At Home

Put an egg on it. Plus, faking it.

This morning, in the kitchen:

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Beast: We need to get rid of our sugar bowl.

Foodie: No we don’t.

Beast: Yes we do. And that little plate it sits on too.

Foodie: No we don’t. I love them both so much.

Beast: They look like they belong in a fucking dump: like they belong to a character in a Miranda July novel.

Foodie: What novels are you going to bring to Cuba?

Beast: I haven’t decided.

Foodie: Well, bring a lot of them because when Erinn and I went we both finished like six books in seven days.

We are going on vacation. Because he hates both sand and the sun, the Beast has shown no interest in taking one of the beach variety. But after weeks of cold weather and being in a creative slump, he finally told me just the other day to “book it.”

So I did. Although we both really want to visit my Uncle Ron in Morelia, Mexico, our last-minute vacation window wouldn’t permit a trip that required any sort of detailed planning. So Sol Pelicano in Cayo Largo, a cheap and cheerful Cuban resort where we can also enjoy a day trip to Havana, it is. Erinn and I went in 2011 and had the time of our lives reading on the beach, admiring women wearing bathing suits that went right up their butts (we called them butt blades), eating fish and salad every day for lunch and consuming large quantities of white wine. We came back tanned, rested and re-charged.

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That sounds great right about now because the Beast isn’t the only one who’s been in a creative slump.  If my boss had a look at my Internet history on Thursday, I think I would’ve been escorted from the building. I started off searching for my favourite Saturday Night Live sketches in advance of the show’s 40th anniversary special, which lead me to movie trailers, blooper reels, some early Melissa McCarthy YouTube bits that I’d never seen before and, inexplicably, to anti-vaccination posts on sites with names like  My mood turned from good-humoured to frustrated–I couldn’t find an SNL bit from the ’90s about three-legged jeans–to dark. Although I started writing three posts, including a piece pegged to Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina-steaming adventure called “10 other things you can give to your vagina,” I didn’t finish a thing.

We’ve both been feeling empty, figuratively. But I’m literally the only one who is starving. In my attempt to lose 15 lb. alongside my colleague, I had some early success. But there’s been no weight loss in the last two weeks, despite me watching the Beast eat an entire leftover cold Pizza Hut pizza while I put a fucking boiled egg on a salad and called it dinner.

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Just this morning, naked, I stepped on the scale. The number, down to the decimal, was the same as last week–even when I moved the scale, still naked, into different rooms around the house.

Is it because I haven’t been able to ride my bike (on account of the weather) to work? Was it the sliver of cake I had at a baby shower yesterday? Or the two glasses of red wine I drank last night, which the Beast also enjoyed and used to wash down a box of strawberry Pockys while we watched Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn’s first movie together, Woman of the Year?


It’s a title I won’t be receiving at home anytime soon after revealing on national television that the Beast once faked an orgasm. Actually, he’s not mad at all. I asked permission beforehand. (In short: it was my birthday many years ago, we were very drunk and there was no finish line in sight, so he rolled his eyes a bit and opened up his mouth as if to moan–like he was acting out a scene in a Buster Keaton movie–and thought he’d fooled me. When I asked him about it not five minutes after the performance, he admitted he faked it and we laughed and laughed.)

But family members (his, not mine) are concerned about their reputations. In a series of text messages to us both, they asked: How can we show our faces again? What kind of parents raise their son to fake an orgasm?  The Beast responded that he thought it was a rather thoughtful birthday gift.

I’d never thought of it that way. But you know what? He’s right.

As far as I know, he’s only faked it the one time. But considering that I plan on wearing my oversized J. Peterman caftan the entire time we’re in Cuba, I better prepare myself for a repeat fake performance. Actually, this thing is so big that I doubt he’ll be able to find my vagina so we should be good.



16 replies »

  1. 1) You are not alone, we are all in a winter slump (more romantically known as a winter sleep)
    2) Love the caftan, very classy and bound to make the beast attracted to you
    3) you do need a new sugar bowl, so get a funky one in Cuba

    Thank you for entertaining me through written word and on the show. My teenage girls love you too. You are a great example for them on how to be true to yourself.

    • Have fun! And maybe you can find a caftan there. If not, J Peterman has some on sale (spring is just around the corner.)

  2. Wow – 250! That’s remarkable, my friend. Especially considering the consistent quality of all your posts. So proud of you. And i love that the Beast’s parents were so concerned about having raised a son who fakes orgasm – adorable. Enjoy Cuba!!!

  3. Men like The Beast don’t get nearly the credit they deserve for the tender generosity of their feigned orgasms–especially given the degree of anatomical difficulty implicit in it and the millennia of work we’ve had to put in convincing women that it’s never necessary given the hair trigger we’ve got our dicks permanently set to. Still, it doesn’t sound like he tried very hard to sell it that fateful night, and there may need to be a performance review at the next Council of Men. But I’ve revealed too much.

    On the other hand, it was very insensitive of him to roll around in that take-out gut bomb while you were stuck eating what looks like an especially unsatisfying meal from René Redzepi (“Sad egg falls from nest to rain-wet forest floor” or something). Have you considered that you may be absorbing hidden calories through your eyes, by even looking at pizza and whatnot? It’s a thing.

    Congratulations on the sestercentennial post, by the way. How much pleasure you’ve brought us all! I’ve laughed and cried and both at the same time and think you are the best thing on the Internet. Really. That is something I could never fake. (Wink.)

  4. Oh Jess, I just love your personality, you remind me af a few of my friends all rolled into one wonderful person. I love your blog and absolutely adore you on The Social. Keep up the great work. Have a wonderful trip.

  5. Jess,

    You will rock that caftan ! If you are hungry & craving noodles, try some Shirataki noodles – you can’t put sauce like pasta sauce on them – but they are really good in a broth – like a miso broth topped up with vegetables…….promise ! Been on every diet…ever ! Also if you are feeling “snacky” try dried seaweed – its about 5 calories per package – I find satisfies the craving for salty and crunchy. I live in Leaside – and they have Shirataki noodles there, in a great little shop called Savory & Thyme….right on Bayview . Also , you are gorgeous and don’t need to drop a pound. Have a boozy blast in Cuba !

  6. I feel your pain at not losing any weight in two weeks. After awhile you just feel like what’s the point right? Seems to just get harder. Sigh.
    Enjoy Cuba.

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