Skip to main content

Roaming the Concourse

Today on my morning run, I happened to be following the same route as the garbage truck.  It was sort of awkward, the way we kept lapping each other, but it was a race -I will have you know- that I won.  Further proof that all things follow the path of the Beam (right, Habibi?).

Anyway, when I run, I try to clear my head, talk to God or just consider my life.  However, my mind always comes back to the same thing:  food.  As I was thinking about what to eat later today, my mind wandered into tomorrow and the anticipation of sports arena junk.  You see, tomorrow Habibi (my nickname for my husband, it means "my sweetheart/honey/darling" in Arabic) and I are going to a college football game at my alma mater.  While many of you know that I don't particularly care for sports, I have a great affection for the treasures to be found on the concourse.  In fact, it is not unusual that I will spend seven innings of a baseball game, wandering around, eyeballing the Dippin' Dots or drooling over the smell of barbecue.  Perhaps my family will recall that the only time we went to a professional football game (we drove over 3 hours to see it), I pouted myself to sleep in the stands because no one would come with me to get a pretzel.  At game time, I call the shots, not my diet.

At present, I am feeling a bit like a kid at Christmas, eagerly awaiting the fine cuisine and libations available at the tailgates.  I shall peruse the concourse itself as I always do, with the gastronomic prowess  of a jungle cat; when my prey is within sight, I POUNCE!  What now, hot dog??  Bet you didn't see that coming!!!


Oh, caution and Whole Foods be damned!  Bring on the unnatural, wholly processed garbage!  With that said, I would like to ask you to intercede on my behalf.  Please pray that God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (the availability of all this junk food), the courage to change the things I can (whether or not I binge eat on ALL OF IT), and the wisdom to know the difference (finding a happy medium).

Thus let it be.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Let's be frank...

Habibi and I are not at all fanciful.  In fact, every time I try to do something cute (and/or Pinterest-y), I end up frustrated and with egg on my face.  So, we've just decided to embrace our straightforward, blunt way of doing things.  To give you an idea of how we roll, let me tell you a little bit about our life journey together... On our second date, I told Habibi that I really wasn't interested in ever getting married.  Sure I like liked  him ("like liking" would soon change to love), but it just wasn't something I planned for my future.  Seven months later when he proposed (see how that went for me?), I simply said yes.  There was no video, no fireworks, no wild story, no pictures.  He told me to close my eyes (I insisted on sitting on the floor if I had to close my eyes because I was afraid he'd push me on the ground) and when I opened them, there he was, on one knee, holding a ring.  Afterwards, we kissed and he told me I had co...

Brain Barf #4: Senior Citizens, Italian-Americans, Dreamboats, and Tap Shoes

My neighbor sent me this last night: In five years, J.Lo will be getting discounts at restaurants and movie theaters because she will be considered a senior citizen.  And she will still look like that.   YOU GUYS I SAID J.LO IS ALMOST A SENIOR CITIZEN.  SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE YOU'RE NOT EVEN LISTENING. Meanwhile, I look more and more like this every day: My friend MoMo was invited to play pool with a friend of hers today.  She told me about it, which is free license for me to post it here. MoMo (and her friend): Anouchka: In her friend's defense, he has only been in the U.S. for about 18 months and apparently thought that an "Italian-American" would be a rare and exotic treat. I'm been pestering Habibi lately to spoil me and praise me and tell me I'm a rare and divine treasure more often, but it hasn't been working.  I'll send him text messages periodically, featuring my face,  looking putrid fr...