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Last Edit May 7, 1999
This Monday there must be a strange atmosphere - a full moon is due Wed.
Because they are strange, strange people.
Six of us.
I am (having fallen off my diet rather badly lately and feeling bloated) in a strange mood myself. My bodysuit (size 40) is tight - end of the month trauma - and my body does not want to bend. It is tired of tight clothes (read the bodysuit)).
Means I must have gained,
Bad. Too many cookies from the contest.
Broke my fasting habit.
Too many nuts - too much getting ready for the photo sessions - sampling the fare.
Entries are being mailed soon (they were). Five rolls of films.
I also know why I am failing at my diet.
Too many guys making comments. I am suddenly popular at work. They leave their cubicles to say hello.
You know the routine - loose the weight - keep the boobs. My doctor says I should have them reduced. I am considering just that. Just not right now.)
Conversations sometimes make me want to reach out and lift their chins.
They stare.
Even co-workers.
So I ran back to eating to hide behind the fat.
Or, I started to do that.
Subconscious.
No. No. No.
I also ran out of Medifast.
That's also not good.
The taste of food after a long draught is not a good idea.
So I am holding my own and trying to get back walking.
So far it is freezing, or 90 degrees, or 50 mile an hour wind or someone holds a meeting.
God how I hate Northern California weather!
I am fighting all this - I like being thinner and want to complete the process. I like having a waist. I don't like it when the stitches pull. And they are permanent.
So I am getting angry.
I am behaving better.
Tonight, I eat salad with vinaigrette and salmon or shrimp.
They have crab.
Tonight, the Ritz Blitz crowd is even racer than normal. Told you, full moon nears. I can't even write down the comments.
Clam up.
And bigger muscles.
These are the only comments I can repeat.
Wings for the halibut,
Puns galore.
We have waited 45 minutes to get one of our favorite waitresses. Don't want to train another new one.
My son has a laser pointer (now lost) I thought I was buying a pen. He slipped it in on me. Dan has another one. They are blasting the ceiling and each other.
These boys are having a gay old time annoying other people and threatening the lobsters. They have slid all over the benches in the waiting area - I had to move - while they indulge in testosterone shoving contests.
Now we are seated, have salad, and are waiting for crab.
They have tools this week. Buckets and bibs (they never wear them).
They play castanets with the crackers and annoy Amanda. Poor girl. They have also begun to sing back-up to the happy birthday chorus.
This can cause a lot of interesting looks from the victims.
Startles the staff who have not yet come to know us.
Rowdy group that we are.
These are adults I am dining with.
Right.
Sure they are.
They are serious about crab tonight.
They have side-mounted buckets. Cleared off the table. Circled the salt.
They settle in for a long run. Kelly is watched. Platters must arrive - and be refilled. She knows.
I pull my coffee out of range. Keep my plate out of harms way.
Mike is slow - the others are plowing through.
We have tormented Amanda enough that she finally bops John on the head.
So Dan suggests that she should take my son to his Senior Prom.
She may never come near the table again. (She has a boyfriend - that doesn't stop these guys)
Poor Amanda is now hiding from us.
My son says he's been asked to the freshman dance and the junior prom. But he hasn't been asked to the senior prom.
I missed something here.
Didn't the guys ask the girls?
Evidently not.
So I still don't know if he's going. (He says he is.) Or if he'll get a date.
Not yet.
He's packing it in tonight. Five platters so far. These guys can be fast.
Amanda has been pacified. She agrees- we won this time. Got her good.
My son now turns and stares at her.
Oh dear.
I request that I not be a grandmother before 60. Not that far away.
Mikey is fighting with his food.
The crabs are fighting back. Everyone has shell cuts and wrinkled fingers. (Salty crabs)
My son is still going - everyone else is retiring from the field.
We have our "cat packs" - empty film cases that make it possible to carry cat food home to the feline population.
I do try to remember to feed Ranger when I get home - he seems to know when I have it - Yowls.
Dan's cat stares at his dish on Mandays until crab arrives.
Spoiled cats.
They are not done yet.
Nope.
Not yet.
Desert - key lime pie. Oh they just had to do that to me!
I never had it before.
Good thing!
It is lethal!
The guys have pecan fudge overboard. (It is a set rule - if son has a brownie - Mother gets a bite. Of course, I have to arm wrestle him with spoons first. Also a ritual. Of course, eveyone cheers me on. Just what I need!)
Drool.
Dieting is a bitch. They MAKE me have the pie - I don't eat it all and I don't eat the crust past a taste. In earlier days I would have devoured it. I'm better. Just not good enough. (Fabio would still scold me for three hours. I really have to try harder!)
I sip my decaf (that was a 20-minute scold from him - but they make decaf with water processing now. So I feel better.)
We have an incident with a homeless platter of crab legs.
It wanders out of the kitchen and back. And out again. Carried by a waitress who can't remember who was to get it.
It arrives at our table - Kelly said it was homeless - did we want it?
Nope.
Once chocolate arrives they are done.
They know when they have had enough.
They are full.
Just not too full for desert.
Bad. Bad. Bad.
My pants are tight enough. (End-of-month Estrogen progesterone bloat does not make this better.) (End-of-night low resistance to pull of sugar not good either. Temptation is a bitch - get thee behind me, Satan. The chocolate already is - behind me. )
Time for the Nordictrack to stop being a laundry hanger. Time to take in the clothes or throw them away and get on with it.
Time to stop beating myself up.
OK
We are now established as the back-up choir for the birthdays.
We sing happy birthday to other patrons.
Especially after closing time. Two servers is not enough. So we get up and sing - and send the victim into a tizzy.
Our total tonight - a mere 49 clusters. Better than average.
It was the side-mounted buckets.
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