No shit!

At 10 weeks of pregnancy, I am reading that Fetus Marie is the size of a small plum. Now we're getting somewhere! She's lost her tail, her fingers and toes have separated, and her tooth and taste buds are now forming. She also intensely desires hot cinnamon candy.

I threw in that last part.

A few weeks ago when I had some time to kill in the Outer Sunset, I browsed in a small candy store. The sight of most of it didn't do anything special to me, but at the very end of the aisle, my eyes fell upon what seemed to be the loveliest sight:



I bought a few ounces of them. Oh, holy Jesus, did they taste divine. I've never been a big gummy candy fan, but I cannot stop thinking about these goddamn cinnamon bears. I've tried to fight it. I certainly don't need to be eating all that sugar--especially now--but oooohhhhh.... During a few moments of weakness, I found a website that sold them and just looked at pictures. Then I very responsibly closed the page and tried to forget. But I could not.

So I just gave up ordered 5 lbs of the damn things. I'll probably need to turn custody of them over to Ivan so that he can allot me a daily ration. At least until I freak out and hold a knife to his throat until he gives up the stash.

It's been a rough fucking day.

This week, the www.i-am-pregnant.com website advises me that I may find myself "feeling moody" and "getting distressed easily."

Uh, you think?

Gobble

After all of my weird obsessing and reading/comparing of, like, 500 cornbread stuffing recipes, it turned out awesome. I was so pleased.

Yesterday I spent my fifth Thanksgiving at Nannette's house. Fifth! How is it possible I've been here so long? This year Jenny and Scott were missing, and there were several people I don't really know there. It just wasn't the same. I mean, our food was lovely. Everyone was in good spirits. But many of the people there didn't feel like MY people, and it made me feel a little sad. The best part by far was spending the morning and afternoon cooking and drinking mimosas with Angie and Nannette and periodically sending and receiving texts of Thanksgiving wishes. I am still wondering about the mystery texter, though.

In the late afternoon hours, someone from a 650 number texted me and said, "Goble, goble, goble!" Goble? I returned the text with, "Hi! Gobble to you, too! I'm sorry, but who is this?" The person responded, "Is this amy?" (Obviously it is not someone who knows me very well.) I texted, "This is Amie! Who's this?" and never heard anything again.

I find that my cell phone book fills up with names of people I don't remember. They come from dates I've gone on--times that I was meeting someone for a drink or coffee and we exchanged cell numbers in case anything happened. Because those times are generally the first and last date, the phone number stays in there and I promptly forget who it is. Last night in my food-induced coma, I sat down and deleted all the numbers I didn't recognize: Daniel, Kevin, Paul, Jon, Jon, etc. It makes it sound like my life is much more exciting than it actually is, I think.

Last night I got home around 10pm, and it was a relief to have quiet. My dreams were vivid and specific, and one of those times when I woke up to realize they weren't true and I burst into tears.

Today I will go back to Nannettes for a leftover dinner. You can bet I'm gonna rock that stuffing's world.

My dear friend Beau and his new wife are in town, and during the next two days I will show them around San Francisco sites, views, and restaurants. (Because more eating is exactly what I will need.)

Yesterday would have been my Papaw's 80th birthday. He loved Thanksgiving and I always loved when his birthday fell on Thanksgiving. I miss him terribly.

It looks like I will only be buying one Christmas present this year, and I'm trying to decide how I feel about that.

I will be 33 soon.

On getting down

I'm noticing some annoying patterns in myself that are getting me in a rut:

1) During the weekdays, I get down in the evenings. Not "get down" as in "get funky" but as in "get depressed." This is true even if I've had a decent day at work. I think it's the drudgery of coming home alone and the fact that I'm not building in enough things for me to look forward to in the evenings.

2) My diet needs some serious revamping because what I eat currently makes me feel like shit. I am currently reading Skinny Bitch that purports to advise you on cutting crap (both overt and covert) out of your diet, including sugar, meat, dairy, and alcohol. It depressed me so much this evening that I had some wine to make me feel better.

I am out of control.

The Green Beans That I Need

I have been eating very, very well for awhile now. I have been planning all of my meals carefully, doing lots of cooking ahead of time, and eating plenty of beans, vegetables, fruits, whole grains, and turkey. I have been bringing my lunch every day except Tuesdays. On that day I need a treat to help me get through my long afternoon meeting, so that treat has been going to Portico's salad bar. I realize that a salad bar doesn't sound like much of a treat, but that's because you've never had the green beans they serve.

They are lovely: lightly sauteed in a little olive oil with garlic, parmesean cheese, and black pepper. Usually half of my take-out container is made up of green beans. I have come to look forward to these beans every week.

But, alas....today there were none. There were only boxes of raw beans that had just been unloaded from the truck--ostensibly from some green field in the central valley.

I felt confused. I planned on BEANS. What else do I eat? I made another lap around the salad bar and ended up sadly compensating with an extra dolma (not such a hardship--lemony lusciousness) and more kiwi and strawberries. While I was paying the lady who takes my money every week with a smile and an "Enjoy your lunch!," we mourned the lack of beans together.

I shouldn't complain too much. My lunch was still very good. But there better be some beans next week.

If only all my troubles were so simple...