Counting up

There are people who contend that finding The One is just a numbers game.

Someone told me a long time ago that you have to keep going out, keep meeting people, and at some point, one of them will be right. I still don't know if this is how to think about it, but figured it couldn't hurt, just in case.

So the other day I started trying to count up the number of first dates I went on in the couple of mega-dating years I had before meeting Nick.

There are a lot of dates I can't remember - because they were completely unmemorable. But I think a not-unreasonable estimate would be somewhere around 50.

This includes brief stints of only dating one person. So the periods where I was dating a lot - I was dating a lot.

I had weeks - early in my date-o-rama period - where I had four dates a week (one with four different lawyers). I had days where I juggled two dates - coffee and then drinks, or drinks and then dinner.

I had weeks where I just had too many dates scheduled, and so by the time I went out with the last guy of the week I was tired and resentful that I had to be out. When it was my choice.

After a while, I got tired. I slowed down the dates per week. But even then, I went on enough to show up for a date with a guy whose name I'd forgotten entirely. If I were to do it over again, I'd have spaced dates out a bit more from the very beginning.

There were people I didn't really give a fair chance to, who I probably should've gone on a second date with. Then again, there were guys who never asked me out again. It wasn't all me.

But for a long while, I didn't stop long enough to really consider people.

But maybe that just doesn't matter, and it would've all gone the same way anyway. For a chunk of that time I can look back and say I was not in the right place. I wanted to keep busy, have fun, prove my desirability. I wasn't in a space to fall for any of them.

But to be fair, there were guys who weren't people I'd have ever fallen for anyway. The arrogant journalist who wanted to know what was wrong with me for being single. The guy who couldn't even talk about the weather.

Then there were times that you could or could not count as a date, depending on how you look at it. The best example would be the time I had drinks with Tej in the bar in our office building and then met that guy. And we went out for dinner and I and smeared butter on his nose. A date?

I hardly think that one counts.

Skinny jeans

Have you ever had an article of clothing that you hung onto long past it actually fitting you? Because it was your yardstick in some way or another?

Your measure of size, or desirability, or something?

So Mark, who I wrote about yesterday, Mark and I went to high school together in India. We'd arrived in Delhi about the same time, and our families were next door neighbors for a year.

As I recall, he started out in 8th grade, but he was so incredibly bright that they moved him up a grade. And he'd already skipped a grade earlier. He's just one of those ridiculously smart people.

But this grade skipping made him young for our grade. And he was quite thin, as many high school boys are. This is germane to the rest of the story. In case you're wondering.

So anyway. At some point - I think it was the beginning of 12th grade - he gave me a pair of his old jeans.

Levi's were a big deal - you could only get them when you went back to the US in the summer. And these were washed soft and worn in to where they were so comfortable. They were perfect.

I kept them for years - way past being able to fit into them.

These Levi's, he'd grown out of them, and he passed them on to me. I'd spent the prior summer subsisting on watermelon, hard candy, and as little else as I could get away with eating (sugar, sugar, and more sugar - but no fat!), and so I was skinny. Healthy? No. But skinny. And determined to get skinnier.

So even with my girl hips and soccer player legs, these jeans fit. I am one of these people who will lose body fat, but still have hips, thighs, and a butt. It's just how I'm built. And the thinner I got, the looser these jeans got, the better I felt about myself.

This was a period of time in which I'd weigh myself twice a day. Which is part of why I don't weigh myself now. I'd work out three hours a day in the Indian sun.

All on an egg or cereal with one banana, a cup of minestrone soup (and I had to work out extra if I was unable to keep myself from eating the bread sticks), and as few vegetables as I could get away with eating for dinner.

No exaggeration.

Tired? I was tired all the time. I didn't really get that you need food for, um, energy.

And food? There were so few foods I was willing to eat. Two potato chips could ruin my day. God only knew what Chicken Biryani could do. And so I starved, and worked out like a maniac.

People think I'll know a lot about Indian food because we lived there for so long. But I don't. Because I didn't really eat.

This really only stopped when I went to college and lost my shit. I cried all the time. I probably ate a pound of chocolate a day. The Carolina student stores had the best chocolate peanuts I've ever had. And I have had a lot.

I was used to being so in control of my weight - if nothing else, my weight - and I just lost it entirely. I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't stop eating.

My freshman year I gained 30 pounds - a good chunk of it by Christmas. And 30 pounds on a 5'3" frame? Is not subtle.

And the thing was, I saw it happening. My clothes got a little tight. My fabulous skinny jeans very quickly stopped fitting. And I'd work at losing weight, and try them on periodically. And they got further and further away from being an option.

It was well into my junior year that I lost the weight. I went to Italy for the semester, got happier, started running all the time (even though Italians looked at me like I was feeble-minded), stopped eating a whole lot.

And the skinny jeans? Started fitting again. They fit through the summer, and somewhere into fall, as I recall. I'd try to squeeze into them that winter, but that was that.

It took me a long time to realize that it was only partly about the size. The truth is, they were such a measure of who I wanted to be. I'd have given anything, really anything, for years and years, to be back in high school where I felt safe, back in Delhi, surrounded by family, familiar places, and friends.

But size was definitely the major factor. I didn't keep my oversized neon green "Frankie Say Relax" sleeveless t-shirt and use that as some measure of my self-worth. (And what would that have said about me, anyway?)

For a number of years my weight would go up and down - fat in the winter, skinny in the summer. But I never got small enough for those jeans again.

Which is not unreasonable. I finally figured out you shouldn't strive to wear something you can only fit in if you eat three pieces of lettuce a day.

And then things come around full circle just like a food pyramid

I wrote a long long post and then realized this is actually a tale of two stories - one of a reconnection, and the other of a pair of jeans. And so today, reconnection.

In the random way of the world, Mark and I reconnected through our blogs. We knew each other from high school in India and had seen each other a few times over the years, but had not really kept in touch.

And the thing Mark doesn't know is that long after we lost touch, he defined my parameters for skinny. Via the casual handing down of a pair of old jeans.

I knew he was a lawyer in Texas, and if asked, he'd probably have been able to say that I lived in DC. But that was the extent of it.

And then one day I got an email from him, sent to all the members of our high school class for whom he had email addresses. He'd been maintaining a list, and there were people he was looking for. At the bottom was a link to his blog, Defending People.

I was interested in getting a glimpse into his life. Having known since 9th grade that he had a keen intellect, I knew his blog would be well written and his arguments would be compelling.

So I poked around it a bit, and then sent him a note, essentially say the following. That it was nice to see who he is as an adult, and that I was glad to be back in touch. And I sent him a link to LG, noting that it is a very different type of blog from his and those on his blogroll.

We've been in sporadic touch ever since. And then a month or so ago, he came to town last minute. I think he spent the bulk of his hours in DC at the jail. Visiting clients. Not in jail.

As we had two obligations on that Tuesday evening, we weren't able to catch up with him till near midnight at Local 16. We had a whirlwind introduction and beer, and that was that. Hi, nice to see you, meet Nick, bye! Until next time!

Then the other night, in response to my post mentioning Nick's and my divergent eating habits, he wrote and asked for Nick's address. He wanted to send him a wedding gift - a pro-butter-on-steak one.

He sent a book entitled Good Calories, Bad Calories. It looks really interesting, and I'm going to read it after Nick does. In a nutshell, the premise is that we should be looking at the kind of calories we ingest rather than the number. And refined carbs, because of their effect on our insulin, are the main cause of obesity, diabetes, high cholesterol, heart disease, and cancer.

The low-fat high-carb approach that we've been told is healthy for so long, according to him, is wrong.

He's suggesting eating a low refined carb diet - but it's not a diet book. And cutting out refined carbs, which are so low in nutrition, just makes a lot of sense. Which is what appeals to me about it.

Because honestly, my approach to life for so long has been to just never eat very much. I love, I mean love, refined carbs. Really good pasta? With just olive oil and salt? Heaven. Chocolate chip cookies or brownies? Up there with sex. M&Ms? Daily staple. Cheez-It's? Super guilty pleasure.

I could pretty much eat sugar cubes straight. In fact, I have. I love dipping them in espresso and sucking on them.

I know - probably sets your teeth on edge.

I have spent a lot of my life avoiding fat. And eating a lot of bread, bagels, pasta. I have spent years eating so much less than I'd ever like to. Because I couldn't and remain the same size.

I still love the carbs. And I think a carb-free diet is creepy. I've always been suspicious of Atkinsers. Life without carbs makes people angry.

So lately we are trying a different approach - more along the lines of eating some of everything, but trying not to eat a ton of high fat meats or refined carbs. It started with introducing Nick to vegetables. His mother is British, and his experience with vegetables growing up was very, very bad. And then once he left home, he never ate one again.

Until he met me. The queen of bowl of Brussels sprouts and popcorn for dinner.

We are slowly slowly introducing the vegetables. So far we've figured out that he likes raw broccoli and cauliflower and carrots. Not so much on the asparagus and not at all on the mushrooms.

Still, pretty all around positive.

Although I should add that this has thrown off his Time schedule a little.

But the fact is that he would much rather eat cheese, sausage, ribs, BBQ, steak. And butter. With maybe some sour cream on the side. And cheese on top. Which, considering where I'm coming from, makes me really twitchy.

I'm quite sure he'll never cheat on me or develop a coke habit, but I could easily envision coming home to him mainlining whipping cream.

But maybe I've been focusing on the wrong stuff? Maybe I shouldn't freak out quite as much about cheese and sausage? Which would make us both happy.

As Mark said in his note, "Go ahead and butter your steak."

And so, I'd like to thank him. Because not only is it a thoughtful present, but I think this book is going to be the catalyst for some very positive change.

Now, the thing that makes this an odd coincidence is that Mark - who, as I mentioned earlier, has no idea about this - was my measure of dieting success for years. In a personal fucked up body image way, not in a creepy way. I promise.

And that's tomorrow's story.

Friday overview: what's on my feet, what's on my cupboard, and what's up our noses

It's Friday and I've gotta admit to being a little bored and itching to be outside rather than cooped up trying to act like a responsible adult. So I'm furtively amusing myself.

On my feet: These are my cow shoes.

I've had them forever, and there were a number of years where I didn't wear them, because the whole pony shoe thing was out.

But I couldn't bear to get rid of them, because how often do you find shoes with a red cow print? Pretty much never.

And I really embarrassed a friend of mine when buying them, because I insisted that they were actually made of little bits of cut up pony, and I was opposed to the whole idea.

She argued that it was cow, not pony, and that they just call them pony-hair shoes. And so I made her ask a sales clerk, who replied that yes, they're cow, and no, duh, they don't just cut up ponies.

When I put it that way, I don't know that it's much better, and this is making me realize I'm wearing a piece of cow that deliberately looks like a piece of cow, albeit red and black.

Eee. So anyway.

One thing I will say is this. I prefer shoes that squeeze my toes together, because I have a very large space between my big toe and then next one. Also, it's not that I only have four toes - it's just that I have extremely silly little toes.

I would change my toes if I could.

So. On my cupboard: "Drop it like it's hot!" stickers.

These are the stickers we wound up making at the end of a long, unsuccessful day of trying to get our pictures taken in a photo booth. I have them on my cupboard at work.

I love these Ugly Doll magnets. In fact, I kind of really want an Ugly Doll. Which seems silly for a grown-up, and so instead I bought magnets - very practical.

I also bought an Ugly Doll pencil case, in which I keep my toothpaste and toothbrush at work. It's all plastic and so you can set it down on the sink counter and if it gets water on it it's easily wiped off. So another utterly practical purchase.

And finally, up our noses: Pollen and such.

You probably thought I was going to say a green M&M, or something equally juvenile, which has been the case before. But no.

I took this picture last weekend when we drove out to the water in Maryland. It's up against a dock where they put boats in, so the water doesn't really move. Which allows the pollen and tree bits to gently settle and swirl on the surface.


I love the pattern.

If you have an opinion for something very LG

Suddenly today I'm all, this is plain! Too plain!

When I set up LG I just wanted a place to write. I chose a very basic template, because I prefer a white background, and I didn't want distractions.

Also, while I am quite proud of some of my designs on fabric (Indian flavored scarves, bags, and more scarves), when it comes to graphics, web page layout, etc, I find it really difficult. I do much better when I can pick something up and feel it and turn it around, and manipulate it physically. If I can't touch it, it's hard for me.

I can look at a site and think it's pretty, or cool, or works well, but I don't know how to come up with one. But I have colleagues who do this kind of thing on the side, who I could pay for help. I just haven't, because it hasn't been a priority.

But now I'm wondering if LG is boring? Maybe I should add color on the sides? Add a masthead at the top?

What's kept me from it, mainly, is that I have no idea what I want. None. What would be very LG? I don't know.

If you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them. Thoughts on graphics or personality or anything that I could use to shape ideas.