical changes that pregnancy brings about? More importantly, was she ready to be a parent?
I couldn’t handle this pregnancy on my own even now; I couldn’t have handled any pregnancy whatsoever in high school. I really don’t understand how teenagers can do it.
I went to get my hair cut yesterday. Something I haven’t done in, oh, forever – pregnancy and the lack of performing opportunities have really made me lazy about my looks (sorry, Mr. Fizz!).
Anyway, I asked my faithful hairstylist, Anthony, to copy a cut I’d ripped out of this month’s Glamour, which had landed on my doorstep only the night before. I liked the cut, and it would give my tired bangs something new to do. I can’t find the picture of it at glamour.com, but the cut involved some long layers near my face, while leaving the back of my head pretty much untouched.
Anthony worked his magic, stepped back, and asked what I thought. I wanted a few more layers, I told him. He hmphed, and said, “Okay, but I don’t want to leave you with a mullet!”
Damned if I don’t see a mullet every time I look in the mirror now.
(and the A and the T and the I-O-N/Lose your face/Lose your name/Then get fitted for a suit of flame)
That lovely little ditty by the Squirrel Nut Zippers has been running through my head all day, and it truly is hotter outside than that place of which they sing. So hot, in fact, that pool at the gym was closed due to “extreme deck temperatures.” Sadness.