It's finally happened: I've gotten fat. The great thing about being fat(ter) is the momentum: the eating, the drinking, the not-working-out. It's sort of a nice cycle of predictability. I've even gotten new clothes to fit the bigger me.
The only downside, as I learned when someone unexpectedly grabbed me around the waist last night, is how much of me moves. There's only one solution I can think of for that: The Belly Bra. Yet another million-dollar invention whose time (and place) has definitely come.
Besides the chunk about my midriff, all is well. My boyfriend ditched me to go write his book. And I've sortof ditched him back, since he has no immediate plans to return to the city where I live. Still trying to figure out if I mean it...
Strangely, I've been having a great deal of fun while in relationship limbo. I attended the Pumpkin Smash 400 and Sppoky Demolition Derby at the Altamont Raceway. It was Nascar with old cop cars and pumpkins on a well-soaped track. There was much sliding about and, somewhere in there, two 200-lap car races. Crazy. Hypnotic. Oddly wholesome family entertainment.
I got to run around my favorite city last night and show her off. Beers at the Toronado, dinner at Indian Oven (mmm, garlic nan), and then a visit to Crissy Field in the full moon, waking up the egrets and wading out to the beach, looking up at the GG Bridge. One of my new friends from Brooklyn sang me her song about corn. It goes something like this:
Corn-y, corn-y
I love you
Salt and butter
make you yummier
I added my own line:
If I dry you
You pop too
It was a good night.
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