shoebox_dw: (icon)
Haven't updated in awhile, and as dedicated readers might guess, that's largely because not much of note has been going on. Had crazy week at work, got sick in the middle of it, so didn't see the new Star Trek movie after all, which put paid to my vague plan to wait until then to update.

So that's my big content note today: Shoe Does Still Intend To See New Star Trek Movie Soon, film at 11. If your marrowbones are somehow not thrilled through yet, I could go on to describe the excitement of discovering that Sobey's grocery now does hand-made potato chips (crisps, for the UK audience).
Seriously, they slice the potatoes fresh daily, douse 'em in sea salt, and hey presto...er, diet doom. These things trigger way down on the primal goodness level - somewhere just alongside Cadbury's Creme Eggs. On the whole it was probably a good thing that cramps kept me from even looking at food for a couple days. The spell had almost worn off...then on my first tentative totter out into the fresh air, I encountered: BBQ flavour. Curse you, heartless spud-slicers!

This sort of thing is especially tricky to negotiate just now, because I have reached an interesting stage of my diet where my appetite keeps insinuating - usually while standing in front of the Starbucks counter - that I've done so well, denied myself so much, don't I think I deserve a treat? Well, yes, OK, I concede, a very small treat. Oh, go on, says my appetite, a couple extra calories won't hurt now...And so on. I have been forced to take drastic measures: I tried on a truly gorgeous Mexx dress the other day in full, cold and deliberate knowledge that it was and will remain horribly unflattering until I lose that last ten pounds.

Cruel, yes...but effective. Perhaps a little too effective; my appetite is now arguing I need potato chips to console myself for the mental image of self in that dress. 
shoebox_dw: (hummingbird puzzled)
Comfort food in moderation, this I have adopted as my new motto. Corollary: Do not, repeat not, spazz out on animal crackers ("ooh! just like the ones Mom used to put in our lunchboxes!"). Because eventually, your stomach is going 'Yo! Control! Can we get some actual, y'know, TASTE EXCITEMENT down here?!' And you are forced to tell it no, as you've suddenly realised that between this and the crackers and the toast, you've frittered your entire day's calorie allowance away on gluten-based substances.

So you get this incredibly bleah, heavy feeling, and meanwhile your stomach is still whining, and you eventually have to eat a handful of baked BBQ chips to shut it up. Which is an uneasy compromise at best, believe you me.
 
shoebox_dw: (kitty fabulous)
Mom's best friend and her daughter about my age, whom I likewise adore, have gone in with us on a ten-day luxury condo rental on Anna Maria Island. Leaving Dec 22nd, returning Jan5th. This, as you may imagine, has me no end excited.

We haven't had a proper winter getaway vacation in years. The last two of those winters have been a relentless march of gray skies, and snow, and cold, sigh twice and repeat, ad nauseum. In the big city, this effect is magnified almost unbearably by the endless vistas of glass and concrete and steel.
I leave for work each morning in the cold and frozen dark, I come home in the cold and snowy dark, and there is no warm  welcoming surface anywhere. Indoors there is comfort, of course, but always shadowed with the knowledge that you're marooned there. This becomes especially pertinent when you're starving, surrounded by restaurants just a few too many cold minutes away, and all the caff has to offer is egg salad on white.

As you can see, it is imperative that I get away, for the sake of my prose if nothing else. What I really love about this trip is how adult it is. Not so much in terms of 'retirement community' as 'no costumed mice within fifty miles.' We are planning to drive down over the first weekend, and that's about as structured as it gets. At least, it will be if we can stave off the best friend's instinct to feed us every morning, noon, and night. She is Polish, so a firm line will be necessary. (Albeit we are not ruling out Shoemom's favourite white borscht.)

I am so seriously anticipating this vacation, that I am currently living off a diet of rice cakes and water, the better a) to look half-decent in the new bathing suit - something else I haven't given thought to in years! - and b) to take at least a little advantage of the truly astonishing array of American junk food. Specifically, those Dove chocolate-chip cookies I bought last time. Oh, and real key lime pie, can't forget that. It is a good thing the Eucharist does not involve key lime, else we here @ Shoe Central would be seriously considering conversion.

Thing is, I tend to put on weight squarely in my stomach and hips, so these two goals will be locked in perpetual conflict...but where there's a will, there's a way. *munches BBQ-flavoured rice cake with renewed conviction*

Also, there will be long walks among other 'quaint shops', and shell-hunting on the beach, and lying flopped in a beach chair with a good book and/or my iPod. I've bought the latest Patrick McManus and Ladies' No. 1 Detective Agency just for the occasion, not to mention the new Bob & Ray bonanza. Just think, two blissful weeks of nobody having to hear about those two, except the people trapped in the immediate car with me. The fun, she is spreading. 
shoebox_dw: (ratatouille remy caught)
Am really getting into these baked Lay's chips, although the cheddar-and-sour-cream goodness wears off a smitch too fast without the oil to stick to. This is the first thing you realise, when you start becoming fat-conscious: it is what puts the flavour in things. The loss of creaminess and richness I can live without ('cepting ice cream), but the quest for taste, in a diet that already didn't include much in the way of fruits or veg, raises the hunt for low-calorie gratification to an art form.

(Look, yes, I know. The reason I don't eat fruits & veg - other than juices, corn and potatoes - is that the texture makes me quite literally retch. At various points in my lifetime friends and family have cajoled, teased, guilted or humiliated me into trying, say, a strawberry; the results have not been pretty.)

Pacifying small indulgence of the week: Vachon triple-choco cakes. Chocolate snack cake topped with a loop of chocolate frosting, within which is chocolate-fudge syrup. I have had them in the cupboard for 24 hours now, and I have only eaten one. Victory is mine!

Meanwhile...yeah, the writing thing. Am still waiting on feedback re: my PopMatters column idea, as noted a very simple concept involving my one proven audience-gathering skill: the ability to say snarky and/or clever things about pop-culture. The more I think about it, the more I like it; inclusive yet uncomplicated, fun to write and certainly to research, so motivation to keep a deadline would be a breeze. Maybe too uncomplicated. We'll see. I am feeling better on that score, after a week's reading what passes for a similarly-themed humour column in the MetroNews.

The fiction experiment, or lack thereof, is what's really bugging. Same old same old: the historical family saga is bogged down in my total lack of confidence in re: writing period accuracy, the sci-fi thing is too cliched and the 'write what you know' idea is at a dead stop thanks to my being a pastel-cover person with an absolute horror of pastel-covered fiction.

Result: one ridiculously frustrated Shoe. I should just start writing something, I know. Given a choice between that and gorging on choco-cakies, maybe I will.

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