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




 
 
 

Dog Eat Dog Nutrition Conference

    With many illegal (exceeding 3 ounces) Justin's peanut butter single serve squeeze packs in tow in my carry-on (technically, they're not liquid, they're suspensions, take that, TSA) my chaffeur (JF) left me at the gateway to hell (Miami International Airport) and boarded a stinky plane to Houston for the Food and Nutrition Conference and Expo. The 20 person security line took over an hour because every federal MIA employee moved at a glacial pace, so I had to amble over to my gate with little time for lunch, leaving me to consume the very worst sandwich of my life from a BookLink cafe as I stood in line to board. I also didn't have time to #treatyoself to Cosmopolitan/Style magazines before boarding so I had to remit to perusing SkyMall and fantasize about all the 400 dollar dog houses with radar capabilities I would buy if I was a cash money baller.
  JF's sister, also JF, graciously hosted me at her Houston pad with her resident Cavapoo, Chloe. Chloe modeled her spider Halloween costume for us all. Her bumblebee costume no longer fits, but she was pleased because this year she got to upgrade from six legs to eight.

                  The scariest Cavapoo purple spider you ever did see


We decamped to Escalante's, an "upscale" Mexican restaurant for dinner. I am perfectly happy with hole-in-the wall Tex Mex with bottomless corn chips, so the concept of "upscale" Mexican where 14 dollar tableside guacamole and and 12 dollar margaritas are the starting course strikes me as a greedy farce and should really just be called "expensive" Mexican. After gorging on tacos the size of frisbees, I felt like a wet enchilada the next day as I made my way to the convention center for the conference. The seminars are informative and thoughtful; they present current research and trends in nutrition. I even had the opportunity to present my Master's research during a session, alongside with real people who have real jobs and aren't 24. The Expo, however, is a circus of Big Food hijacking our governing body (the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics) and beating it to a pulp (pun intended). Monsanto, Coca-Cola, McDonald's, KFC, Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, General Mills, Kellogg's, Splenda, Kraft, ConAgra, Hershey's, Dupont, and hundreds of other companies were all in attendance with gargantuan lifesize displays of their efforts to keep America lean and healthy. While I enjoyed the free snacks (love me some Mcdonald's oatmeal and Three Musketeers bars) I couldn't help but feel there were snakes in my own backyard. While there was a lot of vicious arguing at the evening session on professional responsibility (http://www.expressnews.com/news/local/article/Dietitians-object-to-group-s-ties-with-Big-Food-4914965.php), I tend to a more benign opinion of the situation. Big Food runs America, and America runs on Big Food (and also Dunkin' Donuts, pumpkin spice latte GET AT ME). These companies are not going anywhere. If we want them to improve their menus and products, we need to pressure them to do so and recognize their efforts when they want us to see their progress at conferences like FNCE. Consumers need to rake through the muck and accept Big Food's promises and products with a grain of salt (but less than 2400 mg a day, thanks). Big Food can be incorporated, moderately and intelligently, into a healthy diet and we do not need to throw lamb's blood on Kraft Macaroni and Cheese a la PETA to make a statement. Viva la McGriddle. If you have never had one, you haven't lived. And yes, I basically threw myself at the US Director of Menu Development for Mcdonald's at the conference ("DANNY DEVITO, I LOVE YOUR WORK!!).

                     Dietitians just want to have fun. And grape juice.

I returned home with an arsenal of snacks from the conference, but missing a certain spaniel. I abducted her from Pinecrest today (Camp Grandma) and she is snoozing next to me wondering when I'm going to feed her the Libby's pumpkin that the Libby's rep gave me to give her.

Happily Ever After,

Mon and Mads

Dog in the Miami Bog

The season of swamp ass is still upon us in Miami. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it refers to the lagoon of sweat my thighs leave behind on every seat and that I then clumsily mop up with a crumpled napkin in a crude effort to eliminate the evidence. Madeleine doesn't suffer from this phenomenon, since she simply sweats through panting/sneezing all over her mommy. Today she is sporting her new doggie Colts jersey in honor of Monday Night Football.

  This weekend was pleasant. Mads had a triple cavalier date with my friend JS and her two cavaliers, Gatsby and Hudson. Hudson took a liking to Mads and to be honest I thought he was going to produce a betrothal contract. Both parties pooped on the living room rug to show their affections while the humans dined on barbecue foods. People are always so skittish about eating around a dietitian, so I like to put them at ease by showing them that real women eat sweet potato fries with abandon.

                               Hudson courting Madeleine

JF (boyfriend/partner in crime) planned our entire day around Monty's happy hour and were adamant that we arrive at 4 P.M. when happy hour begins to ensure we got a parking spot. That tactic basically ensured we were sloshing like the ocean waves around us by 6 P.M. I was feeling Caribbean and got a Miami Vice which is perfect for the indecisive frozen cocktail lass, but I was really disappointed in that it tasted like cough syrup and produced an even more wicked stupor. We had REALLY earnest intentions to go out at night but the happy hour stymied any hope of that, so instead I happened upon a breast cancer fundraiser happy hour while I was walking Mads put on by my childhood friend MS at OTC, a favorite chow spot of mine. I resisted the pressure to drink any more, but I did purchase a $4.00 breast cancer cookie for the cause, which I stuffed into my purse and rediscovered on Saturday night at 2 A.M. to my delight after excursions to Brother Jimmy's BBQ and Blackbird. It should be mentioned that at Brother Jimmy's the bartender overheard me say that I hadn't been out in a while, which she interpreted as her prime opportunity to leap over the bar and rub her ample bosom all over my head/face. JF has never been so simultaneously shocked and pleased.
  Sunday was a day for my parents abducting me to visit my grandparents at the nursing home, which is always a treat. There is nothing more grim than a visit to a nursing home. We are all slowly decaying, but it should never be so condensed in a single building. I feel like when life has run its course, we should just...float away. Like balloons.

The only thing to cheer you up after that will be the following cocktail recipes:
 

The Rich White Girl - courtesy of JD
White wine (the sweeter [girlier] the better.. BEASTING OFF THE RIESLING, ya dig?)
ice cubes
splash of gin
:::I'm Samannnntha... I have sex with eeeeevery boy:::


The MHA (MAH if you're a monogram kind of chick. Lookin' at you, Junior League friends.) Also known as the "Gin-gin cran"
1 part Gin (Tanqueray or Bombay Sapphire. Homie don't play no "well drink" game. Also - ew... why does it have to sound like it came from a well?)
1 part Gingerale - Seagram's is my fav. I think it tastes the most authentically ginger. If you can find ginger beer, that's even better. But alas, it's kind of a boutique mixer and you can only find it at "mixology" bars.
1 part Cranberry juice. CRANBERRY COCKTIAL, Y U NOT REALLY CRANBERRY? If you've ever had REAL 100% unsweetened cranberry juice, you will balk at the cranberry "cocktail"corruption that you've come to know and love. Sometimes I carry my own 6 ounce portions of the authentic juice and weird out bartenders by demanding they use it instead of their abomination that is cranberry cocktail.

Carolina Mountain Dogs

This weekend, some fine ladies of UF's phi-nest sorority decamped to Beech Mountain for a reunion retreat deep, DEEP in the mountains of North Carolina. HG graciously opened her family's vacation home for the occasion and it was equipped with enough processed food to serve an army of say, 11 post-grad stress eating young professionals. After the connecting flight to Charlotte, DS, DG, SH and I rented a car (alas, DG and I are not yet 25 and legally unable to do so, thankfully, since I possess the driving skills of a houseplant) and made our way through 'The Hills Have Eyes' set inspiration with nary a human for 150 miles but many spooky solitary mailboxes and an occasional wooden church. Upon our arrival at Rosey's Roost, the Banner Elk home, we kissed the 55 degree ground in appreciation for surviving the treacherous drive and got to work absorbing Cape Cod Salt n' Vinegar chips and tales of each others' lives.
  We're a rather impressive bunch. Just over three years out of, what was a FREE education for most of us (take that, 50 grand a year private school hater$$), we are two practicing UF law school attorneys, two Teach For America alumni - now a charter school teacher and a nonprofit manager, an editor for Country Living, an advertising executive for New York Magazine, a United airlines executive, a corporate recruiter, a marketing manager of a W hotel, a Zumba corporate exec, and of course, a dietitian with a dog. And a partridge in a pear tree. Not too shabby for a group of girls who were freshmen in a year when we all had flip phones.
   We brunched, we hiked, we wine tasted, we conquered. We waxed nostalgic about college, chirped and gushed about our significant others, lamented about the miseries of being financially cut off from our parents, and whined about how much we missed our dogs. It was exquisite to be together again. It was clear that we've all grown, but have we grown up? When does that officially happen? On the way to the airport, DS and I were mistaken for high schoolers by a restaurant employee. If our youthful looks are any indication, I'd say we have a long way to go.

Happily ever after,

Mon and Mads