>Yesterday morning I went over to Sara’s, she put some foundation on me so that I did not look like a flesh easting zombie on camera, as well as some eye shadow, blush, lipstick and eyebrow smoother-downer, and it was very nice, but subtle. We then headed over to the Waldorf Astoria to meet Bruce Isacson, who has a bit part in the movie Outbreak, which I never saw, but he looked really familiar. It turns out that he does lots of commercials and only took the part in Outbreak because “Rene’s a good friend.” (Yes, that would be Rene Russo.)
Anyway, we interviewed for over an hour, and thanks to Sara’s skill with cosmetics, we both looked very cute on camera. We spoke eloquently and passionately about how abortion is legal but not accessible for low income women, and how wrong that is. I only rolled my eyes once, and was bitchy once. I was quite proud of myself.
I came home and went to the gym. When I began sweating and wiped me face, I noticed there was makeup all over the towel, which pissed me off because I hate when the towels at the gym are dirty. Then I realized that I was the disgusting slob responsible for the foundation smears on the white towel, as I forgot I had makeup on and did not wash my face before getting on the treadmill. Oooops.
At any rate, it was all washed off by the time I had a lovely evening with Dr. P and Future Sister-in-Law. First we went to a bar and met up with staff from The Panelist, who had gone to see a documentary about Ralph Nader, which I didn’t join them for because I went to have a late lunch with a friend in Harlem after I went to the gym. (It was delicious. If you are in NYC, you must eat at Amy Ruth’s, which is awesomely good soul food.) At the bar, I drank an amaretto sour, which I am not supposed to do because of my low carb diet, but I also should not have eaten a five grain waffle, candied yams, cheesy grits, macaroni and cheese, and fired okra at lunch, either, so what the fuck?
I am hot almost as often as I drink, which is to say almost never. Part of the reason I don’t drink is that I don’t like the taste of most alcohol. Part of the reason is that the only drinks I do like even the slightest bit are sweet and loaded with calories, and quite frankly, I’d rather eat pastries if I am going to consume so many calories. The other part of the reason is that alcohol sometimes gives me an indescribably weird sensation I call “hot butt,” in which my innards get really hot and feel funky. Last night, not only did I get hot butt, but I began sweating profusely. Within half an hour, I swear I sweat through my underwear. I was dying. Still, I managed to be friendly and socialize with people I didn’t know, so I am quite proud of myself for that. (I am really shy and quiet in these situations.)
At the point where I thought I might drown myself in sweat, Future Sister-in-Law and Dr. P wanted to leave and get dinner anyway, so we took off. When we got outside, I returned to my normal state of freezing within minutes. (My sopping undies were most uncomfortable and did not help keep me warm in the frigid air as we walked two blocks to a restaurant.) We ate at the Cornelia Street Café, a French bistro in its 30th year. I ate many more things I should not have, including half of a chocolate bread pudding, which was so good that I think it was actually manna from heaven.
I am shocked that I did not gett horrendous gas last night and thus far have not exploded in one my shit geysers. Just to push my luck, later tonight, Husband, Dr. P, FSIL, Brother-in-Law, and I shall join a crowd of other jolly football fans and watch the Super Bowl at Sara’s on her flat screen HD TV. More food that I should not eat will be consumed in large quantities, but damn – GO BEARS!!!! The last time I watched the Bears in the Super Bowl I was the dork in the picture in the post below. I went to my friend Tracey’s house and we played Barbies while the game was on. (Did games started much earlier in the day back then, or is it just my faulty memory?) After the half-time, we didn’t bother watching the game much but concentrated on own game, making the one Ken doll rush all the Barbies until he reached the end zone with one of them. Ha!