Ginapalooza Lightening Round!

• 4 out of 4 Registered Dietitians (in my office) agree with the following statement:

“I’ve tried to like Kashi. Really, I have. But it’s gross.”

If you have to get stuck for over 28 hours in the deep south, make it Atlanta Georgia. Seriously home to the nicest people in the world. Including the lost luggage attendants at the airport.

It’s a weird feeling when you show up to Book Club having just finished what you now consider one of the best books you’ve ever read, with a writing style that make you want to wrap up each word in pretty paper and put it under your pillow, only to find out that everyone else totally hated it, and thought the writing style sucked.

Simmering equal parts of maple syrup and heavy cream, then pouring that over blueberry pancakes from the Clinton Street Bakery in SOHO is among the handful of earthy experiences that I classify under the “brought me closer to God” category.

And cripes, that’s all I’ve got time for. Really I should wait to post this until its chalked full of exciting things, but at this rate, that might another several months. Hoping to add more soon…

Back to normal-like life

I could say that I’ve been too busy to write, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Why just the other day, I spent a good 45 minutes reflecting on the inherent humor of growing up in the 90’s, and web researching the whereabouts of the actress that played Kimmy Giber on TV’s Full House. Which lead me to the discovery that Jody Sweetin (ie Stephanie Tanner) was almost a child star-turned normal, happy, functioning member of society before a little tousle with methamphetamines. Sounds like she’s getting back on track which is well- just impressive. Good for her. As I recall from my days in the public health “trenches,” that stuff is capital B-A-D and can really mess a person up. Come to think of it, these are the kind of problems that probably could have been easily avoided if there was a conscious effort to make sure there was just as much “Dad and Steph” time as there was “Dad and Deej’” time, as I do recall that about every show ended with Bob Saget kneeling down with a various child actress on his knee, wiping a tear from her eye and saying:

“Ever since mom died, blah blah blah…. You know what I think we should do? Let’s be extra sure to plan more special Dad n’ (insert child name here) time. You know- just the two of us. How does that sound?”

(Thank you Bob Saget, for not only modeling “effective parenting skills” but also for giving any would-be child molesters a perfectly scripted pick-up line.)

And it seems that I’ve gotten a bit off track here…

All is good here with me. I’ve taken several big breaths and have sufficiently exhaled now that J is HOME. Ummm…. home. A nicer word than I’ve ever known.

Been listing to a lot of Nanci Grifith lately. In the car of course, so I can sing along loudly and really solidify my white girl identity. It’s kind of my happy-place music, so I guess that’s where I am.