Thursday, May 8, 2014

The Leader of the Pack

Every errant eyelash I've wished upon, every sigh at the blue corn moon, every time I've neurotically checked my bookmarked "Cavalier Rescue USA" website for available spaniel beauties in South Florida.. has not been to no avail..because in April...the A family welcomed its first male. My fellow cavalier-lover JS lost the leash belonging to her baby (and notably ill-behaved) cavalier, Cooper, and headed to PetSmart to replace it, where she happened upon a local rescue group showcasing adoptable dogs. After spotting a petite tricolor Cavalier King Charles Spaniel snoozing on a volunteer's lap, she immediately called me to relay the magnificent news that the future A male heir was available. My mom promptly left for PetSmart and brought home a very special pup.
    Bojangles "Bo" A (formerly Principe, when he belonged to an elderly Cuban couple and likely dined on vaca frita) is a most fragile little man. Due to a congenital limb deformity, his gait is comically lopsided, hence the name Bo for "bowlegged," and also neurologically impaired as he has a little seizure disorder in which he nips at imaginary flies in the air. His underbite renders his mouth chronically crooked and gives him the gaze of the perpetually confused. He is delightfully defective, like the rest of the As, and was settling in to his new life amongst the Pinecrest pups when he took a little tumble.. off of my mother's bed. And broke his leg. And required 3000 dollar surgery. And has been limping around like Tiny Tim in a chic blue cast speckled with paw prints for six weeks. He has become, effectively, the most expensive rescue dog in all the land.



My name is Bo, and I am basically Bran Stark #pimpwithalimp

     Bo enjoys nesting in the bushes in the front driveway, dozing in unlikely crevices (under the bed, within the nighttable, in between the couch and the arm chair), and is slated to arrive in Gainesville for his Master's in Systems Management this Fall (with his new mommy, my sister, AA,). Madeleine and Vienna are not taken with him yet, but Madeleine has been enjoying the company of Fudge the Pug and Fudge's new baby sidekick, Dotty as they romp around in the hallway of my apartment floor. Dotty gets a little mouthy, but what young man doesn't around a pretty lady?
   I was asked to address the phenomenon of "skinny fat" people, which gets us people with normal metabolisms quite riled up. This refers to the folks who are effortlessly (and really, no effort is put forth for health on their part, usually) thin yet eat like King Henry VIII and move like mud. Not surprisingly, their bloodwork and body fat percentages often indicate a very dire health picture, more remniscent of someone who is overweight. I remember meeting LB (now a dear friend) for the first time, who was so incredibly thin that I even suspected she might have an eating disorder, until I watched her house an entire box of Mallomars on a couch in Cottage Grove (miss ya, cheap Gainesville housing) and polish it off with some oreos. As I watched [drooling over the Mallomars], but also stupefied, I figured she must be an intense athlete/marathon runner/gymnast? Nope. Hyperthyroidism? No. 3rd degree burns over 50% of her total body surface area causing extreme catabolism? Nah. Homegirl literally sat on a Craigslist couch all day eating Mallomars, not exercising, and presented as underweight. COOL. However, a few years later, LB had the opportunity to enter a Bod Pod, which is an absurdly expensive body composition analysis machine. Her body fat analysis report came back with the same metabolic profile as an obese person. Nevermind the ironic comedy of the situation and how I laughed on the phone for 10 minutes when she called and relayed her results to me,, but let the moral of the story reverberate this: you can be skinny and metabolically unhealthy if you eat like a trucker and don't exercise. So stop coveting thy neighbor, get your tush to Pure Barre (a new form of torturous exercise whose motto is ACTUALLY 'lift, tone, burn' while you cling to a ballet barre for dear life and pulse your legs up and down 80 times. Many thanks/dagger eyes to my co-dietitian SM for forcing me to buy a Gilt City for eight classes there and laughing at me when I pulled a muscle with the two pound freeweights) and eat your kale. (And to answer what I'm sure is another burning question you are having, yes, Madeleine is the poster girl of skinnyfat. I probably am, too.)



Don't hate us 'cause we're beautiful, hate us because we're skinnyfat.



Happily Ever After,

Mon and Mads

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Bone Appetit

   Madeleine has begun to sing for her supper accompanying my new roommate, LM, to her dog-friendly workplace. Several coworkers reportedly were very concerned as they thought Madeleine was gravely ill owing to her marathon snoozing. When she's not performing her duties as an administrative assistant at one of Miami's elitest advertising firms, she has been fraternizing with our neighbor's pug, Fudge (mentioned in a previous post), whose tepid snorts are often mistaken for growls by Mads, who then shies away into the corner. I have faith in the romance as it continues to blossom. It has also been discovered that Fudge's parents are French, which means I am hopelessly in love with them and may or may not have drooled a little when we first met. They haven't invited me over for crepes or long weekends at their chateau in France yet, but I'm sure that will come any day now.
She works hard for the money, so hard for it, honey!

  When I'm not at the hospital bribing small children to eat with jewelry and promises of hugs (being a germaphobe, I don't distribute these freely), I've been fending off many assumptions from clients, friends, and the general public that dietitians are nutritionally pious and pure. Sure. In the way that strippers are pious and pure. Let's nip this myth in the kale bud right now: (most) DIETITIANS LOVE TO EAT. Why else would we have dedicated 2-3 years to a grueling Master's program and be forced to wear hairnets (YES, HAIRNETS I SAY) during our foodservice internship rotations and calculate the number of calories in 800 servings of beans? Right. We are dedicated to noms. Among all the fine ladies (and occasional man) with whom I went to grad school and with whom I work now and all the dietitians I've ever met, I've only met two who were creepily militant about their eating (like, one had Excel sheets with her carbohydrate intakes) and both were competitive athletes, who we know, are strange birds because they like exercising a bit too much. When us dietitians go out to eat, nothing is safe, and nothing is sacred. Leave no carb behind.
   At our daily watering hole (which for me is my Diet Coke hole, as the nutrition team gets unlimited free soda, glory glory glory), the hospital dietitians convene for lunch daily and "how to eat" routinely comes up. Aside from my friend SM who is a pro-vegan loon who takes 70 dollar vitamins that require 4 capsules/day (and by 'loon' I mean 'dedicated practitioner' :) ), the rest of us face planted into ropa vieja + platanos maduros + Cuban rice at one dietitian's 27th birthday party this past month. In fact, the joy of food has become such a theme when I'm with my fellow nutritionista ladies that I've even coined a hashtag for these happy occasions: #dietitianswhodine.
  The following are the ways that I maintain a healthy weight and nutrition status, despite eating dessert EVERY DAY and going HAM (literally) when I'm out to eat.
   1. I never skip breakfast. Anyone who knows me knows that if I'm not fed within an hour of waking up, hanger (hunger + anger) ensures, and it's not pretty.
   2. Pillz. There's lots of scientific debate about vitamins extending mortality blah blah blah. I'm hedging my bets and paying what, a couple hundred bucks a year(?) to take a multivitamin every day. I also swear by my trusty anti-inflammatory fish oils (talk to me about specific kinds - def not all created equal, something is just so FISHY about some…lolz) and turmeric/ginger, as well as a daily probiotic for gut and systemic immunity (again, I'd love to talk your ear off about my preferred brands. Nothing gets me riled up like a good probiotic monologue. )
  3. Veggie Tales. My roommate is continually shocked and likely horrified at the amount of produce I go through in a week. Our refrigerator looks positively agricultural. I'm not religious, but fruitiness is next to godliness in my book. I've never missed a day where I don't eat *at least* two fruits, and three servings of vegetables. I swear by the phytochemical, antioxidant, and lots of other undiscovered little nutrients that all work synergistically in a harmonious melody that is a fruit/vegetable. They're nature's little anti-cancer treats and I truly think they keep me keen/green/lean.
  4. Yogurt/Nuts. Not a day of my life goes by where I don't eat some form of yogurt and nuts, often together. Again, poor roomie has to cope with hippopotamus portions of yogurt, and the unfortunate white yogurt residue fingerprints on the fridge door handle,  and various refrigerated nut butters in our kitchen [and white wine, but that's another story], but there ain't nothin like yogurt with all of its fermented probiotic goodness, calcium, Vitamin D, and protein as well as the zillions of nut varieties showering me with anti-inflammatory unsaturated fat goodness, as well as protein, fiber, trace elements, and B vitamins. Also, nuts keep for a while, so you won't find a single one of my purses without little nut debris crumbs all over the bottom.
  5. Oats, oats, baby - Pretty much my go-to breakfast err'day. I don't get bored with it because I spice it up with all kinds of fruits, spices, nuts, and even found this rad carrot cake oatmeal recipe that I made on Sunday night and packed every day for the rest of the week. Served with some organic low fat milk and a fruit, it's pretty perfect, and that soluble fiber does wonder for my sad little intestines and its beta-glucans be binding up all my cholesterol - loves it. http://ohsheglows.com/2014/03/19/heavenly-carrot-cake-baked-oatmeal/
If I can do it, you can, too. Props to SM for providing me with a delectable Aroma Espresso Bar Soy Chai Tea Latte which completed this perfect desk breakfast. Yep, we lost some good raisin soldiers to the floor that morning.

  6. Eating all the time - I'm the girl eating tangerines with no shame during a movie. And then magically a little box of nuts emerges from my purse. And then a string cheese. My purse is the goddamn Mary Poppins purse of snacks. I rarely go more than 3 hours without a nosh, and this prevents me from inhaling my next meals like a pig in a slop bucket. SM and I fight for real estate in our minuscule office fridge with our daily meals/snacks. You would think we were going on a 2 week safari with the amount of food we bring every day. But it's all preeeetty good for you, and pretty delicious. Funny story: I mistook SM's orange for mine last Friday and accidentally abducted it since I had a similar one, that I forgot I had already eaten that morning. I felt like I picked up the wrong kid from daycare. I hope she forgives me.
  7. Smart Indulgence - "Would anyone like to see a dessert menu?" (Chorus of "Oh no, I'm so full" ,"I couldn't possibly" ). These are WIMP LOSER responses. (Cue me shooting my hand up in the air) YES, PLEASE!! Dessert is my raison d'ĂȘtre, friends. I'm a sweet gal to the core, and I never deny an opportunity for dessert. Caveat: I will savor every bite and by that token, never really feel the need to finish. Same motto for any kind of succulent dish - truffle mac and cheese, french onion soup, AT's cornflake kugel, etc. If your three meals/snacks a day would make Joy Bauer swoon with admiration, I have no problem with you allowing yourself a beautiful non-dietitian approved occurrence. You know that happens when you deprive yourself? Guilt. Anxiety. Sadness. Shame. And then…overeating. Ain't nobody got time for that.



A little healthy indulgence at Makoto - Bal Harbour. Mango sorbet in a cast iron skillet atop warm mango pecan cinnamon crisp with house-made marshmallows and assorted berries, garnished with mint. Brutally attacked by me, MS, and SS. #fruit


Happily Ever After,

 Mon and Mads
 

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Dogged Pursuit

I do my very best to live life in the pursuit of happiness (but really, jappiness), but sometimes I find myself irritated by minutia and the challenges of synchronicity with other people. I recently read somewhere (my feeble mind cannot recall) that millenials like myself are often troubled by challenges and obstacles, often mere incidental and unplanned occurrences, that they deem unjust (i.e., unplanned) and they somehow feel "wronged by destiny." Wow. Did someone invade my brain and extract that prose? I've suffered from an exaggerated sense of justice since I was a wee thing, and it's only blossomed into perennial annoyance with the way things just ARE. Naturally, this conflict has only nourished anxiety and just when I think I'm at my wits' end with hassle, I am zapped into a more grounded framework by a person, observation, or experience. Working in the pediatric intensive care unit is quite useful handy in providing a daily dose of perspective, and I usually arrive home grateful and less perturbed. Then Madeleine looks at me and bats her eyes as if to say "I told you so, you fool. I soak up every minute of this cherished life like your paper towels soak up my pee in the dining room - may you find the same contentment with the present moment!" For a 15 pound dog, she is uncannily profound.
Mom, you worry too much. Why can't you just take life as it comes?

   I have the day off tomorrow, as I am working this Saturday (boo) and following my sadistic laser hair removal appointment, will be making the pilgrimage to the promised land of Homegoods in search of a sitting chair (as opposed to a non-sitting chair?) for my new room in my new apartment. I hope to G-d one day that future civilizations will discover 600 dollar sitting chairs in an archaeological dig and deduce the reason for their expense, because in my mind a chair should cost no more than however much the person in it weighs. I somehow always exit Homegoods with nothing close to my original intention, for example, I will enter making a beeline for the throw pillows, and exit with tupperware and a waste receptacle. Homegoods is the wily temptress of impetuous shoppers and I a humble victim to impulse buys like a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel reusable water bottle. Alas, let this serve as my written testament that I am ONLY to purchase a chair and perhaps some curtains, and may I be smut by the credit card gods above (i.e., my dad) if I emerge with a life-sized wooden giraffe.



If this cup wrong, I don't want to be right.

Happily Ever After,

Mon and Mads

Friday, February 7, 2014

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

 Risen up from the ashes like the noble phoenix (yes, just like Fawkes, lookin' at you, devoted HP fans), I am humbly returning to the blogosphere with no great reason for absence, other than there have been so many damn Real Housewives and Shahs of Sunset episodes to catch up on (can I get an 'Amen'?) Madeleine and I have been squatting at the home of AT and IK, gracious hostesses of Axis, while we wait for our new lease to begin later this month just around the riverbend at another Brickell pad with a sweet as pie new roomie, LM. Word on da street is that a pug named Fudge resides on the same floor of our new apartment, and I'm already having ethereal visions of the cavalier and the pug under the chuppah exchanging vows of everlasting devotion and long walks on Brickell Avenue together.
 After a rather tumultuous month, team Mon and Mads would like to present you with our new and improved selves. Mads received a rather cute puppy cut, so she is sleek like seal, and I accidentally lost 6% of my body weight after a particularly virulent stomach flu, so we are both livin' lean. I became an apprentice of the curling wand + heat-resistant Michael Jackson glove, thanks to my diligent teacher, MS, and may have even become a bit overzealous, as last night, upon seeing my hair, AT's perfect eyebrows shot up as she suggested that I was approaching Texas status, so it may be time to dial back. In other news, the administration gods at my workplace decided this little 25 year-old flea is fit for looking after pediatric transplant patients, so I got a snazzy new job description and much more facetime with nuggets who just got new livers and kidneys. Bribing them to eat with jewelry has become my motus operandi, and I'm not sorry. I've hired an extremely celebrated interior decorator, WPK, who is taking time out of her life as an MBA, French poet, Peace Corps activitist, and fashion model, among other job titles, to help make my new room my sanctuary and to discourage me from buying 18,000 dollar mirror panels. I will attempt to make the neutral furniture palettes a "Madeleine's dirty paw-free zone" but I daresay that would be a silly proclamation, as she somehow finds a way to leave a trail of dirt/eye boogers on most surfaces. I was featured as a guest blogger on Elizabeth Fulton's adorable blog, Gumption, (http://ellieannfulton.blogspot.com/2014/01/5-easy-tips-for-eating-healthier-now.html) as I spewed nutrition advice to her South African readership. Sorry I said "spew", but given the events of my illness this weekend, it only seems appropriate. I'd say life is pretty swell, except that platform sneakers are still en vogue.
  In honor of the gastroentertitis that nearly cost me a 20,000 dollar trip to the ER, I would like to provide you with a nice little cheat sheet entitled "What to Eat at 3:30 AM when you wake up with a stomach virus and are praying for death's sweet release":
1. Hydrate. Water is fine, but I know it can make you even more nauseous, so diluted Gatorade to half strength, Pedialyte, or Coconut water are excellent. You'll need to drink until your pee is clear, and then some. Sips > chugging.
2. When you can finally bring yourself to eat, you'll be on a low-residue diet, which means nothing gets to hang out and party in your intestines. You can have small amounts at a time of:
applesauce, bananas, white bread (toast), white crackers, white matzoh, white bagels, chicken noodle soup, white pasta, white potatoes (no butter), white rice, grilled chicken (not cooked in butter), strained/cooked fruits without seeds or skins.
3. Avoid (trust me):
 Caffeine, alcohol, artificial sweeteners, butter, dairy, chocolate, anything fatty, fried, greasy, fibrous (beans, roughage, raw fruits and vegetables), nuts, seeds, popcorn.
4. As you begin to feel better, you can begin adding things like creamy peanut butter, grilled fish, steamed vegetables (not broccoli, brussel sprouts, beans, or cauliflower) and take it from there. Best of luck.




My nurses this past weekend, guest appearance by Vienna, queen sausage of Pinecrest
Happily Ever After,
Mon and Mads

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Workin' Like a Dog

  Soooo… full-time jobs are for the birds. Or for the dogs, rather. Madeleine has mastered the purpose of life: marathon naps punctuated by blueberry gluten-free treats and strolls by the water. Meanwhile, I'm considering using my pager only for the purpose of blasting every nearby frequency with, 'May day! May day! SOS! I had to wake up at 6:30 AM and I need an emergency nap! And a soy latte!' I'm at least proud to say I am a productive member of society with a rewarding job taking care of critically ill children and not a Real Housewife of Miami…yet. I am also entitled to unlimited fountain diet coke in the cafeteria, so that almost alleviates the searing pain of waking up at 6:30 AM.
   JF says no one wants to hear fluffy tales of Madeleine and Monica's walks detailing all the cute puppies we encounter, and that I should offer more nutrition segments. JF knows nothing. But I will humor him, and let ye faithful audience know that in a recent study, researchers gave 48 people a breakfast of either Quaker Old Fashioned oatmeal or Honey Nut Cheerios. Obvs when I saw this my ears perked up like Madeleine's in the presence of a stuffed weenie, because those happen to be my two favorite breakfasts. Anyways, both breakfasts were equal in calories, but after eating the oatmeal, participants reported feeling less hungry over the next four hours than when they ate the Cheerios.
Hypothesis: oatmeal has beta glucan - a viscous, gummy fiber - that has been theorized to bind cholesterol in the body. Honey Nut Cheerios are indeed delicious and not a bad choice as far as cereals go, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I had oatmeal for breakfast the day I read that. My sincerest regrets to end our relationship, Mr. General Mills Bumblebee.
  My internet-trolling mother sent me this piece yesterday about staples all dietitians have in their homes:

http://www.marieclaire.com/health-fitness/healthy-eating-holiday-nutritionist-tips?src=spr_FBPAGE&spr_id=1449_34599451#slide-1
 
I had to agree with all of them for myself, but I'll break the dietitian code and confess to you that for the most part, we do not go around munching on kale and fair-trade almond milk. Certainly not this dietitian. I'm a gal of moderation so hell yes, when my friend NN set a plain white box on the dinner table last night that had tantalizing sweet dulce de leche/nutella odors wafting out of its cracks, you would be right in assuming that I dove in nose first. But, I had a few bites of each pastry and felt content enough to stop. And that is the beauty of having your cake and eating it, too.





Happily Ever After,

Mon and Mads (the unhappiest reindeer you ever did see)



Source: Nutrition Action Healthletter, December 2013, Page 7. Original Study: J. Am Coll. Nutr. 32: 272, 2013.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

A Rather Cavalier Attitude

 I am desperate to like yoga. Truly. I want so badly to love it and to happily perform sun salutations at 6 AM in the mornings. I want to be the girl with a yoga mat perpetually slung over my sculpted biceps and who can recite the Sanskrit chakras on a whim. I want to have an excuse to wear Lululemon clothing. But alas, every single time I go, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and even shaving my legs for the occasion, I exit sullen and thinking, "Do I have to wash my hair as a result of this? Can I get away with the dry shampoo gimmick here? This was not worth the hair follicle sweat."
  Firstly, yoga is the absolute most excruciating thing you can do to yourself if you suffer from monkey mind, as I do. Practicing yoga is like pinching the wings of a dragonfly mid-flight. I feel suffocated, panicked, and confined, especially at the end of class when the instructor cooly tells everyone to just close their eyes and be still for 15 minutes. FIFTEEN GODDAMN MINUTES?! AND I'M JUST SUPPOSED TO SIT HERE?! Thinking of NOTHING?! The idle mind is the monkey mind's playground. That just makes my beehive brain even worse.
 To add insult to injury, literally, I'm as brittle as a a biscuit, and the 800 push-ups disguised as 'hatha flow' do not help my rotator cuff impingements, scoliotic pain, hip bursitis, achilles tendinitis, plantar fascists, and triceps epicondylitis. I just want to lie in child's pose the entire class and literally revert to childhood and force my orthopedic surgeon to surgically correct the double 23 degree curvatures of my spine so I wouldn't have to suffer enduring lopsidedness as an adult that lead to a bevy of orthopedic woes. JF kindly refers to me as 'Quasimodo.'
 And thirdly, 20 dollars per class? That's 20 Chobani yogurts when they are on sale at Publix at 10 for $10.00. Two classes is a blow-out. I'm done here.
   Still, I decided to give my antagonizing friend yoga one more chance on Wednesday evening. I walked into the gym, gingerly sat down in the waiting room, and was informed by the exuberant receptionist that the schedule had changed that week, and now the 6:30 class was no longer yoga, but boot camp!
 As I turned on my heels to leave and go back to my apartment to make whole wheat pasta with tomatoes and melted cheese and call it a night, I was intercepted by my friend RK who had also naively assumed yoga was at 6:30 PM. Having heard about the new class, she insisted we stay to try it. Let's just say that here I am, four days later, still recovering/begging JF to massage my trocanter muscle group and actually enjoying Madeleine walking all over my back in the middle of the night.


Madeleine went on a lunch date with a younger man at Berrie's in the Grove. Winston is a 5 month-old cavalier with all of the sass of a young stud. His mommy, TB is a new friend introduced to me by my fitness-loving pals PV and NN, but it seems that TB subscribes more to my camp of "we'll eat cheese and drink wine from the balcony watching PV and NN complete their triathlons down below on Brickell Avenue." I know a kindred spirit when I meet one.


Pint-sized Winston next to Dame Madeleine

Food adventure of the week: chia pudding. Definitely a new texture, but I tend to love pudding/mousse concoctions so I was a fan. It did require some added honey for sweetness and I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to have more than 1/4 cup at time since it's so nutrient dense. Couldn't help but recall the 'ch-ch-ch-chia!' commercials of the '90s while eating it as well. I felt absolved of my eating mishaps this weekend after I ate it, since it definitely tastes healthy.

Vanilla Chia Pudding
3 TBSP Chia seeds
1 cup low fat milk/almond milk/soymilk
1/4 tsp vanilla
1 tablespoon honey
cinnamon to taste

Combine all ingredients and chill overnight. Add fruit/shredded coconut before serving.

Happily Ever After,
Mon and Mads

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Howl-o-ween

I just returned from a futile walk (no pees no poos) with Madeleine only to discover my fly was down the entire time. This is merely my wardrobe malfunction du jour, as the other day my leggings were on inside out and everyone from behind knew I was a size 4 in LuluLemons. Which I am convinced are manufactured based on Bratz dolls sizes. Anyways, What was even more disturbing was the lack of any excreting from Madeleine, which I surmise is from the fact that she *forgot* to eat her noms this morning, which is downright strange since she usually inhales her food faster than a Dyson (btw, you know you're old when you're pining away for a Dyson Shark. 25th birthday in T minus 28 days. HINT). She's probably staging a food boycott until she gets some of the succulent rugelach purchased from the Pinecrest Farmer's Market yesterday. Along with the market was also the annual Howl-O-Ween celebration at Pinecrest Gardens. I've never seen so many chihuahuas in bedazzled wigs and pugs dressed as tacos, which greatly comforts me in knowing that I am NOT the crazy dog lady, as many suspect. Madeleine was outfitted in a skunk costume and Vienna was a plunder-seeking pirate. Vienna didn't quite grasp the concept of trousers and may have peed in her britches.
  Today is Halloween, a holiday I look fondly upon as I cherish the evolution of my Halloweens past, ranging from being toted around the neighborhood in a red wagon with my sister by my dad, getting to select five pieces of candy to be inspected by my mom and then consumed with the rest of the loot rationed every day thereafter (and unbeknownst to me, mostly consumed by the candy monster, CA, my mom), appreciating confections from an early age as I dressed as a life-sized 8 year-old Hershey's kiss complete with purple leggings and a giant pyramidical hat, purchasing my very first sundress in high school to dress as a Stepford wife, and enjoying the quintessential college Halloween: donning my Victoria's Secret "Miraculous" bra (it adds two cup sizes and weights as much as a brick) and purchasing a 60 dollar lioness costume that has been passed down through generations of my sorority and my sister. Postgrad Halloweens haven't been as climactic; I did rock a fabulous Katy Perry get-up during my first year of graduate school including a garishly huge engagement ring from my hubby Russell Brand, but that marriage dissipated and so did my affinity for the South Beach scene. The noses, the boobs, and the cocktails there were just too expensive. These days, I much prefer dispensing candy to the smushy children (one Reese's for you.. one for me.. one for me...one for me..) in my parents' neighborhood, exploiting Madeleine in her ridiculous skunk costume, and enjoying adult beverages with said parents.






Pepe Le Peu and Jack Sparrow. Nothing says 'dynamic duo' like a small woodland creature and a seafaring sausage


   Today I took a tour of my new work facility, a large teaching hospital, with my boss. As if she already didn't think I was a total loon, a woman in the elevator with us mentioned how much she missed her dog and OF COURSE I chirped, "You should just FaceTime with your dog!" and my manager looked mildly horrified. I plan to win her over with baked goods and maybe she will overlook my canine insanity.
  Speaking of baked goods, yes, I eat them. In fact, I really eat anything I want. My nutrition philosophy aligns with mindful and intuitive eating within the realm of a healthy and balanced diet. Food is for both nourishment and pleasure. And I won't step foot in a gym. I am not a hamster on a wheel. It feels nothing but artificial and strained. And it smells bad and there's MRSA in there and people are grunting. Groty.

Happily Ever After,

 The Dietitian and the Dog