Eat the Damn Cake

Everyone is addicted to food. I mean, we all have to eat. But I can tell that some people are less addicted than I am. They act like they don’t think about it as much as I do. And they eat as though eating is something they do on the side, in between other, more important things.

In movies and on TV, I see montages of stressed police detectives and hardworking artists and secret agents who forget to eat for days. Someone finally brings them pizza. They’re living on coffee, if they remember to drink at all. I always notice, because it makes me hungry. They’ve just jumped out a window and landed on a moving truck, used a pistol to shoot five guys with machine guns, and jumped lightly to their feet after being stabbed in the leg, but when they don’t eat lunch for the third day in a row, I’m gesturing at the screen and going, “Come ON! This is RIDICULOUS! Who even likes this stupid show?”

One of my most vivid memories from my wedding day was the California wrap I ate while getting my hair done in the bridal chamber. It was the most delicious wrap I have ever eaten. It had grilled chicken, lettuce, avocado, and Caesar dressing. It should’ve been normal, and unimpressive, but it was so moist and the ingredients so fresh and perfectly balanced. The chicken was soft and juicy, with a ping of crisp to the skin, the avocado was ripe and thick and flavorful. The dressing must’ve been a special invention of a chef, because it didn’t taste like the kind you buy off a shelf. The lettuce was springy and new.  Someone ordered it for me, from a local place. I don’t know what place, and it bothers me. Even then, I thought, “I should find out where this came from.” And then I thought, “It’s your wedding day! You’re not going to remember some sandwich you ate that morning!” Continue Reading »

I was sitting on the 1 train, going down to Canal street, reading, when someone tapped my knee. I looked up from my book. There was a tiny girl standing in front of me. She said, “What’s your name?”

I said, “Kate.”

She said, “It’s Kate?”

I said, “That’s right. What’s yours?”

She told me. I said, “That’s pretty,” even though I hadn’t quite understood her.

She said, “How old are you?”

I said, “Twenty-four, how old are you?”

“Five.” Continue Reading »

Sometimes I look at other women and am awed by all of the things that they know how to do, that I don’t even come close to understanding. Like:

How they wear thin white long-sleeved shirts when it’s really warm and don’t get giant sweat stains under the armpits.

How they wear high heels when they have to walk places

How they get eyeliner to make those thick, uninterrupted lines around their eyes, without showing skin on that little ledge the inside of the lid makes along the bottom of the eyeball. Or without poking their eyeballs with the pencil.

How they look graceful.

How they exercise all the time.

How they diet all the time. Continue Reading »

This is a little story that makes me proud of myself.

I only went to one party in college. It was a “welcome freshman” barbeque at the campus Hillel. (What could be more bangin’?) I don’t remember eating anything. I was standing in line to get something to eat when a boy materialized in front of me and said, “I like your shirt.”

I looked down. It was pink. Salmon, really.

(I don’t know why I find that funny. I’m really sorry. Source)

“Thanks,” I said.

He grinned slyly. It was actually sly. He said, “So you’re a freshman?”

“Yup,” I said. “You must not be.”

He laughed. “I graduated last year. Just got some buddies here. I’m in med school. In New York City.”

He said New York City like that meant “The land of sexy grownups.” Continue Reading »

I was waiting for the train, freezing in about fifteen layers of wool and flannel, and a woman five feet away was wearing a pencil skirt, a cute jacket, and heels. No leggings. No stockings. She was not shivering pathetically or falling to the ground, dead of hypothermia. She was not begging me for one of my coats. She was just standing there, looking calm and sexy. Looking so very Manhattan chic.

That isn’t physically possible, I thought. I’m hallucinating. I’ve entered an alternate universe. Which is pretty actually pretty great, when you think about it, since I’ve always wanted to enter an alternate universe, ever since I was a small child…But then I remembered last winter in Manhattan. And the winters at college, where the girls picked their way through the slush and ice in high heels and tiny dresses. The girls who wore short skirts and boots in the winter. The girls who always had makeup on. Even when they had the flu.

I have never understood this.

(you could wear this! remember when this style became incredibly popular? it always looked terrible on me. source) Continue Reading »

I am thinking about death. The window in the kitchen won’t shut all the way. It’s behind the counter. I can’t get to it without climbing. Even if I climb, I can’t convince it to obey me. As though it’s lost respect for me, watching me fight for balance, knocking a bottle of olive oil over.

So it’s freezing inside, and only going outside and then returning can make it feel the slightest bit better. Even when I wrap myself in blankets my fingers are still so cold, and my nose is leaking.

Which is also because I’ve been crying. After reading Joyce Carol Oates’ account of her husband’s death (in The New Yorker). Which I only read because I am already thinking about this. He died in Princeton, where I grew up. In a hospital I used to drive by every other day. Her pain, like a tidal wave forming in the center of very still sea, is easy to ride. It feels close to me, like I’m standing on the edge of the water, just waiting.

I am young, and so I’m supposed to be brave. I’m supposed to have that stupid, bold bravery that you have before you know better. The kind that lets you drive recklessly, for fun, and keeps your mind on what’s directly in front of you, and encourages you to take the job, even when it’s really far away from everything you’ve ever known.

(I’m putting dramatic photos I’ve taken in this post, because they seem to fit) Continue Reading »