All posts tagged: chocolate

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Throwback Thursday: The Same Five Pounds

A few months ago, I finally joined the rest of the world and watched “Miss Representation” (a rather fabulous documentary about the portrayal of women in the media). It made me cry, as just about everything does these days, but more importantly it convinced me to get rid of my scale. That’s right: my New Year’s Resolution was not to lose weight but rather to stop weighing myself. It’s been three months and I feel fantastic. I’m also pretty sure I look fantastic, especially when I drag myself out of bed, stop watching Breaking Bad and wash my hair, and even though I don’t have the numbers to confirm this, I don’t care. I am happy without my scale. But I wasn’t always this way. In fact, I used to be ever so slightly obsessed with my weight. Not in an eating disorder sort-of-way (you need will power for that, or at least the ability to throw up on command), but… well, you can read for yourself. I gain and then lose the same five …

no-chocolate

Chocolate is (not) for sharing

I know that relationships are supposed to be love and sharing and all but sometimes I don’t want to share.  Especially when it comes to chocolate.  And especially when it comes to my boyfriend who thoroughly enjoys dark chocolate but never gets around to actually buying any of his own. For the past year and a half, I’ve been the sole chocolate-provider in our relationship.  And while I don’t mind doling out a few squares between numbers when he’s been kind enough to accompany me to some wacky venue for some wacky post modern dance concert, I do mind when we’re at his place and the dessert offerings are limited to Chips Ahoy. The Chips Ahoy, of course, are for his kids.  And I understand that as a father, he needs to keep a certain amount of milk chocolate around the house (and whole milk, and Pop Tarts, and Chex Mix).  I’ve even come to tolerate the seemingly endless supply of Doritos (not that I would ever eat them, at least not more than 20 …

chocolate covered strawberry

No More Beach Balls

So I’m in Target, perusing the Dollar Deals section in the front of the store for preschool-friendly goodies as I always do when it hits me: I have no need for foam super hero stickers or glow in the dark bracelets anymore.  I don’t need play dough, magic wands or butterfly wings this year. Why? Well folks, I’ve done it again.  I’ve quit my day job.  I’ve resigned from my position as Teaching Artist and Creative Movement Extraordinaire at “The School” and I won’t be seeing my little beach balls anymore. That means no more nonsensical knock-knock jokes.  No more crazy dance moves.  No more philosophical conversations about nail polish between the bathroom stalls.  No more attempts to explain that I do not have a baby in my belly and that my hair did not get “broken.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to miss them like crazy.  But teaching underserved kids in North Philly isn’t exactly an easy gig.  The work itself was fun, but if you’re a good teacher (which …

Why Singletons Should Save Chocolate Bar Wrappers

This week was supposed to be my spring break.  I was going to sleep in and read books and drink iced chai while commencing my work on the great American novel (whilst cursing the parents of Queen Village for ruining my literary endeavors with their precious little darlings) but who are we kidding?  I’ve got choreography to finish, articles to write, new costumes to source and… oh yeah… taxes to file.  The bane of my existence. If I didn’t have a night at the The Wedding Date’s to look forward to, I don’t know what I’d do. Actually, I know exactly what I’d do: I’d do the same thing I did back in grad school when I didn’t have a boyfriend to keep me company when I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I’d make something.  With chocolate. These are chocolate-covered marzipan eggs.  I never knew how great marzipan was until my flat mate from Belgium introduced me.  The good thing about marzipan is that it’s made out of almonds so you can convince yourself that …

Yet Another Reason to Embrace the Single Life

After seven days of grueling chocolate consumption, I’ve finally polished off the last of my Valentine’s Day candy.  This is not to suggest that I had any great number of suitors showering me with gifts last week (I received one and only one Valentine this year; it was from one of my preschoolers and it was not edible), but instead that my mother is a professional when it comes to scoping out half-price post-holiday sales. And in this case, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “I bought you peanut butter M&Ms!” she announced triumphantly when I arrived home from work on Wednesday. “I bought you peanut butter M&Ms!” I replied, brandishing my own shopping bag.  In truth I planned to eat most of the M&Ms myself (it was a “family” bag, if you will) but I kept this thought private. “Where’d you get yours?” she asked. “Riteaid.  Clearance sale.  You?” “Riteaid.” And no, I’m not making this up.  My mother and I went two separate Riteaids and bought two separate bags of peanut …

My Best Valentine’s Day (Obviously Not This Year)

Valentine’s Day.  You had to see it coming.  I can’t write a blog that’s primarily about dating and let the holiday slip by unnoticed, even though I’ll be doing my best to avoid all human contact on February 14th. I’ve had several great Valentine’s Day dates over the years, so if you’re looking for inspiration (or ideas), read on.  If you’d rather wallow in despair and self pity without the inconvenience of remembering that sometimes men don’t suck, check back tomorrow when I promise to regale you with tales of my worst Valentine’s Day ever. For now: the good ones. During my senior year of college, I was dating a man who was, by nearly all accounts, quite a catch.  He had a car, a job, his own house and— oh yeah— twelve years on me.  When Valentine’s Day rolled around, he got one of my friends to sneak him into my dorm and proceeded to arrange all sorts of V-Day paraphernalia outside of my door.  The majority of it was rather tacky: balloons, a …

Weekend Report

You can’t break up with someone you were never with in the first place, but if you could, I’d be breaking up with Date #17.  It all started with the Martini Bar Soiree (leave it me to pick the one bachelor in all of Philadelphia who’s “too busy” to spend black Friday drinking martinis).  In his defense, he had to work on Black Friday but in my defense, I’ve never dated anyone who works in finance before.  How was I supposed to know that if the stock market’s open, the office is open too? Also in my defense, I was totally rational about it (he did, after all, have a legitimate excuse) and although I’ve spent the past month bemoaning Date #17’s busy schedule online, I’ve been nothing but supportive in the flesh (“You ran the half marathon in less than two hours?  That’s great!  Good for you!”  “You scored a six-something-or-other on your GMATs?  That’s great!  Good for you!”).   Considering that I spend the better part of my day congratulating four year olds on …

Neither Girlfriend nor Facebook Friend

I’m sitting at my desk, snacking on raw almonds and thinking “Hmm, these nuts are rather nice without chocolate, actually” when my phone rings.  It’s a text from my friend Marisa: You have a boyfriend??? Marisa lives in LA.  This means that Wednesday’s misunderstanding, as promulgated by my unfortunate use of the word “girlfriend,” has gone bi-coastal. Great, I find myself thinking, just great.  Before I know Date #17 himself will get wind of it, and then there’ll be no convincing him to join me for the annual Hooper’s Island Black Friday Martini Bar Soiree. “Read the rest of the post,” I text back.  You know, the part where I explain that I took artistic liberties with the “girlfriend” portion of Wednesday’s title? As much as I’d like to be Date #17’s girlfriend, and as much as I suspect the feeling’s mutual, we’re so not there yet. In this digital day and age, there are certain things one must do before taking one’s relationship(s) to the next level.  I am referring, of course, to the …