2001-01-18 - 7:30pm

Who's Who Cheat Sheet
Who I Read

On the internal soundtrack: "Walk This Way", Aerosmith.

I've mentioned in the past that for a week or so every month, my metabolism skyrockets. That week is happening now. It's annoying the hell out of me.

For three weeks a month, when I get hungry it's fairly tolerable. I think, "Hmm, I should eat." Sometimes I don't even notice I'm hungry until my blood sugar drops and I start getting cranky or lightheaded.

The other week, though, it's like every two hours my stomach starts screaming, "FEED ME! FEED ME NOW! I'M FUCKING HUNGRY! HURRY UP!" It's really annoying.

Healthy food (the low fat plant-heavy type stuff I usually try to eat) doesn't stick to my ribs for an appreciable length of time, so I usually end up getting mad and caving and eating food that is really bad for me. Yesterday I wanted to pick up a pizza for dinner, from Bugsy's, where they use so much cheese that it is probably going to be criminalized at some point. It's a bit of a drive, and rather than being able to wait until I picked it up, I had to eat some leftover pasta and a bowl of cereal to get my stomach to shut up and keep from fainting on the drive over.

I do have an interesting healthy recipe I want to try tonight, though. A reduction made with dry sherry, apple juice concentrate, and thyme with chopped apples thrown in. Supposed to be made with veal, but I couldn't find veal, so we'll go with the chicken boobs instead. We'll see how it goes. Recipes sometimes sound far better than they turn out. Hopefully someday I'll be able to better identify the good ones.

BTW, Old Town was DESERTED. It was really weird. I'm usually only there when it's bustling with people. It was so deserted I thought I was wrong about what block I was on.

I'm getting excited about flowers again. If this bores you, skip to the next section.

When I was at that boonies Safeway over the weekend, they had these little tiny pots (2" diameter, tops) with miniature roses in them. Magenta ones. I don't like pink, but magenta is almost red, right? It ain't Barbie pink. Anyway, I love miniature crap, and the pots were very tiny, the roses were tiny, and the price was tiny, at $1.29. So I had to buy it, and add to my growing houseplant collection.

Well, none of these things are what I consider houseplants -- they are outdoor plants that I brought inside for the winter. They'll go back out on the porch in April or May. And two of them are edible.

Anyway, after transplanting to a slightly larger pot and watering it, I currently have FIVE tiny blooms on my little tiny plant and I am just soooooo happy.

Alicia, by the way, still has a miniature rosebush that I gave her for her birthday about 5 years ago. She's dug it up and moved it three or four times. We'll see this summer if it survived the move to NJ.

So, Jesse Jackson has a love child. I commend him for acknowledging it and for taking steps to provide for this child. Reportedly he's paying an outrageous sum of money in child support each month.

Clearly I need to consider the merits of being faithful to Poindexter versus getting a very rich, married man to knock me up. With that kind of money, I could provide a very nice home for a love child and myself (and Poindexter, if he'll forgive me; heck, he might encourage me so he can stay home and watch hockey all day). I could have the night nanny I'd need so I could get my sleep. If I saved carefully, I could also send quite a few financially strapped kids to college as well as my own little one.

Reportedly, Reverend Jackson also says he's going to drop out of public life to mend fences with his family.

How long d'ya think that'll be? Two weeks? I don't think he has it in him to stay away from the public eye for very long.

Well, joking aside, the chance that I'd cheat on Poindexter is so small as to be nonexistent. First of all, I believe it would be wrong, and that carries a huge amount of weight with me. (So much weight that it would counterbalance any overwhelming desire I might experience, EVEN if I was locked in a room with Ewan McGregor kissing my hand and begging me to sleep with him. It would be torturous, but the result would be that I'd be pounding on the door screaming for someone to let me out.) Poindexter feels the same way -- in fact, he'd be less forgiving of me if I cheated than I would of him if he cheated.

I'm fairly certain of this, because I was in a relationship for five years (age 19-24, a good age frame for making mistakes) with someone who wasn't right for me, and had crushes on other guys on a fairly regular basis, yet I never even kissed another guy during the time we were committed. During the time we were dating but not committed, I let one guy give me a peck (no tongue!). That's it. So the idea of cheating on Poindexter, who is perfect for me and has ruined all other men for me, might as well be impossible.

Anyway, the whole cheating thing leads me to my next little musing.

Some women, upon discovering their husband has been unfaithful, get mad at the other woman. They say stuff like "Keep away from my man!" and "That bitch stole him from me!" Men do the same thing, of course -- "Stay away from my woman!" and shooting the man they find her with, stuff like that.

This strikes me as ludicrous.

I'm of the opinion that it's Poindexter's responsibility to fend off the many women who throw themselves at him and, correspondingly, mine to fend off Ewan McGregor. We're grown-ups. We're familiar with the word "NO" and we know how to walk out of a room. If he was unable to resist some woman's charms, it would be HIM I'd be pissed at. And he also wouldn't be the person I thought he was, which would mean major relationship re-evaluation time.

This is not to say that I approve of chasing after married folks, but in the end, the married person has the choice to say "yes" or "no", and that's what matters to me.

Quite frankly, if you have trouble staying faithful, I believe you have three options:

1. Don't get married.

2. Marry someone who doesn't like sex and doesn't care if you get it elsewhere.

3. Marry someone who also doesn't put much stock in being faithful, and join one of those swinger clubs. Mix and match.

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