Learning Italian; definite articles? definitelyANNOYING!!

Ok Diary this will be a tiny break fomr the obsession over weight loss/gain as I take a break to whine about trying to learn Italian. I have learned French and Spanish and thought (quite erroneously) that Italian woud be no sweat. Well it IS a sweat. I have my Drive-by Italian CDs that I listen to in my car and by the time I get to work I feel like my brain has been swirled around with an egg whisk. Let's start my rant with Definite Articles. In Italian you have a bunch of different ones and on days when the sun is shining you use "LA" when it is cloudy out and the policeman in front of you is wearing sunglasses you use "LE" When you have gone completely around the bend and are having a full blown hysterical laughing fit because you would put a bullet in your head if you didn't, you use "GLI". The problem emanates from the fact that French, Spanish and Italian are so close that you feel like by speaking Spanish or French, it should just naturally come out Italian and it doesn't!!!!! I had an English lady friend who told me "Its so easy dahrling! You simply speak French and put an "O" or an "I" at the end and it becomes Italian! WRONG!!! In fact it is much harder because the English phrase goes into my head, translates into French, then I mentally say "no" (Or "mais non"), then it translates in Spanish which again is incorrect then I finally translate it into Italian, run it through all the rules and grammer making sure it all agrees and finally it comes out sort, kinda Italian. In the meantime I sit there for a full 60 second minute with my eyes bulging and my tongue hanging out grunting like a monosyllabic pig!

Honestly, when I decided to take up Italian, I pictured myself at smart Italian dinner parties with perhaps an ultra long cigarette holder and stillettos that I can barely walk in spitting out sharp and witty Italian phrases with the speed and accuracy of a machine gun. (Somewhere in that picture my hair grew long and spontaneously straightened and turned black and I lost weight and about 20 years). Obviously the return to earth from dreamland was a pretty rough landing. Ok then! There is nothing for it but to increase the practice and keep at it. Persistence is the key Diary! I'll keep in touch.
Arrivederci!!!!

Its time to start a blog

Hello folks!
In response to all of your interest and frequent questions, I have decided to start a blog. It is for you but also for me to look back on and remember all of the thoughts and feelings that have gone into this next step in life that seems so out of the blue and opposite to what other, more careful people are considering at this time.
As you know, Pete and I have decided to purchase property in Calabria Italy. We want an apartment in a historical center that we can fix up. There are several reasons for this. The first of which is the fact that I am a transnational, being Italian stuck in a northern European body. This is a well known and documented fact as I recently "came out" and proclaimed what I am. It feels good to acknowledge this and not to try to hide it all the time. My friends and family have been surprisingly supportive and have decided that they love me regardless. I believe in my heart of hearts that Pete too is a transnational but he has yet to embrace the real him and will do so when the time is right. By then I will have forged the path for him so that his transition will be painless.

I have recently started studying Italian. I listen to the CDs in my bright yellow, convertible '91 Miata (restored) and can be heard screaming around the streets of Morgan Hill shreiking Italian phrases in response to the American lady on the CD urging me to "repeat". I have no idea what I am saying sometimes but my pronounciation is FANTASTICO!.

The question I get from people is "What made you come to this decision?" And I can honestly say that I have no idea at all other than I have always felt a kinship with the Italians. I love people who are so free with their emotions and their hands. I have always talked with my entire body and people here seem to get freaked about it. I really think that some think I am going to hit them. I have also lost my taste for fast food and to some extent for fast life.

Also, from what I see, the Italians have snagged one of the best parts of the globe for themselves. To top that off, they have a way of living that seems like fluid art. There is art everywhere in Italy, in the food, the presentation, the culture and traditions. They recognize that there is so much in life that merits celebration and they celebrate uninhibitedly. I remember when I first met my husband and we started "courting". or some reason everything we touched at that time turned to success. We got so much done in such a short time and good luck was at every turn. Our Modus Oparendi at that time was to celebrate anything we could think of. There was no weekend that we did not have champagne and cake and, suprise! the reasons to celebrate just kept coming in and kept getting bigger and better.

For awhile we have gotten out of that mode and into the Silicon Valley grind. We work our asses to the bone on a daily basis and have forgotten to celebrate. Life has become a little harder, a little stranger and a little less friendly, or at least it seems that way. We have forgotten that it is worthwhile to hike several miles just to see a view. I have forgotten all the ways I know to cook lamb and meals are now quick plugs to keep the tum happy and keep us going. And finally, and probably the clincher is that, after years of scrimping and saving and sacrificing, our retirement funds are practically useless and things don't look to be getting any better in the near future what with our political situation being what it is.

All the more reason to save you say? I say Pish Tosh! Nothing is guarenteed in life and our 401Ks could end up as scratchy and inefficient toilet paper before long. After all is it paper, not a house, not a way of life and not a lot to look forward to. Pete and I have another possible 50 years left on this planet and will probably be working for a long time to come. I will agree to do this for 11 months out of the year but that one month, in my little place, in a land where life is meant to be savored and people are not afraid of being assaulted when I try to explain something, well that makes it all worthwhile. It will be a month long celebration. Pete and I will look for things to celebrate and once a year will devote our entire selves to doing just that. We will count our blessings and really see what future blessings we have in the hopper and what it will take to get them to fruition. I really don't care if what we buy is a shit hovel ruin. We will make it nice and ove it for what it is. It will be a wonderous place. As long as I have running water, a place to plug in my blow dryer, and a wonderful view, I will be happy.

By the way, none of this is meant to lessen in any way the people in the good old US of A. It is my country and I love it here. I still think we have a lot of the best and brightest. We just need to wrestle our government back from the corrupt politicians who have taken over and we will be great once again.

So, there you have it. To some I am sure that this is proof positive that I have gone completely around the bend but I have found that going around the bend gives you the best view. I have also changed my viewpoint with regard to sucess and failure. I will very likely make a bunch of possibly costly mistakes. However that does not mean that I will have failed. One can come back from mistakes and turn them into success, even the most costly ones. And then one has gained wisdom that is priceless. One also gains the knowledge that there is no failure, just things that are not finished yet. Some things are much harder and/or more costly than others but that does not mean we shouldn't have done them or that they are not worth doing. Careful people are fine but they sometimes allow their thinking to rob themselves and others of opportunities to really experience living.

Here we go folks! I will be chronicling our day to day adventures and so, hopefully encourage others to take the plunge so that I can have all my friends as neighbors. Today is the 14th of August, 2010. on 14 July 2011 there will be a party on my roof terrace. I will play my violin and we will watch the sun set over the sea and think how far away we are from the every day grind and hustle and bustle. We will clink our glasses and observe how wonderful it is to be alive in this amazing time and place. We will invite the little old ladies and hear their stories and I may even teach violin to the kids in exchange for some of mama's lasagne.

It is time to celebrate!
Ciao for now!
XO
Chris

Animals,Art and Aesthetics

Animals, Art, and the Aesthetics

Is it possible that great artists have become reincarnated into cats? Is this fate and/or karma in which they are paying the price for their debauchery in former lives?

The cats I have acquired definitely have an eye for color, texture and form. Whether it be the particular odor emanating from the litter box after much careful thought and precision management on their part, or the way they shed their fur in artful clumps over my favorite chair.

I don’t know who is actually responsible for these but I have lately discovered the delicately placed “Little Piles of Vomit” These never cease to surprise and delight me. They are color coordinated and placed around the house for the maximum aesthetic affect. Sometimes you get a multiple sensory experience when it is fresh and still warm. This is best enjoyed at 3:00 A.M. on your way back from the bathroom when you step in it in stockinged feet. Mostly though, they dry where they are. We enjoy and revel in them until we grow weary and scrub them off the surface with a scrubby pad.

Another source of aesthetic and/or mental trauma in our house is the live performance art exhibition entitled “Toilet Paper Uprising”. This is a staged interpretation of an actual uprising which must be squelched by the ever vigilant Snowball. Generally this results in the "Toilet Paper Massacre", the papery carnage of which I find strewn all over the house when I get out of bed. These things always occur during the night while I am peacefully sleeping, never suspecting the danger that lurks under the bathroom cabinet. I thank God for a cat so alert and dedicated to her security post. One imagines that it is a slow and painful demise being done to death by a crazed mob of anarchic toilet paper rolls armed with toilet brushes, who have had just about enough of being treated like a bunch of ass wipes.

Smelly dogs

Well, Jack and Little are clean now. There was a lot of ruckus and soap suds but now we are all relaxing in the bed. I hate to do that to them but one of us was starting to smell like a rotting peanut and it wasn't me.

Stomach procedure

Well Diary,
Yesterday I had an Endoscopy which is an ill advised procedure where the doctor peeps at your insides via a scope that gets shoved forcefully down your gullet making you gag the entire time. Fortunatly you are too drugged to care and all you remember is a bad dream and a sore throat.
I had thought that I would be up and about today but that was wishful thinking. I am still in bed trying to get over the massive infusion of narcotics they gave me to keep me from barfing up the scope. While "Chris under the influence of Demerol" can be flat out hilarious for others, I chafe under the inactivity and have had quite enough dizzyness to be getting on with. I really thought I saw the doctor laughing while I was outlining my treatment plan to him shortly after the procedure. He said "We'll talk about it when you are not under the influence" WELL! Under the influence INDEED! I was as lucid as ever even though I noticed I still had the little shoe coverings on when I left the building. (Those things make great shower caps by the way.)
Still and all I am unhappy. I did not lose one single pound despite having barely anything to eat yesterday. in fact I gained some. That must be from the huge dinner I ate the night before to avoid starvation while waiting for the procedure. Perhaps half a cake was a bit too much. Anyway Diary Its back on the diet bandwagon. From now on it is fruit and meat and vegetables until I am in bikini shape. See Ya!

Mushroom Mardi Gras

Well diary, today was the Mushroom Mardi Gras in Morgan Hill. Despite its name, there was nary a mushroom to be found in the entire festival. There were several other poisons peddled by the food demons who have apparently been let out of Hell for the weekend to supplement their meagre incomes earned by jabbing sinners in the ass with pitchforks during the week and on bank holidays.

Overnight the streets of Morgan Hill became a veritable gauntlet of fatty food booths. The air was rent with the sound of spitting oil fom the hundreds of overworked deep fat fryers. What appeared to be fog was actually smoke from BBQ's laden with red meat and pork cracklins.

Despite many overwhelming temptations,I was able to circumvent the funnel cakes and chocolate dipped marshmallows (Lead me not into temptation but deliver me from evil!). The demon selling a cone of a hundred tiny freshly made douhgnuts was also invited to take a hike. As far as the cotton candy man, A simple "Get thee behind me" was adequate and I walked through the valley of fat unscathed. I did succumb, however, after a day of hard slogging and much work. The Kettle Korn lady was beckoning and I thought to myself "Just one......BAG!" Ok, so I scarfed down a bag but in my defense, it was a small bag and I was quite hungry. In fact, on the triage list of diet sins, Kettle Korn is hardly "mortal" and really rates down there with eating an extra banana or in my case, 5 or 6 extra bananas. Nonetheless, one can always console oneself by saying "it could have been worse".

Ok so it is a bit of embroidery. There probably were not "hundreds' of deep fat fryers. But the dangers of the choclate dipped marshmallows were real. One could just imagine the pancreatic meltdown that would occur after one ill advised bite. In any case it was a very enjoyable day. In life and especially in festivals one must pick one's dietary battles and as long as we confess our sins right after we commit them I think that lets us off the hook. This works out great because it is DINNER TIME!
Till next time Diary!

Holy Man

THE HOLY MAN

The wind was blowing cool as the first hint of fall started to make itself felt. Amia knew it was coming but tried to hold it off as she had the last 200 falls and winters before this. She had been travelling all day and was tired. She looked around the clearing she had stopped in. It was high on a hilltop and afforded a view and thus protection on all sides except the portion blocked by the thatch of trees behind her. The last rays of sun slanted into the clearing making the grass appear fluorescent. The sky was blue with big puffy clouds and there was the smell of warm lavender in the air which was made all the more precious against the chill of the wind and the promise of impending winter.

Since the Apocalypse 200 years ago, fall took on a much more ominous tone as the harbinger of winter with its harsh and brutal cold, precious little shelter and barely any food worth eating. Amia was in her 38th year and felt the familiar sensations of approaching old age. She knew that it started with aching joints and failing eyesight and hearing, so subtle that it was almost unnoticeable. This would inevitably, slowly progress into a state of almost complete helplessness, and lacking the co-support of a group or family, would result in death by debilitation and thus starvation or the swift and relatively kind end of being devoured or killed by animals or humans, whichever was first to discover her helplessness.

Amia came from a race of immortals who found in the carnal death, no break in consciousness. Memories did not die with the body but were as fresh as the day they were formed even when waking from the sleep of death into a new baby’s body. She was one of a small handful of these immortals who found their way to planet earth back in the year 500 BC. They had made a pact with each other that they would continue here until they could figure out a way to end the suffering of earth’s people. Since then Amia had lived, grown old and died many times trapped here on a planet with its wars, suffering and endlessly repeating cycles of destruction, that, despite the centuries of trying to understand, made no sense to her whatsoever.

Amia recalled her days tens of thousands of years prior to her trip to earth. She had been much more powerful and godlike. Her words were cast in stone and prophesies came true without any counter consideration. She simply said something and it was true. She could make lightening appear from her fingertips and, in fact had used this skill to entertain herself on more than one occasion. Life was relatively simple even as short a while ago as the 1300s. Whenever she spotted an unjust action among humans, she would right the wrongs simply by stating the correct outcome. This was a relatively simple and fun game until she began to notice that sometimes, unbelievably, she was wrong in her assessment and unwittingly hurt those she was trying to protect. With that doubt, her godlike powers diminished. And with the diminishment of her powers, the unsettling dream began.

Each successive lifetime seemed to sap her spiritual strength more and more until she started to consider herself more human and less like a god. She wondered when she would submit to the inevitability of death and wake up thinking that this was the first time she had ever lived. She knew that that too was coming and she would be trapped forever having forgotten the reason she came here in the first place and the fact that she could leave any time. With each successive lifetime, the dream became more frequent and intense until it was an inexorable and painful part of her sleep.

Amia had long since lost her faith in gods. This faith had been strong in her as long as she considered herself one of them. Now, in her quasi-human form, her faith had gone from a strongly formed and forged Truth to a vague, wispy and frail concept that she worried would soon disappear forever.

In the shocking few days after the Apocalypse, Amia had stumbled unfeeling and unthinking into a ruined Indian shrine. Among the rubble she had found there had been a small stone idol of the elephant god Ganesha. Although she had held humans and their beliefs at arm’s length, Amia had not turned a blind eye or deaf ear to discussions of their various gods. These she had studied in secret looking for clues to the meaning of human life. Many of the gods had been a bitter disappointment. They had contained all of the worst human attributes and were revered by humans who wanted to destroy but not be responsible for that destruction. In Ganesha, she had found the most worthy attributes. She had also found that those who had embraced Ganesha and attempted to embody those attributes had been the happiest and most successful in life, up until the Holocaust which rendered everything more or less meaningless.

Nonetheless, Amia coveted this elephant headed idol and when she felt impending death, she squirreled it away somewhere safe until, 10 years later she would have a body capable of finding it again.

Amia looked around her. She had the unsettling feeling that there was someone out there who was aware of her presence. The trees moved gently with the wind and the sun inched its way across the sky. The grass in the clearing danced its autumn dance but other than that, she perceived no motion. Yet, the feeling persisted.

Amia sifted through the items in her leather pouch. The pouch with its meager contents, her broadsword, and the clothes on her back were the only possessions Amia now had and they traveled with her as she moved from place to place like a shadow walking gingerly on cat’s paws. Amia looked at herself in a shard of mirrored glass that she carried with her. She was thin, almost to the point of emaciation. Her dark halo of black hair formed angry curls around her chiseled face. Her boots were so worn that she could feel the ground through them and she would definitely need to procure a new set of woolen tights as the ones she was wearing would not make it through another winter. The metal belt she wore hung heavily around her waist and was starting to chafe on her bones.

Amia unfolded her colored scarf and draped it deftly and reverently on a stone next to the clearing. She unwrapped Ganesha and placed him lovingly on top of the scarf. This was Amia’s every day routine.

Slowly she unsheathed her sword and with slow and deliberate movements went into her ritual that was half a dance of worship and half martial art. This routine had been her stability every day since the Apocalypse. It kept her strength and flexibility up and was absolutely necessary to survival in this barbarian, post-apocalyptic existence. The drums of her universe beat inside her head. She concentrated on the sound and her movements were perfectly matched to them. Very lightly through her concentration, she perceived the being nearby. He was close but not stalking. She closed her eyes to assist her perception and she kept on with the movements to the drums. The being was watching her. She turned as per her routine with her eyes still closed. If this was an invader, he would surely strike but he remained motionless. She could feel his eyes burning into her as though they were face to face. Amia toyed with this being. She could kill him instantly if he were human. Still he remained. Suddenly Amia had the disconcerting feeling that he was reading her thoughts. Enraged by the mere thought of this, Amia, her eyes still closed, slashed down at him with her sword. Instantly, the sword was blocked by the upraised sword of the stranger.

Although Amia had perceived him with her eyes closed, she had perceived absolutely no motion. It was as though the sword had just appeared there in his hand blocking her most powerful movement. Amia, shocked, opened her eyes and looked into the calm eyes of the stranger. Angrier she picked up her sword and struck again. Before she could even place her blade for the movement, he was there blocking it. He was inhumanly quick. Amia stared, fearful and unbelieving. There was something vaguely familiar about him and she searched her mind for comprehension. The body was different. It was the body of a mature and muscular male…but the being was someone she knew. The clothes he wore gave no clue as to his identity. They were simple and colorless except for the bright red scarf he wore around his neck. The dream flashed before her eyes and, try as she might, Amia could not banish it to the edges of her consciousness as she had so many times before. It was as though the stranger held it there in front of her face forcing her to look at it. Amia felt a surge of unreasoning fury and disengaged her sword bringing it down and around trying to slash at him from the side. Again he was there blocking.

Amia raised her sword again and again slashing at the stranger, her fury mounting with each thwarted strike. In a horrifying flash it dawned on Amia that she was the one being toyed with. He was playing with her as a cat plays with an injured bird. She was sure that when he tired of this game, he would end her life and she would be powerless to stop him. Almost imperceptibly, Amia felt rather than saw anger surge through his body. Her fear deepened as he continued to engage her. She knew her death was imminent and thought that at the very least she would make him work for his victory.

Her arms were weakening and her movements were becoming more grossly inaccurate. The thought came to her that perhaps this was a blessing. A relatively quick death now would save her from the agony of slow and painful deterioration for the next few decades.

As soon as the thought was formed in her mind, Amia’s foot slipped slightly. It was barely discernable but the stranger perceived it and instantly pressed home his advantage. Amia fell back and struck her head hard on the ground. Briefly she lost consciousness. With relief she thought that she would not be in her body when he finished her off.

As she came back to herself, she realized that she was still alive. A shiver ran down the middle of her back. The arrogant bastard! He waited for her to return so that he could force her to suffer the pain and agony of yet another death! Her eyes were closed but she felt the hardness of cold steel placed against her throat. Slowly the blade moved up and down caressing her neck. She opened one eye slightly and saw that he was standing over her, straddling her and holding the heavy broadsword as though it were weightless.

When he saw her open her eye, he moved the blade slowly down the neckline of her tunic and caressed the hollow between her breasts. Amia had been through this many times but the physical manifestations of terror always threatened to overwhelm her. Her body was shaking, her eyelids fluttered and her limbs went numb in a vain effort to mask the intense pain that was due any moment. Amia took her last breath and lifted her chin willing the stranger to thrust the blade home. She waited. The blade continued tracing unending and inexorable circles on her chest.

Amia opened her eyes and looked at him. He saw her respond and immediately stepped off walking over to the makeshift altar that Amia had placed there moments before.

“Really Amia!” He said. “I expected so much more of you!”

Amia lifted herself up onto her elbows struggling to understand what was occurring. Her arms were still shaking from effort and fear. Immediately a surge of pain sliced through her head and a wave of nausea threatened to overtake her. She gagged and closed her eyes willing the wave to pass. The stranger watched her shaking his head in scorn at her weakness. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and the fear that had been with her suddenly turned to an anger, the intensity of which she had never felt before.

She got up, shoved her sword in her scabbard and stalked over to the altar where the stranger was standing. She reached across him to grab Ganesha and with an impossibly quick movement he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She struggled but he held her fast and twisted her to him. She looked up into his face and memories and recognition flooded in overwhelming her and making her head swim. Instantly it dawned on her that she was staring into the half-forgotten, angry eyes of the Holy Man.

“Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you for centuries.” She gasped, knowing that he knew it was a lie.

The stranger smiled. “I’ve been around. I’ve been in your head mostly.” He laughed softly, almost cruelly. “I’ve been hanging out in your dreams.”

Amia bridled. “My dreams?” “A lot you know about my dreams!”

“I know about them, one in particular, why don’t you tell me about it?”

Amia sneered.

“What, idle chatter to pass an idle day? No thanks, some things are better left forgotten!”

The Holy Man persisted.

“Tell me about the dream you have been having.”

Amia’s nerve failed and she became petulant.

“Why? You seem to already know about it! You can stay here and figure it out. I have better things to do.”

Amia turned with every intention of storming away into the brush but the Holy Man held her fast. The pressure of his fingers was hurting her wrist and Amia tried hard to master her anger.

“No, you will stay” The Holy Man said sharply. “Tell me about your dream.”

Amia turned. “It was a long time ago! Why go over it now?”

“Because it is still fresh and it still tortures you. Tell me about your dream.”

Amia dropped her head resigned. “It’s not a dream. It’s a memory.”

“Tell me about your memory.”

Amia’s anger flared again could no longer be contained. Even as she was expressing it she was surprised and afraid at the intensity of it.

“It happened 10,000 years ago! Why do you want me to go over it again? You were there you know exactly what happened!”

The Holy Man was unmoved by Amia’s anger and continued.

“I want you to tell me.”

Amia was defeated. She knew that he would win any battle of wills. This stranger, this Holy Man had been on this planet as long as she had and miraculously had not seemed to lose any of his godlike powers. Amia was meek and embarrassed at her weakened state. She also knew that he knew her thoroughly. Many thousands of years ago they had been student and teacher, brothers, sisters, priest and neophyte, even lovers several times on this snaky track of existence. He had moved in and out of her unbroken existence leaving a large hole each time he had done so. Deny it as she might, she loved this man fiercely. Overcome, she weakly related her memory.

“I lived in a city. It was a city constantly besieged by rebel forces. Each time they were successful, the new city leaders would promise us hope, salvation and Truth. I was the son of a rich man then. I was young and beautiful.” Amia smiled at the memory of her perfect man-child body with its deep brown eyes, perfect face and long glossy black hair. She again felt the touch of her fine clothes and the smell of the fragrant oils she used to wear. Her future had been bright with the promise that comes with great beauty. She glared angrily at her grime stained hands and emaciated legs. “Not like I’ve become, grizzled and degraded, eating rats just to survive!”

Amia sighed and stared into the distance.

“We looked to our city leaders for Truth but all they offered us were lies and betrayal. We had given up hope of ever finding it. We just wanted to know who we were, what were we doing there and most of all, were we good people?”

Amia looked up at the Holy Man and smiled somewhat insolently.

“Then you came. You waltzed in like an evening breeze. Right into a city besieged by turmoil and you were oil on troubled waters. Things immediately calmed down. We came to your lectures and the Truth you gave us pierced right through our defenses and made us cry at the simplicity of it. It was as though it had been there the entire time and we were just too blind to see it.”

Amia paused. What she had to say next was very personal and she wondered if it was still safe with this man to let her defenses down so uncharacteristically. She took a breath and resumed.

“At one point I stepped forward to speak with you and you opened your arms to me and walked toward me as if you had been looking for me forever and had finally found me. You took my hands in yours and looked into my eyes. I looked back and saw such perfect love and understanding that I was overwhelmed. I had never felt love so pure and unconditional as I had that day 10,000 years ago or since then. I have never forgotten it.” Amia paused and whispered. “I have never recovered from it.”

The Holy Man’s manner softened. “Nor have I.”

Amia looked up, embarrassed and tearful at the tender moment and pleaded “Why do you make me relive it?!”

The Holy Man responded gently “because it is necessary.”

Amia took a deep breath and haltingly continued with her story.

“There was a lecture, out in the coliseum. The whole town was there. You had promised us more Truth that day and we were so thirsty for it…I’ll never forget that day. I had a seat in the front row and I can still feel the heat of the sun on my neck and the glow of anticipation I felt. It’s as though it were yesterday. I made a point of remembering every detail of the surroundings and the emotions of those present. I knew this would be a momentous occasion.”

Amia struggled against the lump that was starting to form in her throat. It was the same choking ball of emotion that accompanied the dream night after night and woke her each morning with tears running freely making white rivers down through the ever-present grime on her face. She was embarrassed that she might slip and the Holy Man might see these tears and guess at the profound sadness behind them. To Amia, tears were a weakness and she had learned in this world that hiding weakness was one of the cardinal rules of survival.

“I don’t want to go on!” She said angrily. “What’s done is done! What’s lost cannot be salvaged!”

“If what’s lost is part of you, it can be salvaged.” The Holy Man said gently. “Please, continue.”

The dream flooded back to Amia as she started to speak. The years rolled away. It was as though the actions were taking place in the present right in front of her eyes. She blinked in an attempt to avoid the images but they enveloped her.

“The governor took the stage. It was a raised stone stage with a large arch over it. Beneath it was yellow sand that reflected the sunlight. He stood there with his hands outstretched like Jesus on a cross. The sand reflected up onto him like a divine light creating a halo around him. He looked like some religious painting. He remained in that position for awhile until we were cognizant of only him. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation and then he yelled out your name. I held my breath and leaned forward too. Through the arched entryway next to the stage, you advanced toward us. It took a long time for you to walk that path up to the stage but we watched your every move. You were smiling and looked eager to be with us.”

Amia shook her head. She was agitated and it lent her voice an urgency. Her words came faster as she continued.

“As you walked slowly approaching the archway, I saw a movement in the transom above the arch. My attention went there and stuck. I immediately felt a heavy foreboding! I tried to convince myself that I had been wrong but the feeling grew stronger as you walked closer. I wanted to yell out to you but I didn’t know what to yell! I thought I must be crazy. All this thought took less than a second and still you continued to walk. As soon as you entered the coliseum I saw men armed with swords leap down onto the sand from the transom. They grabbed you and stripped you naked! They started stabbing you! They stabbed you over and over again!

The Holy Man let Amia’s wrist go and she balled up her fists and placed them against her temples squeezing her eyes shut. For a moment she looked exactly like a small and pathetic child trying desperately to block out a painful reality. She spoke through clenched teeth as though the pain was unendurable. The Holy Man gazed at her, his eyes calm. “At the time I did not question why they tore off your clothes but in the million times I have replayed that scene in my mind, I came to realize that there had been a message. It was a plan, designed and executed in such a way as to make us believe that you could never have survived or that you would ever rise again.”

Amia’s voice fell to a sad whisper as she gazed at the memory.

“Your skin was so white in contrast to the brown of your face. The swords went in and blood flowed and sank into the sand leaving a dark red stain almost as fast as it fell. Even as you were dying they kept on stabbing. We were all stunned and shocked into silence. Your blood kept flowing from your wounds. Your head was lowered as you fought for life. And by the time we recovered our wits enough to act, it was too late.”

A sob broke loose from Amia’s throat. “You lay your beautiful head down in the sand and that last breath escaped your body. Until that moment I hadn’t realized how deeply I had fallen in love with you. I would have given anything and everything I owned right then and there to reverse time by a few minutes. I was completely lost and have been ever since. I think every person in that coliseum felt the same way.”

The Holy Man leaned forward intently.

“Then what happened?”

“Before you died you looked up at me and there was a communication there.” Amia balled up her fist and slammed it down hard on the stone alter. “God help me I couldn’t understand! I stared horror filled and watched you go, all hope of Truth dying with your last breath.”

Tears filled Amia’s eyes. This time she didn’t care who could see them. She wiped them gently away and continued.

“But even in pain and even in gore you were beautiful. Your death, as bitter and cruel as it was, was beautiful. The sorrow I felt was unlike any sorrow I have felt before or since and it too was beautiful. You were our last hope and you were gone.”

Amia stared before her with unseeing eyes. Fresh tears had started down her cheeks. She wiped at these impatiently and went on.

“The governor started yelling and hoards came and dragged away the murderers. When silence fell he addressed the crowd. He gave a short speech about how much he had admired you. This gave them time to remove your body. He cried in front of us but part of me knew that this was his doing. He was so afraid that he would lose his power that he had you cut down like a dog in the street and let you die! He knew that this was going to happen because he had set it up!”

Amia paused, calming herself and catching her breath.

“I’ve been over and over this scene in my mind and at first I felt only sorrow…but later I began to feel anger.”

The Holy Man who had been silently listening with his head down, looked up suddenly and Amia went on.

“Because as I went through this incident over and over endlessly in my mind, I noticed something that I had never seen before.”

The Holy Man stared at Amia.

“Just as my attention flicked to the transom before you entered the coliseum…so did yours! You saw those men! You knew that they were there and you walked in anyway!”

The Holy Man stared at the ground. Amia was furiously angry and spit out her words with a vehemence of which she never thought herself capable.

“Why did you do that?! Why did you not turn around and salvage our last little bit of Truth!? Why did you let yourself be led into that trap knowing full well how hungry we were for it!?”

Amia stared at the Holy Man with bitter accusation. She spoke from between clenched teeth spitting the words into his face.

“You’ve been around since then too! I’ve seen you! You’ve always had this Truth and you were the only one who could change anything! That was 10,000 years ago and where were you? What about Hitler? It would have been nice to have seen you then!”

The Holy Man looked up calmly.

“I was a jew.” He said simply.

Amia flushed fiercely and looked down. The Holy man stood up, suddenly furiously angry and unable to contain it. He looked to Amia like a volcano about to erupt. The words exploded from a bitter place deep inside him and Amia was made afraid by the intensity of their fury.

“Do you know what it’s like?! Do you!?” He demanded furiously. “Do you know what it’s like to be the only arc, the only vessel of Truth left on this planet?! Do you know?” He indicated the red scarf he wore. “This Truth has hung like a mantle of stone around my neck century after century, lifetime after lifetime! Because of it people have tortured me and killed me again and again. They have tortured my families and everyone I have ever loved! They have ridiculed me, beaten me, slandered and hated me! I have been followed and still am followed to this day by cowardly people who have a little bit of power and know that I am a threat to it. Because I have Truth!” He spat out the words as if they were acid and burned his tongue. “Truth is not a gift from one man to another! It is an inherent quality in everyone. You know Truth!” His voice fell and he spoke with barely concealed contempt. “Don’t pretend that you don’t!”

The Holy Man took a breath and paused to try and master his emotions. He spoke with forced calm.

“Yes, I knew what was going to happen. I had come to that city and taken the Truth away from your city leaders in whom you had invested it.” He shook his head scornfully. “They were not worthy of it. I knew that I would be killed for it and I knew whence the killing would come. I walked into that coliseum that day with the mantle of Truth upon me. And even when I was stripped naked the Truth was still there. Even as I lay dying the Truth was still there.” His words became more and more urgent. “And on that day I flowed Truth to you with my blood and with my death! I laid that mantle down in the sand with the hope that one of you…YOU would pick it up and bring it forward.” He paused and shook his head slowly. “But no one did. The mantle of Truth lies there today in the still wet blood and still hot sand in that arena untouched by time and attention.” He looked up at Amia. “But it still clings to you and haunts your every moment like the specter of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.” He took the scarf from around his neck and held it out to Amia who frantically dodged his touch. “You cannot escape it.” He said simply.

“And for centuries I’ve watched you dance around it, pray to it, sacrifice to it, and build shrines to it. Hell! I’ve even seen you wail to it.” Amia turned away embarrassed.

“But never once did I see you pick it up and take it as your own.”
“That communication that day went out to every man, woman and child in that coliseum. But you were the one responsible for it because you were the one who received it…And you looked the other way.”

The Holy Man moved much closer to Amia making her more uncomfortable. His voice became angry and urgent.

“Don’t you see that when you invest Truth in someone and save none for yourself, to that degree you become a slave to that person?! I had stolen that investment of Truth from your city leaders and taken it as my own. I had an army of slaves but I didn’t want slaves! For God’s sake, what good are slaves?!” He grabbed Amia’s shoulders and gave them a little shake. “I wanted freedom for you! That’s why I did it! I flowed Truth back to you that day on a tide of my own blood and my last breath. It was a gift that no one accepted! And you turned around and walked the other way! But I knew that that was also a possibility, and I considered it better to leave the perception that Truth had died that day than to leave it in the hands of those so unworthy. That’s how Hitler came about! The people invested him with Truth so much that the most inhumane and barbarous acts were explained away and ignored! Those that were free fought back but we were too few.” The Holy Man sighed as though exhausted. “ Those that had no truth left in themselves became his slaves.”

He paused and looked closely at Amia.

“At that moment that I died in that arena that day, I did look at you and you made a decision at that moment. What was it?”Amia looked up in wild bewilderment.

“No I….No I didn’t!”

The Holy Man raised his voice and angry, pointed his finger accusingly at Amia.

“What was it?!”

Amia stuttered.

“I, I don’t have Truth?!”

“No!” The Holy Man shouted.

“I am not Truth?!”

“No!”

“I don’t know the Truth?!”

The Holy Man balled up his fists in frustration. He took a step toward Amia and she thought he was about to strike her. His voice was uncontrolled fury.

“NO! NO! NO!” He thundered.

Amia broke down.

“I DON’T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE TRUTH!” she shrieked stunned by her confession but desperately aware that it was correct.

The Holy Man pointed fiercely at Amia knowing that this was correct. Amia burst into tears.

“I don’t want to be responsible for the Truth! I don’t! Look what it did to you! I’m too weak for that! I am too stupid to be trusted with the Truth!”

The Holy Man immediately abandoned his anger and took Amia in his arms. He lifted her chin so that she could look into his eyes. When he spoke it was in soothing tones as though he was speaking to a frightened child.

“I understand.” He said. “ But I will tell you one thing. No matter what is done to me by whom and no matter what happens, I will always be a free man…don’t you see? I’ve never given up responsibility for the Truth. I will never be a slave to any man! Truth should not be a burden! It should be a joy! It should be a relief! But it is a responsibility.”

The Holy Man held Amia and touched his lips to her grimy hair. He spoke softly.
“And the truth is what everybody is searching for but nobody truly wants.”

The Holy Man took off his red scarf and handed it to Amia. She looked up tearfully and tentatively reached out for it. She took it in her hands and looked at the Holy Man who was smiling at her. She smiled back running it across her cheek sensing the feel of the fabric. It felt refreshing, like an old friend whom she had sorely missed for a long time. She reached up and hugged the Holy Man who held her tenderly for a long embrace. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head so that he could speak softly in her ear.

“Please stop degrading yourself.” He said. “Any fool knows you don’t go into battle with your daggers pointing in.”

Slowly the Holy Man untangled himself from her embrace and walked to the edge of the clearing. Amia stared at him surprised. He looked years younger as if a heavy weight that had borne him down for centuries had finally been lifted. He did a quick, light dance step and turned to her smiling. She smiled back and looked around the clearing. It looked so much brighter than it had the few moments before. She closed her eyes and took a long sweet breath savoring the smell of lavender. Time marched forward but she was no longer afraid of pain and death. She turned and perched herself on the upraised stone in the clearing. She looked at Ganesha who appeared to be smiling at her. She laughed a long laugh, hugged Ganesha to her and looked around herself enjoying the view.

MR. "PIE ARE SQUARED"

Hello Diary!
Today, while studying my Real Estate course I came across a chapter that goes over real estate math and in short, it is the math I have spent most of my early and adult life desperately trying to avoid. There was nothing for it now but to buckle down and figure it all out. While thus studying, once again I came upon my old nemesis, "PIE ARE SQUARED". Now I have had disagreements with Mr. "PIE ARE SQUARED" for a long time simply because any fool can see just by looking that "PIE ARE ROUND", They were born round, they live round and they remain round until the day they die or are eaten, whichever is the more appropriate terminology when we talk about pie passing. I can and will stipulate to "CAKE ARE SQUARED" but that is a completely different equation.
Anyway, having decided that I could stipulate to "PIE ARE SQUARED" solely for the sake of arguement and hypotheticals, I ho'ed forth to the kitchen to test out this "PIE ARE SQUARED" theory. I pulled a pie out of the fridge that I was saving for company and inspected it. I Noticed again that "PIE ARE ROUND" but remembered my previous stipulation and let it go. I then measured the DIAMETER of the pie paying close attention to its flaky, buttery and delicious crust. I then cut the DIAMETER in half and ate it leaving the RADIUS. I then multiplied the RADIUS by 3.1416 (what ever that is) and found the area of the pie prior to the point where I had eatened half of its DIAMETER.(The eating of the DIAMETER was important because I did not want it encroaching on the other DIAMETERS thus throwing off my painstaking calculations.) Sure enough! I had the AREA of my pie and have proven that (in theory only of course because it is a lie like all math) that "PIE ARE SQUARED"! I called Little into the room and such was our excitement that we ate the remaining AREA of the pie as well a it's HEIGHT and WIDTH and licked up all the crumbs. Little and I agree that practical application can sometimes be the difference between using information (Which I plan to do tomorrow when I calculate the area of a cake thus proving the formula "CAKE ARE SQUARED" as well as this one) and just taking things on faith. There is nothing like a tummy full of pie to really get a concept home. Little and I also agree that math may not be great for weight loss, what with all the practical application et. al. but it is seriously good for Pi lovers!
See you next time Diary!

Bella Italia!

Good Morning Diary!
As you know, I am on an Italian kick! As recently divulged, I have come out as a transnational being an Italian trapped in a northern european body. This realization caused much desired order in my tumbled universe and much of my early life started to make sense. I had questions that haunted me for decades, questions like "If I'm so gosh darned Swedish how come I hate the cold?" and "Why do I love fava beans?". With this in mind I have been planning my trip to Italy and doing tons of research. Much of my research has been in the form of picking the brains of my good friend Flavia who is also my nutritionist. Flavia is, of course Italian and one of the best. I believe everything she tells me therefore no one was more surprised than me when she told me that Italian men love big butts! This was a revelation! I immediatley called my sister and told her I plan to grow mine out, walk down the streets of southern Italy and start a riot. Its on! Little may or may not be with me depending on how arduous the trip is for dogs. I understand it is very stressful so he may be staying with a sitter. Italy awaits!!!!!

Weights! Your newest friend in weight loss!

Good Morning Diary!!!
Ok I have noticed an increase in my weight since I last wrote. I blame hormones but whatever because I now have a new weapon in my fight against unsightly body bulges and it is..........(You'll never believe this one!) WEIGHT! Of course! It is so simple! One fights fire with fire so therefore fights weight with weight; Specifically weight lifting!

With this in mind I have officially commandeered my son's Bowflex,painted it pink,glued jewels on that I got from Micheals and have launched into my new regimen with abandon! Little wants to start with me but we are waiting for the little weights to arrive from wwwBalloonDog.com before we can start.

I started weight lifting this morning and I can state that it is an unmitigated success! I started with arm weights while sitting in that little seat that comes with the Bowflex.It is important to sit while doing this so that I don't pass out.(Ok Shut up. I admit that my general fitness has been better. I was on hiatus until Spring) Just about rep number 5, I noticed that there were spider webs clinging to the ceiling so I abandoned my Spangly Bowflex, got out my Webster and started taking them down. This exercise was a great workout for my lateral bats and bateral lats. I could feel it working right away. Plus I got a bonus leg workout while balancing precariously on the arm of the sofa on one foot. I held this pose for the count of ten then tried it with one leg extended. Marvelous!
After this heady workout I did some stretching.Unfortunately I was bending with my head looking between my legs and noticed that Little had put his nose prints all over the glass door behind me. Wax On! Wax Off!I am the Karate Kid!

I feel a bit sore now Diary so I am taking it easy and letting the muscles regenerate.I anticipate that I will be Buffty Buffcakes in a day or so. Little will have to work extra hard to catch up. I saw a recent photo of him and didn't realize how puffed up he got over the hibernation season. I did not tell him how fat he was and instead plan to surreptitiously force him into hard labor to reduce his massive girth.It is an ongoing process for the 2 of us but I think I have it all figured out. With that in mind, Little and I recommend weight lifting.It is good for the body and the house!
Happy Dieting!

Nutella

Shhhhhh! Diary! I have locked self in the bathroom with a jar of nutella, a knife and a can of whipped cream. If I don't emerge in half an hour please break down the door with a syringe of insulin.

C'est Trop Unjust!

CHRIS ELLIS is having the mid month let down. MUST.....HAVE......CAKE!!!!!!!
Instead I fired up the giant espresso pot. Thus my second wind which is still as weak as a dying man's breath. I may take a tumble off the Cakeholic wagon and let it drag me a few miles before I scrabble painfully back on. Comme c'est dur, La Vie. Hopefully I make it till bedtime!

A WellDeserved Eulogy For A Legend

The time has come for me to write a well deserved eulogy; words of praise and appreciation for a man whose probably thankless task was left unacknowledged by millions. I'm talking about beloved and now deceased pitchman, Billy Mays. Many nights Little and I have spent straining our ears to hear the movie we were watching with the volume turned down to avoid waking my sleeping family members,especially my long suffering husband who works incredibly hard and deserves a great night's sleep, only to have an Oxyclean commercial come on like a 21 gun salute inside a tin hut. Billy was with us! 'DO YOU HAVE UNSIGHTLY RUST STAINS INSIDE YOUR TOILET?" He would shriek."HAVE YOU TRIED EVERYTHING BUT CAN'T GET THEM OUT?" every single time this commercial came on I would find myself nodding frantically. YES BILLY! (I would think inside my head in nonverbal 28 point font) YES! I DO! AND I HAVE TRIED AND TRIED AND HAVE CRUMBLED INTO A HEAP OF APATHETIC FLESH AND AGING BONES OVER IT!" Tearfully I would relate to Billy (inside my head)my silent frustrations and secret sorrow. Billy would nod knowingly and then give us the answer to our prayers. OXYCLEAN!!!!
I had my phone set to auto-dial the Oxyclean number and I still have several cases in my basement.
Oh Sure! There have been others;those who try to use slick fast talking tactics in place of sheer volume and excitement (Are you listening Shamwow guy?) but there was no one like Billy; a giant teddy bear with an elephant's voice trumpeting excitedly about the glories and magic of whatever product he was selling. We miss you Billy. We miss your excitement and conviction.We miss your company in the middle of the night. We even miss having my husband open one eye and grunt "WA..WAZZAT?" when you came on. You were simply the best.I'm sure the good Lord has you in the cleanest corner of heaven.
XO
Chris and Little

Love Turd

I came home today to find that Little had left me a Love Turd in the middle of my bedroom carpet. Nothing says "I Love You" quite as much as a beautifully crafted and artfully placed Love Turd left there by one who adores you.
I love you too Little. Wanna know how much?
Go look in your bed.

Fat Little, or, A Little Bit Bigger

Hello again Diary!
Little and I are taking it easy tonight. I am typing lazily while Little is snoozing heavily, his tubby little body moving up and down rhythmically like a fat little ship on a gentle ocean. This past weekend Little and I wore ourselves out. We took two very long walks up hills and through valley huffing and puffing all the way. Little's leash harness has been let out to it's most extreme length. It was a harness for a medium sized dog and it is stretched almost to the breaking point trying to circumvent Little's giant girth. you would think that after two major walks it would fit a bit looser but Little defies logic and the conservation of energy theory and somehow got fatter still. I am seriously considering changing his name from "Little" to "A Little Bit Bigger"
I on the other hand am down by half a pound. There is no other secret to this massive weight loss of mine other than the fact the lovely Flavia has me on a diet where I am allowed not one single crystal of sugar. Not one. This, of course, has made life hardly worth living and dinner hardly worth eating therefore I have dumped huge quantities of weight (5 pounds).I have to say that I do feel so much better. As long as I honor the Flavia diet I have no more stomach aches and never have to worry about losing weight. Also I don't have the joint pain I was having and am now able to march Little all over Morgan Hill and live to tell about it. WE RECOMMEND THE FLAVIA DIET!!!!! Little and I agree that she rocks!
Little will have to go see Flavia. I am sure that his kibble contains gluten and this is likely the problem. He is going gluten free like me and will be slim as a reed by summer!

KIBBLEHOLIC

Little would like to take this opportunity, having been emboldened by my recent confession, that he is a Kibbleholic. He used to be able to take them or leave them alone. The vet said it would be ok for him to graze on kibble during the day but this quickly spun out of control. Little was rarely seen without his tiny jaws champing up and down incessantly on kibble. The smell of kibble lingered from room to room as he munched and wandered and wandered and munched. Recently I found stashes of kibble all over the house, in drawers, under the bed and in the trash cabinet behind the bin. Little tried to tell me that these were emergency provisions for Y 2K. I gently informed him that he was about 10 years too late and Y 2K happened before he was born 3 years ago. Little broke down and cried it out. We now have him on a 12 step program (or 7 steps in dog years) and he is making progress. It has been an emotionally draining weekend for Little and Me. He seems relieved after his Kibble intervention, or "Kibblvention" and has resolved to mend his ways and live a holier life. Little and I have to face our demons and resolve to be stronger than they are. They only have power by the grace of ourselves and we cannot forget that. It would be fatal. Things are changing here in Morgan Hill. Little and I have decided that we can live with truth!

cakaholic

Good afternoon Diary. I have an announcement to make. MY NAME IS CHRIS ELLIS AND I'M A CAKAHOLIC! I hit bottom recently when I had a red velvet cupcake with a raspberry white chocolate cake chaser. Once I started I was like a train out of control. Shortly thereafter I was at the bakery for another chocolate fudge cupcake with mocha fudge frosting with a slice of chocolate cake with mint frosting for dessert. The next day I could not get out of bed. I had a cake hangover to end all cake hangovers. I had to have several "hairs of the dog" to bring myself up to functioning condition. I made the mistake of making that "Hair of the dog" crack within ear shot of Little and he took immediate umbrage forcing me to buy back his love all morning with coffee and donuts. Chihuahuas apparently love donuts which explains why Little now looks like a woolly bear caterpillar with back boobs.

Speaking of cracks or crack, I have decided that kicking methamphetamine must be easier than trying to become my own master against the evil cake empire. Times are harsh now Diary and I have a long climb up from the bottom. I am now in a 12 step program (for which I have left out several steps because I am just too lazy to do them.) I have written up a list of those close to me that I have harmed with my Cakaholism (which is a disease, not a choice). I will pay back every dime I have pilfered for "just one more trip to the bakery" I have accounted for every moment that I have been at the Safeway licking the pastry glass when I said I would be somewhere else. I will make wholesome meals for my family instead of pretending it is someone's birthday (everyday) and honoring them with a cake in absentia. The masks are off now Diary and my soul is bare. I pray that I will be strong when I see Sarah Lee commercials on TV or smell freshly baked cookies as I shop innocently at the Safeway.

I have taken the first step Diary. I have Little here are my guide (although he is a slim reed upon which to lean when it comes to self control. I guess something is more than nothing.) Let's see what tomorrow brings.......

Runway models

Waist Watchers Food Diary 19 March 2010
Well folks, its Friday again! The sun is out and the sky is beautiful. The view from my bedroom is too pretty for words. I can see the hills and they are green which will last for only a few fleeting months so I must suck up as much view right now as I can. Luckily there are things in life that are wonderful and do not entail food or calories. Still they all take a backseat to Red Velvet Cake!
OK Enough random wanderings and let's get back to the subject of Waist Management.
Today I was thinking about the subject of runway models, that alien species of creature with ostrich legs and no flesh. These allegedly start out as "normal" teenagers then enter into a realm of alternate reality where dinner consists of lettuce leaves with no dressing and half a glass of water and breakfast consists of Ex-Lax. Some of these girls are under 18 and this folks, appears to be criminal neglect or flat out child abuse. The last time I saw a fashion show I was literally sickened by watching young women at the point of starvation parading around self consciously in some "creation" invented by a designer with an inflated sense of self and no conscience of anything around him/her. There are some exceptions but in general that is what I see when I watch the fashion channel.

With that in mind, let's look at what we are going for when we diet and exercise. I think the most beautiful people I have ever seen are healthy with glowing skin and sparkling eyes., These do not come from a scarcity of food and nutrition in our bodies. This comes from a sincere care about self and others. There is nothing more beautiful than a woman quietly holding a sleeping baby, it doesn't matter that that woman is the grandma. Also beautiful is the sight of kids covered in flour with chocolate on their faces presenting someone with a flattened cake held together by frosting mortar. A person who has just run a marathon and sweated all their make up off is beautiful to me. in short it is not what you wear or what you look like in silhouette,it is really and only how you look when you are truly caring about yourself and someone else. All else pales in comparison to the true radiant beauty that we see all around us on a daily basis. These young girls are beautiful but not when they are starving. They are beautiful when they are sharing an ice cream cone with a friend or trying their best to master a musical instrument or babysitting or playing with their dogs. Please let's not tell them that they are only beautiful if they debase themselves by starvation. Cut the clothes a little more generously please and let's get our beautiful daughters healthy and happy again.

Loofah Trutha!

Ok Diary, so it has been several weeks since I communicated with you and there is a very good reason for this.I have been working full time trying to grow back several layers of skin. (Please see my last post about the loofah program) Little and I enthusiastically dove into our new loofah plan with a vengeance. We showered and loofahed and loofahed and showered until we were bright red. The next day we were bedridden and swollen up. However this did work well as a weight loss strategy as we were way too sore to get out of bed and spent a lot of calories arguing about who was well enough to go to the kitchen and get us food. The answer was that no one was so we lived on water for several days and then waited for the ski masks to arrive off of www.loofahaccidents.com. Needless to say it was very nerve racking but the skin has grown back. Little and I went out to Giancarlo's to celebrate our weight loss and new young skin. Unfortunately we ordered a bunch of stuff for the next few days and well, we gained it all back. So as far as Little and I are concerned loofahs are now a proven weight loss method however it is quite painful and if you are unlucky enough to have someone to assist you when you are recovering, you won't lose any weight. Therefore Little and I rate this one as dicey at best and a whole lot of pain.It rates about the same as intestinal parasites which can be quite effective given the right circumstances, (i.e. in a foreign country with no Immodium to hand). Ok! Onward Diary! Little and I have much research to do! Who knows where we will be next?!

Let's talk Loofah!

Well Diary Its Sunday here and the weather is beautiful which makes me realize beach season cometh and that means I'd better address these thighs. (I'd like to adddress them to China but unfortunately they are attached.)Little and I plan to go for a walk today. We have decided that gentle persistence is the way to successful weight loss.

The area I walk is very hilly and this gives us much needed aerobic exercise. I hate aerobic exercise but there is not much I can do about that. Huffing and puffing depletes calories like a Lamborghini Mercialago depletes oil rich countries. I have to turn my 1970's VW body into a Lambo and run on rich fuel. With that in mind I had several pancakes for my diet breakfast. Little also had some sausages. They were turkey suasages and tasted ike unlit cigars but he liked them. We are launching our walk in a bit. Since Sunday is a day pretty much devoid of waist-friendly stress the walk will be a substitute.

Meanwhile let's talk Loofah!
I saw an ad yesterday that promotes Loofahs as the new weight loss miracle. Apparently you get a large Loofah and rub all the fat off you. Loofahs are imbued with magical qualities that, as you rub, melt fat on the inside of your body and you just simply pee it out! With that in mind I went to the Wal Mart and purchased several mattress sized Loofah's. I cut them into bite sized pieces and when Little and I shower we are going to Loofah off several tons of unsightly body fat. Then we are going to pee for hours and then go bathing suit shopping. It is perfect! I have a giant Loofah supply that I am storing in my wine cellar for emergency binge Loofahing in the case of a food diary black out period. I'll let you know how it goes. By tomorrow I intend to look just like the Victoria's Secret models. I imagine they have been privvy to the Loofah secret the entire time. Time to share the wealth girls!

Secret Weight Loss Strategy from the Pros

Well Diary today was an interesting day. Or let's just cut the junk and call it what it is....STRESSFUL! I personally welcome stress as it leads to successful weight loss. Stress speeds up your hear rate thus affording you exercise just sitting there panting in an office chair. One should actively seek out stress because, as is medically proven, the body needs exercise and what better way than exercise without physical exertion? Plus people pay you to be stressed so I say "Go with the flow!"

As prev mentioned today was a day fraught with exercise in the form of stress. First off, my tire on the right fore wheel was low. I did not pump it up at the gas station because I need my exercise even when driving to work. This afforded a golden opportunity for stress especially when the meth addict in the lane next to me decided to take an extended "trip" in a traffic lane that existed only in his diseased head, narrowly missing me as I pounded my foot down on the gas and waited for my lame front tire to take hold and get me out of the way. This is the equivalent of many Waist Watcher exercise points.
Secondly I went to the Trader Joe's only to find a lousy 2 boxes of my wheat-free, gluten-free, sugar-free frozen waffles? Geez! These will barely get me through the day. What about dinner?! (See? Stress!)Ironically in obtaining the waffles I burned off about 7 of them on the form of stress exercise points.
Another strategy is drinking far too much coffee. This is effective in 2 ways: First it induces stress and second it fills your tum with an overabundance of much desired acid which will keep you from eating anything but TUMS for the rest of the day. (2,2,2 diet secrets in one!)The TUMS themselves are of course, calorie free because they are neutralized by the coffee induced stomach acid. See? its nothing but win, win with me.
Ok so in summary, Diary, the food tip of the day is GET MORE STRESS! Drink far too much coffee and seek out cretins on the freeway who are likely to slam into you and result in even more weight loss while you recover from your coma and are eating through a tube (A known and proven weight loss method!) Go try it out! Happy Dieting!

Time for cake

Well I got on the scale today and my weight, (like Lazurus) Hallelujah it has risen!!! Which is also a miracle because I ate next to nothing yesterday. Soooooo I did what any right thinking dieter would do in such dire circumstances, instead of teaching my belly dance class I called my partner and we cancelled and went out for cake.
This was the best thing I could do given the circs.I am now skipping dinner (which is a form of fasting, which we all know pulls the weight from your bones like a vulture picking dead matter off of road kill) Therefore by tomorrow I should be down several pounds. I also had an epiphany today which was quasi painful but necessary and that was that I have with held new clothes from self until I reach some magic weight. I also realized that times have changed since my ballet days and since the '80's when we were all expected to look like walking clothes hangers in order to consider ourselves beautiful. I also realized that men really don't think that way. I saw Zac Ephron on TV last night and he said he loves chunky ladies.I think most guys do. Further I don't think they look at our asses and think (OOOO FAT!) I think they look and think "Wow! Nice!" With that in mind I went net shopping and bought some really bright colored clothes. It is time to re-define the way we think of ourselves. Michelangelo had the right idea. His women were stunning and did NOT look like Renaissance clothes hangers. They looked like good and honorable women.Michelangelo knew about beauty so let's go back to his vision of honor and truth.Then let's all go out for cake.

Womans curling..alternate weight loss plan

Its Friday night, just LIttle, Me and .....women's Curling. OK having watched a bit of women's Curling I see that I could do this sport. It is likely one of the few sports I could actually do given the fact that I am a lazy fat thing. Little and I have decided that we are going to take up this Curling sport because we have been practicing those little moppie things all our lives. It looks simple. The one chick lets the big fishing weight slide on the ice and the others run in front mopping frantically. I would be a natural since frantic mopping is what I am best at! Little has been practicing his part. He is acting as a dummy fishing weight and I have been sliding him across the just mopped kitchen floor all evening. The best part about it is that we are now in a sport which means the weight just falls off our bones magically! That is the way with all sports. We can get the trim shapes we want without breaking a sweat. There is only one down side as far as I can tell. You have to walk on ice which means cold feet for me and a frozen tum for LIttle. Oh Well, small price to pay for a trim figure and a gold medal. See you in 4 years!

Egyptian Book of the Dead. Diet tips for the afterlife?

WAIST WATCHERS FOOD DIARY STAR DATE 15 FEBRUARY 2010.
Well diary, yesterday was Valentine's day and today the chocolate is gone leaving only a bitter guilt aftertaste and several unnecessary and unsightly bulges. Oh My God! thank heaven there are a few more months before we have to face down bikini season. My plans for turning self and Little orange through excessive carrot consumption (thus avoiding the tedious tanning process) met with disaster. Little had the deadly carrot induced dog miasma and spent the evening outside while I ended up with a carrot induced stomach ache that lasted all night. I don't think any one can eat that many carrots. I'm going to have to come up with a plan "B". As far as weight loss, the stomach ache helped with that and carrots, for that reason are a great diet aide since one cannot eat anything when one is ill of a surfeit of them.

Still, Little and I are quite excited about our future postmortem plans for eternal slenderness and we have been trying on strips of rags just to see how we will look in the afterlife. It is easy to see why mummies stay slim. I have read the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Death seems so simple but those Pharaohs spend eternity positively sprinting from one end of the afterlife to the other trying to escape from all manner of nasty other dimensional creatures who are bent on eating their souls. This is the Waist Watchers equivalent of many exercise points. If you are a deceased Pharaoh you'd better be on the ball. Little and I are thankful we are just a couple of grunts and other dimensional creatures seemingly do not like our souls as they are probably diet food and we all know how appetizing that is. Little's and my souls are probably the Egyptian other dimensional creature's equivalent of carrots.

waist watchers food diary star date 15 February 2010.
Well, valentine's Day was a diet bust! We are entering the food diary black out period that goes from February 14th until the candy disappears. Until then it is a truffle orgy.

Little is lying on he floor in a chocolate dipped stupor while I reach both hands over my giant belly and type this. Once the chocolate is gone I will be thin once more.

Also once the chocolate goes it will be time to really sit down and confront swimsuit season. And NO! I refuse to wear any bathing suit that has a skirt attached to it. Those are just LAME no matter who designed them or what they look like! Plus they add a lot of drag while you are trying to swim. Nope! There is nothing for it but to buckle down and get some exercise. I may join a gym again. I like the gyms that have little seats where you sit while you lift weights. All it needs is a little table for snax and off you go! Hope has once again risen from the dust of regret! I am rehabilitated!!!! Its off to the gym!!!!

Hey Mr. Imhotep. Do these rags make me look fat?

Waist Watcher's food diary 14 Feb 2010; 4:20 P.M.
Well here we are home again. The Tut exhibit was great! We love the Boy King! Little and I breezed through the security line. I had a baggie full of green spirulina in my hand bag and I anticipated a huge problem at security because it looks like finely ground, high grade marijuana (or what I would anticipate finely ground, high grade marijuana to look like because I really don't know, really, really, really!) Anyway, I opened my bag and started on long winded explanations. The guard cut me off and waved me through which make me realize he, himself has a lot of experience with finely ground, high grade marijuana (or spirulina).
Little was a good dog in his Petco Smuggle Purse so they didn't even look in there.
We entered the gallery and it was very dark so I spent a good amount of time tripping over people and walking all over their feet. Little enjoyed that and got a great laugh when I almost went ass over tea kettle in a heap over a tiny little old lady that someone had left lying around right in the middle of the gallery! Move it sister! Research stops for no one! Nonetheless we enjoyed the Xrays of the perfect mummies and after much research and discussion Little and I have decided to change our last wishes and wills and testaments to include mummification. The reason for this is lucid to the most clear thinking dieter and it is this: These mummies are all very thin! Their hip bones gracefully protrude and they have cheekbones to die for (Literally!). With this in mind we can weather the most unethical food diary black out period (black out periods occur when we go nuts and eat anything not nailed down)while still knowing that some day in the future, possibly 3200 years from now we will be thin. As we read on a gravestone once, our words will echo into the future...Thin At Last, Thin At Last, Thank God Almighty I'm Thin At Last!!!!!

Welcome to Waist Watchers, My Philosophy.

Weight management has always been a particular challenge of mine. As a teenager I was studying ballet under teachers who idolized George Balanchine and his dancers. Although Mr. George was a genius, he preferred dancers who looked like escapees from Auschwitz. Much as I thought I was master of my own destiny, it wasn't long before I entered into eating disorder land in an attempt to force my body weight down to 110 pounds ( I am 5' 7" tall). Obviously this was a recipe for disaster and although I have grown and found a dance style that is much more forgiving (belly dancing), I still look in the mirror on a daily basis and wish I was a bit thinner.

With that in mind, I have developed a way of taking control over this situation and have decided to poke fun at it. "When in doubt belittle it until it submits" is my philosophy when dealing with strange ideas.

That said I am embarking on my Waist Watcher's food diaries again. I will try to post something every day. It will be designed to enlighten and entertain and best yet, poke fun at ridiculous ideas about body image and weight loss. Hopefully other normal sized ladies will find comfort here and laugh until they roll about on the floor vowing to have another cookie and live life to the fullest.

Accompanying me on my journey is my Chihuahua,Little. He has his own issues with weight management, namely "How can I get as round as possible in the shortest amount of time without mom stopping me?".

Today Little and I will be going to the King Tut Exhibit in San Francisco. Fortunately I have the Petco Dog Smuggle Purse so that his presence will be kept secret. We intend to study this exhibit diligently as we have never seen anything but a slim mummy.

I will post my findings here. Onward Diary! The honorable Tut awaits!

Waist Watchers once Again!

Food Diary 13 February 2010
Little and I had decided that we were going to embark on a new food plan. Summer is coming and in order to circumvent the tedious tanning process we decided to turn ourselves orange. With that in mind we both ingested a huge pile of carrots at dinner. We are hoping that by tomorrow morning we will look like a couple of Oompa Loompas.

Unfortunatley carrots made evil magic occur in Little's interior and wet, heavy miasmas of deadly vapor escaped from his backside. He has been banished to the outdoors until he can produce an orange poo which, like a flag of surrender will tell me that the danger is past and he will be welcomed back indoors.

Still and all I am convinced that I personally am on the right track here and I can't wait till tomorrow when I can go without panty hose and flash my orange extremities while simultaneously denying the use Mantan.

The weight management issues continue! Little will try a different tack; perhaps fruit with his kibble. We shall see what tomorrow brings.