Because no two people are more boring, Ned and I got into a discussion about the first meal we had together. We couldn't remember what it was. On our first date we met for a drink, and the second we went to a movie. "I took you to that nice restaurant after, thinking we'd eat, but you weren't hungry," said Ned.
We went to a 7:00 show (I have all our emails in a folder) (What do you mean, I'm Monica Gellar?), and who wants to eat dinner after 9 p.m.? I'd already HAD dinner. Ned acts like he lives in Madrid, with the late-night eating already.
"We had hummus," I told him, because we did. Hummus counts. The truth of the matter was, I didn't even really WANT hummus, I was just being nice to Ned, who seemed hungry. Little did I know how starved he really would have been at that point. I didn't know about his salad at noon, work out then eat at 9:00 life.
"No, I mean when did we actually have a whole meal together," said Ned, who is food motivated. Probably because he's starving from all the salad.
"Oooo, I can look in my diary!" I ran to get it. I recorded in my diary what we did on each of our first 20 dates. What do you mean I should probably be hospitalized?
"Geez Louise, we didn't eat together till the 8th date!" I told him. The previous seven dates, we went to movies, or out for drinks, or to hang with my friends at little parties or just sex, or whatever. Okay, I'm making that last part up. Ned and I had not had sex by the 8th date. I'm serious! Ned was trying to be a gentleman, which is what led to me finally attacking him like he was a small flightless bird and I was Iris. But back to food. I mean, food that isn't a euphemism or a raw helpless bird. On the 8th date, Ned asked me to lunch near his work. We had Vietnamese. I ordered a small helpless bird with orange sauce.
So that wraps up that mystery. The point is, we were sitting on the couch with my diary. "I started this diary in 2003," I told him as I looked at the front page. "You're kidding," said Ned. "Why would it--ohhhh, your blog."
It's true. I've kept a diary since 5th grade, and none has ever taken so long to get through as the one I started in 2003, because at the end of 2006, I began blogging every last thought and now I have no privacy. I act like that's everyone else's fault. SOMEONE IS MAKING ME WRITE DOWN MY EVERY THOUGHT WHO COULD IT BE HELP ME.
I paged through the thing. "On the first day of this diary, I wrote down my weight and measurements. I always do that," I informed Ned, who has an unhealthy curiosity about what I weigh, mostly because I guard that hideous secret with my life so that I won't have to start convincing him linebacker women are sexy. The part where I refuse to tell it makes him all the more curious, and I can't understand how two little digits can obsess someone so much.
BAHAHAHAHHA.
When I was in my 20s, I worked at a museum, and my desk was at this sort of storage area, even though you probably think I was at a large maple desk in front of dinosaur bones or the Mona Lisa or something. I was not. To walk to my office area, I had to cross over this giant scale where they weighed, you know, dinosaur bones or the Mona Lisa, and occasionally--occasionally! Because who cares!--I'd look at the number when I crossed over. It always hovered around 120-ish. Hunh, I'd think, and keep walking.
Goddammit.
In unrelated news, had a chocolate malt for dinner last night.
Three pages into my 2003 diary, I start talking about my weight. "Walked to the chiropractor today, and the scale there said I weigh [109 pounds]." (It's my fucking blog. I can redact and add in anything I want, motherfucker.)
"This is UNACCEPTABLE" I told myself in 2003. "Starting eDiets immediately." I remember walking to the chiropractor. It was a nice office, and not far at all. Sometimes on the way back I'd run into my cleaning lady, Alicia, walking her awful dog, who I think was a Pomeranian or maybe a Yorkie. It was small. It yapped.
My point is, eDiets. 2003 called.
I read Ned some other deep thoughts I had, about what I was going to wear to my class reunion, what I was considering doing next with my hair, and some makeup purchases with my friend Renee.
"I never have one deep thought," I told him. "No, this is fascinating," said Ned. "It's like a roller coaster ride. What'll happen next?"
"Oh my god, listen to this," I said.
I look cute today. My hair is in braids, and I have on my cat-eye glasses that're adorable, and my long-sleeved white t-shirt!
How can a long-sleeved white t-shirt be remotely adorable?
What I'm saying to you is my 2003 diary, when I was 38, isn't that different from my 10th-grade diary, where I list my assets.
Thursday, November 12, 1981: I've got a lot more going for me than many other people. I'm very smart, I'm NOT ugly, I'm not shy, I'm not a social outcast, I'm not fat, I've got nice hands, a pretty class ring, a nice house, expensive stereo, leniant rules, straight teeth, thick hair, and a good voice.
About five more pages in to my 2003 diary, I mention that I'm starting eDiets again. "What was with me and the eDiets?" I asked Ned. Sadly, I do the same thing now, only I substitute eDiets with Weight Watchers.
"You look beautiful," said Ned, which is what he always says because he fears the reaper. "But the only thing you have to do if you want to lose weight is eat less and exercise more."
Dear 2015 Diary: I need to bury a body. After that, I am totally going back on eDiets.
