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Yesterday, by some miracle, a large box of vegetables and two Pomeranian Chihuahuas were dropped off at our door.

I hadn’t exactly been praying for them.  But they appeared just the same.  (Thank you.)
And now, my belly is full of fingerling potatoes sliced thin and sauteed in olive oil with green onions, just wilted chard and an egg over easy.

Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum.

And this was just my midnight snack.  Tomorrow, I’m gonna do it right.

I’m gonna eat the chihuahuas.

Just kidding.

No, no.  I’m gonna plant my feet to the kitchen floor and cook and cook and cook.

And, of course, I’ll keep you posted.

As you know, I’ve been reading (and chomping while reading) French Women Don’t get Fat which is a relatively snobby little book about how to enjoy food.

Formerly a foodie, I do long for the days when I ate for the sake of pure pleasure and I ate healthy.  I also weighed a lot less, took long walks in the woods, and, well, enjoyed my food and enjoyed learning about were it came from.  I could also cook.  I mean truly cook.  Ask anyone who had been visitor to my kitchen.
Oh the bliss.

Well, in this post kitchen-trauma, vacation era, I can feel that foodie inside of me being called by her insatiable muse.

Not so much because of the French Woman… (I would recommend Michael Pollen’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma if you really want to get into it), but because of the twists and turns that life is taking and the surprises that present themselves to me.

I have come to a place where I am less than enchanted with what I put in my mouth and come to a crossroads where I feel that I need to make some serious changes in terms of my weight, my health.  I don’t know how I fell off this savory wagon, but I’ve just been sustaining, for awhile.  And it has taken its toll.

One of the nice little surprises is the discovery of a sweet, delicious little blog that I friend of mine has started about food and health and life and mothering.  It’s called “Nina” and it is listed in my blogroll.

I love Carrie’s discussion about what feeds us rather than what sustains us on autopilot, especially when caring for another.
She also has some great recipes too.

So, a toast, to Nina, to good food, to really feeding ourselves and our souls and to using the summer to jumpstart (or restart) a love for good food and good health!

I’m psyched.

I just stuffed my gullet with peanut butter chocolate chunk cookies and downed them with a fat glass of milk.   I wasn’t really hungry.  In fact, for all intents and purposes, I really didn’t want to eat the cookies.

Hmmm…

Furthermore, while I stuffed my face with these less-than-gourmet treats, I sat on my fat behind and read the first three chapters of French Women Don’t Get Fat.   (Damn the french!)
Why?

Je n’sais pas.

I simply don’t know.

I just wanted to point out the ironie.

But, I basically just poisoned myself with high fructose corn syrup and cheap sugar.

If you are not sick yet, I am.  (Literally.  I feel really gross.)
Anyhow, if I stick to reading the relatively uppity, but seemingly practical, dietary smash by Madame Guiliano, I will let you know.

For this evening, however, I will just continue to berate myself as I count sheep.

1-sheep-your-a-fool-2-sheep-your-thighs-are-like-tree-trunks-3-sheep-you-have-a-jellyfish-for-a-belly-4-sheep…

Bonne Nuit.

But, here is a friend’s blog.  Friend Jason Denton.  You can access his blog at http://www.gagorder.org That is the current web site for my improv group.  Sorry I’ve been away for so long.  I finally feel something brewing…  stay tuned.

Jason’s Blog Post:

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Aside from making a requested second jab at VP pick Palin, I am compelled to clarify that my mention of “jogging” in the previous was post was actually a metaphor for sitting on my butt and eating chocolate bars slathered in peanut butter and then chugging whole milk (purchased for Silas, yeah right) out of the carton.

I meant “jogging” in the broadest sense of the word.

Good night.

Karma, Karma, Chameleon…

(I didn’t think I was such a big fan of 80s & early 90s pop hits until I started writing this blog. It seems I can never resist a chance to “pop” one in somewhere. And, it’s not just in this blog. I was recently reprimanded for trying to tell my sister for the 4th or 5th time about an episode I caught of the Bobby Brown reality show in which Bobby meets a man at the bar who doesn’t recognize him, so he keeps naming off all of his hits like “Toni Roni” and “My Perogative”. Still the man doesn’t recognize him until he mentions Whitney Houston. It really made an impression on me. I thought it was one of the funniest moments I’d ever witnessed. I kept singing “It’s my perogative. I can do what I wanna do. It’s my perogative…” and moving my head in some stiff roboto-like motion back and forth and back and forth. My sister was getting sick. That’s when I busted out with the entire first and second verse of “Ice, Ice Baby”. What’s happening to me?)

Anyhow, on to the karma.

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Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!

(Yes, that means that I’ve finished all of my course work for this semester.)

Please stay tuned.

To all my readers! All ten of you! I ask your good thoughts and wishes!

I have been struggling through two Master’s courses that I despise with such passion that I have found myself scrubbing the poop from diaper liners as an alternative to homework.

Finally, the end has nearly come. It is my last week of class and I am battling with a research paper and seven cumulative essays about nothing but utter bull shit.

Never fear! The end is in sight! I’m in good health and can handle such maladies.

When I finish I hope to dazzle you with at one, maybe two!, insightful, witty, and tear-jerking posts per day! So, count your blessings and keep your fingers crossed.
Until then, please think of me.

Yours truly,

Emily Marjean

PS – If you are just tuning in, thank you!, and know that I am sarcastic and not conceited. Again, thank you. No, thank you. Seriously. Thanks.

Last week, a very dear friend of mine received some shocking news. Her parent’s home had burned to the ground. It had exploded. In the middle of the day. Something to do with a random bolt of lightning and an underground gas line. The flames taking everything, including their pets. Thank God, no one was hurt.

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Ma, ma, ma, ma, maaaa, maaaaaa, ma, ma, ma-ma-ma-ma, maa, maaaa, ma, ma, ma. Raspberry. Ma, ma, ma, ma-ma, maaaaaaaaaa….

Then he grabs your shirt and tries to pull it down so he can eat.