MISSING: My Metabolism

My “fat jeans” are now just “jeans”. They fit. Comfortably.

So, if you find my metabolism, can you please return it to me? I haven’t had it for a few years, and I’m really starting to miss it.

I’m not quite sure exactly what it looks like, but it’s VERY talented.

Here’s what it knows how to do:

• Allows me to eat fast food for lunch and have a flat stomach by dinner
• Keeps up its half of the bargain when I skip workouts
• Laughs in the face of midnight Macaroni & Cheese
• Concedes to pasta three times a week, extra mayo on sandwiches and nightly dessert
• Ensures my “fat jeans” stay just that

If you happen to come across it, please let me know.

I mean, who wants a closet filled with just “jeans”?

A Tribute To The King

No, not THE King.

The Falafel King. One of my favorite lunch places in Boston.

The owner was this crazy Middle Eastern Man who winked at the women and yelled at the men (think Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi). If you smiled at him he’d give you a falafel dipped in hummus to munch on while you waited in line. The place shared building space with a convenience store, so you could get a scratch tickets with your chicken shawarma.

I am forever trying to replace all of my beloved lunch places now that I’ve left the city for the boring burbs. So today I took a drive and found this little falafel place up the road. It was pretty good. The King would have been proud.

So now I’m on a mission to find delicious replacements for:

• Big Al’s Chicken Salad Sub – big chunks of chicken, tangy mayo and, OMG, that bread was amazing!

• Archie’s Lowfat Turkey Salad – this was only available on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and was in such high demand that people would place their lunch order for it when they got their morning coffee (because Archie’s more than likely would run out by noon).

• Wong’s Spicy String Beans – where DID they find those gorgeous green string beans in the middle of the winter?

But with today’s great find I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Or maybe that’s just indigestion.

It's Not You, It's Me

Celebrities are constantly breaking up. I don't know how these Hollywood-types do it; one minute they're in love, the next they're canoodling with someone new at a booth at the hottest club. Don't they feel any kind of remorse?

Me, I could never break up with people.

Seriously, I’m amazed that I’m not still dating my junior high boyfriend.

My first boyfriend was Rob and we were in the sixth grade. Our first “date” was with a group of people at the movie theater. We sat next to each other and held hands. The first time we kissed (with tongue!) I was so nervous we just stood forever under a pine tree in the snow just staring at each other. (I’m not quite sure why I was such a loser back then. What the hell was I afraid of?)

Two days after the pine trees, Rob told me it was over. Eight years after the pine trees, Rob told everyone he was gay. For me, it was a big relief. In the back of my head I always wondered if he dumped me because I sucked at French-kissing.

Next was Mike. He was younger and we dated for over a year. I actually tried to break up with him, but it didn’t stick. The next night we got back together at the school mixer. We avoided each other all night (I was very mature even back then, obviously) then ended up slow dancing 8th-Grade-style to “Crazy For You” by Madonna in the very dark cafeteria. Our conversation went something like this:

Mike: “I miss you.”
Me: “Um, yeah...”
Mike: “Let’s get back together.”
Me: “Um, well...”
Mike: “Great!”

We dated a few more months until I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke Mike’s heart one afternoon when he was walking me home from school. It was awful. I swore I’d never break up with anyone again.

Twelve years later I found myself in a different city (Boston) and in the same dreadful position with Brian (whose claim to fame was sharing a hometown with the New Kids On The Block).

I dated Brian for seven months or so – about five months longer than I had intended to.

Brian was very nice, which made it very difficult to break up with him. He hung out with a group of about 20 friends whom he’d known since he was in diapers. He drove a 10-year-old light blue rusted station wagon affectionately named (by him) “The Shaggin’ Wagon” – I kid you not. Even I couldn’t make that car look good.

My breaking point came the night before his nephew’s baptism. If I didn’t break up with Brian tonight, I would never do it; I might as well just have the priest marry us after the christening.

My roommate got me ready for Operation Break-Up: “Do you want to ride around in the Shaggin’ Wagon for the rest of your life?”

Easy one. “No.”

“You said he’s an awful kisser. Do you want those lips on you for the rest of your life?”

Yuck. “Nope.”

And then the clincher. “Do you want to move to crappy Dorchester and hang out every night at the local tavern with his townie friends?”

Absolutely not. “Negative.”

And thus, after guiltily paying for Bri-Bri’s Broken Heart Dinner, the Break-up Dance Of Joy was born.

Dear Slobs At Work,

All you sloppy coworkers, you know who you are.

You’re the people who don’t know how to make microwave popcorn without burning it, or toast bread without setting off the smoke detector.

You never replace the empty water bottle or the naked roll of paper towels.

You will leave a miniscule piece of the last cookie on the dish so that you’re not technically eating the last bite, and therefore not responsible for cleaning the plate.

And the messiness doesn't end there.

You slobs fall into one of four categories:

1. The Fridge Hog. You bring in 27 pieces of Tupperware everyday. Only you NEVER eat the food you bring in. Instead, the food sits unopened in the fridge for weeks, taking up valuable refrigerator space, until the top grows fuzzy and someone can eat it as penicillin to cure strep throat.

2. Last Piece Lulu (or Larry). Who doesn’t love you – the person who eats the last piece of cake, last slice of pizza or last scoop of potato salad and then leaves the plate/box/bowl empty on the counter? I mean, seriously – the trash can is literally less than a foot away…you can’t throw it out???

3. The Sharer. Random nameless, shapeless cookies leftover from your son’s bar mitzvah? Bring ’em in! Half a blueberry pie that from which your family ate? Your coworkers will eat it! The generosity stops at bringing the food in, however, because at the end of the day, when the counter is still littered with untouched stale cookies and half a gelatinous pie from your house, you – Ms. Sharer – don't even bother to throw it away.

4. The All-Around Slob. You get the Gold Medal of Sloppiness. You not only embody messy traits 1 through 3, but a few additional gross oddities as well. Like leaving dirty dishes in the sink (um, how about trying that contraption under the sink. It's called a dishwasher. Amazing invention!). You pour your soup remnants out in the sink and leave mushy carrots and so-called chicken pieces in the drain. You spill coffee on the counter and never bother to wipe it up.

I think "Clean Out The Fridge Day" should be declared a national holiday on our company calendar.

I mean, seriously, you AREN'T this messy at home.

Are you???