It’s been an informative couple of weeks.
In early October, the Beast decided he wanted to gain 10 lb. in muscle mass and I decided that I would lose 10 lb. in fat mass. Normally, we eat the same amount of food, which, portion-wise, roughly rounds out to eating for four every night. One pound of pasta? Bring it on. A party-size pizza? DESTROYED!
So, it seemed like a no-brainer. I would start eating for one person and the Beast would start eating for three. We’re getting there, but I still have a hard time letting go of my competitive mindset.For example, if I bake a cake, like this cake (but I used plain white wine rather than Muscat, and Concord grape jam rather than grapes), I want to eat my half of it.
I baked the fucking thing. But that might not help me lose 10 lb. To get around this, whenever I’d slice the Beast a piece, I’d make it twice as big as the one I carved out for myself.
Or take this incredible meal that the Beast recently made on one of his Tuesday’s off: It’s a white bean soup with a drizzle of basil-infused olive oil on top (his idea!) He grilled sausages on the side. Normally, I ‘d eat two of those guys. But that night, I only ate one. Genius!
The Beast also made up a batch of pulled pork, which we got two meals out of: one with the pork on baguette with homemade coleslaw and the other one was a taco night!
I whipped up some salsa, used up the left-over coleslaw, grabbed some feta on the way home and a bottle of Frank’s Red Hot. Normally, we’d divide up the corn tortillas evenly, say 10 and 10 (they are really tiny.) But that night, I only ate six. I can feel my pants practically falling down.
So, how far off are we both from our goals two weeks in?
Beast: same weight
Foodie: same weight
But there’s been a more relationship-altering event than our respective diets: The Beast just got his first cell phone, an iPhone 4S specifically. His 75-year-old boss bought one and liked it so much that she thought he should have one too. She’s even paying for it. When the Beast went to pick it up, the nice man from India asked if he could take his photo to show his dad back home–the only other person he knows who’s resisted owning a cell.
The first text I got from the Beast read, “Prepare to be texted to death…”
Life as I knew it, is no longer. He will always be able to find me now. And if he can’t, he’ll just ask Siri. He’s been asking her everything. “Siri, what’s the weather supposed to be like today?” Or “Siri, what should I have for dinner?” And he only sends texts by using the voice-recognition feature with Siri: “Siri, send a text message to my brother Noah and tell him to GO FUCK HIMSELF.”
Whatever he asks of Siri, he gets.
The Beast still hasn’t given his number to his parents yet, who both have iPhones. So they’re are still texting me messages to pass along to their son. Maybe this is something Siri could help with.
And he still hasn’t gotten used to actually carrying his phone with him. We went to a wedding Saturday night and the first thing the Beast asked me to do was to take his photo with my phone because his was at home.
The wedding was for a friend that he’s known since kindergarten. Needless to say, there were many people at the event the same age as the Beast, which is 28 or something. That’s pretty much 10 years younger than I am. And boy, did I feel it. I didn’t know half of the TV shows those kids were talking about. But there was a silver lining: all the parents coming over to say hello to the Beast who told me stories about what a sweet, generous boy he was. It was so nice to hear. Siri would have been so proud.
On the cab ride home after I made the Beast do an Irish exist after midnight, and after consuming too much wine at the open bar, I had a question for him that Siri couldn’t possibly answer.
Foodie: Remember tonight when old high school people would ask you what you’re doing these days and you’d respond, “I sell used furniture.”
Beast: That’s what I do.
Foodie: You do more than sell used furniture.
Beast: What am I going to say? “I have a subscription to the New Yorker, so…”
Foodie: I think you said it almost like a challenge, maybe even to provoke a reaction from them.
Beast: That’s not the case at all. It’s just who I am. I sell used furniture.
Foodie: See?!?! You’re doing it now. That’s maybe how you pay the bills but it’s not who you are!
Beast: They didn’t ask who I am. They asked about what I was doing.
Foodie: Maybe you’re right. But I still think you were being slightly provocative. Did you hear the way they all responded? “Oh man, does that sound great!” Or “Wow, I bet you know a lot about antiques!”
Beast: I do know a lot about antiques. I’m fucking awesome at selling used furniture.
Foodie: I know. But you know a lot about a lot of things. You know more about more stuff than I did when I was your age. Wait, how old are you again?
Foodie: I was a piece of shit when I was 29.
Beast: I know. That’s how old you were when we first met.
Foodie: How old am I now? 37?
Beast: Yes, about to turn 38.
Foodie: So what you’re telling me is that we’ve been together almost. Wait–how long have we been together?
Beast: We’ll ask Siri when we get home.