Greens and Grains Week

Mirs is in the shower singing as beautifully as a girl who can’t sing can do to Paul Simon.  I just turned up the volume a little-you know, to make her sound a bit better.  God, how do I love that girl.  We’re making our way down to China Town for the Dragon Festival and for some Dim Sum before hanging out with our lesbian doppelgangers, T and A for some Super Bowl action.  

It sort of puts a damper on my whole eating healthier to get rid of the pudginess around my middle plan.  This is supposed to be Greens and Grains Week.  I have all of this bulk food that I purchased over the last three trips to the Fairway.  I mean, they have bulk foods there!  What’s not to love.  When you’re met with over 10 varieties of beans, 5 varieties of rice and more flour options than seem necessary, you can’t help but to grab a plastic bag and a twist tie and fill up on some new and exotic grain or bean that you’ve never heard of before.  As a result, my cupboard is full of beans and rices that have been sitting there, quite sadly, and two packages of tofu that need some eating.   Hence, Greens and Grains week.  
Since today is Sunday, it seems only natural that I should start the Week today.  Instead, Mirs woke up, rolled over, and invited me to Dim Sum.  She’s been talking about Dim Sum since I first met her 8 months ago.  She tells me that it’s a magical place called the Golden Unicorn, there are sweet-looking Asian girls wearing cute uniforms pushing around steaming hot plates of dumplings and other wonderful goodnesses wrapped up, fried, boiled, or steamed.  It’s also the Chinese New Year and there’s a Dragon Parade today as well.  I’m not sure what that means, exactly.   I’ll assume that it’s like it sounds, a paper dragon that’s paraded down Mott Street in China Town.  I’m bringing my camera.  
After Dim Sum madness we’re supposed to be heading to the Upper East Side to A’s house.  She’s a genetic researcher at Sloan Kettering.  She lives in one of their buildings in a small apartment but she has a giant television.  I missed the Super Bowl last year because I could give a shit about football.  Mirs isn’t really into the fact that I think that football is stupid.  I’m sorry, but it is.  I mean, the rules are pointless and seem to lack reason.  They men are gigantic, over weight, and ill-educated and I’m supposed to call them athletes?  If I weighed that much I’d just be called fat.  But I suppose if you put some padding on me, a jersey, and gave me a 7 figure salary all of a sudden I’d be an athlete.  Funny, though, women can’t play professional football.  Your average big-boned woman walking down the street would be jeered at, snickered at, mocked, and called fat.  Your average big-boned man walking down the street-you may think, damn, If we had that guy as a linebacker for the Giants we’d totally win today.  Some one should sign that dude.
I’m not an advocate for fat-pride.  I think that fat pride is just as ridiculous as anorexic pride-y’all all have problems with weight, and you should get it checked out by a medical professional.  What I’m saying is that it seems sort of odd to me that most women’s sports; gymnastics, volleyball, basketball, softball, even require the athlete to be athletic.  They should be fit, muscular and have the ability to move at a rather swift speed.  But these gigantic dudes in the NFL…not so much.  Now, before you football loving people start bitching and moaning about the sport and my analysis of its stupidity, let me remind you.  I know nothing about football and don’t understand it.  So I’ll stop ranting about it.
Happy Super Bowl Sunday, everyone!  Go Team that’s playing that other team that’s playing.
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