Post script (15 May 2013): I just signed a lease for a new apartment. On Michael Street. The next logical step is an eponymous sitcom.
This post was brought to you by Coke. A Cola.
People might think it’s strange that I have so much love and admiration for a person who has spent a considerable part of the last 26 years hitting me across the back of the head. However these random acts of violence were just my Nonna’s strange way of saying “I love you”. Or more specifically, ”I love you- now do what I say.”
Nonna’s reasons for delivering this swift justice varied. Sometimes I would be mid conversation with an uncle or auntie and suddenly... thud. Her heavily bejewelled hand would strike the back of my head and I’d involuntarily lunge forward in an all too familiar motion. And what was my crime? I had spoken to other relatives before saying hello to her. On other occasions a whack might be prompted by the decision to wear a pair of ripped jeans or waking in to family dinner with newly bleached hair. Regardless of the motivation for the swipe one thing was always the same, the brutal force. This unassuming five foot nothing Sicilian signorina was a powerful lady, and that is precisely why I loved her.
Nonna passed away a few days ago and I already miss her.
Her feisty personality began to fade towards the end of her life but I will always remember a strong willed woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to make it happen. She valued family above all else, raising eight children and revelling in her position as the matriarch of a big Italian family.
A lot of my favourite memories of time spent with Nonna took place at Footscray Market and Forges of Footscray, two of her favourite stomping grounds. She was practically a celebrity at
Forges and I remember countless lunch times spent at the cafeteria with my brother and sister where Nonna point out random people in the store and tell us that they were undercover policeman who would take us away if we misbehaved. We believed her. And I can proudly say that my siblings and I have never been arrested. I choose to believe these are not unrelated facts.
At one stage or another I’m sure each of her eight children, 18 grandchildren and, 22 great grandchildren have been on the receiving end of a disapproving look or some angry words from Nonna, she certainly wasn’t reserved in her opinions, another reason I admire her. And truth be told we probably deserved it more often than not.
I will miss her secretive handshakes- not because of the five dollars she would covertly hand me, but because of the cheeky grin and sly wink she would deliver with the crumpled note.
Thanks for making me feel so loved Nonna.
My primary source of physical activity over the last year has been typing.
I’m no health expert but fingers tapping away at the keyboard isn’t exactly a well rounded exercise regime.
As my exercise levels decreased my food intake has increased. A large part of this increase is due to my new habit of eating two dinners per night. Typically I eat my first ‘conventional’ dinner at 7pm and then at 10pm I go for another round.
Dinner number two usually consists of something that involves a drive-thru, or alternatively the combination of a random ingredient from my pantry and an excessive portion of cheese.
Needless to say there has been a complete change in my body shape over the last three months, and it’s not pretty.
I’ve always described my body type as ‘pre-pubescent female gymnast.’ I’ve tried unsuccessfully to get a laugh out of this lame self deprecating joke for at least the last five years, and while it is clearly not funny- it was the truth. Aside from a little meat on my legs (genetics, thanks mum) I was always a skinny bitch. Now I’m just a bitch.
My slim frame was incredibly annoying at times, but it was one of my only genetic advantages. I could eat anything I wanted and there were no visible signs of my gluttony, although I’m sure my arteries have probably seen better days.
As someone who is defective in practically every way, (read past posts RE: defective lungs, eyes, skin, jaw, ears, teeth,) I generally appreciated not having to count calories or exercise.
I had an understanding with my body that although the decision not to exercise meant I would never have muscles or a particularly ‘desirable’ body- my laziness would not result in me getting fat.
Alas this paradigm of indulgent guilt free deep fried contentment has ended.
I have put on weight in the most hideous fashion possible, and my body is now a mismatched disproportionate mess.
I’ll let the dot points do the talking.
- My face maintains a gaunt look that is reminiscent of a 90s crack whore. (Think Whitney during the bad ol’ days)
- My legs are chunky (My knees may actually disappear any day now)
- My ass is beyond chunky, it’s actually fat (For someone who invested way too much money in slim/skinny jeans this is a real problem)
- I now have muffin top and blobs of back fat. (I like muffins, not such a big fan of muffin-top)
- My arms are still twig shaped appendages that would send anorexic girls into fits of jealous rage (I may have crossed the line- but it’s so far back that I can’t actually see it)
- I have a gut! (This is very distressing because I used to have abs, and they were the one thing I didn’t hate about my body, THEY WERE ALL I HAD AND NOW THEY ARE GONE DAMN YOU!)
If more than two people actually read this blog I’d probably have to brace myself for a barrage of criticism from people battling weight issues.
Of course I know I’m not actually fat, but the flabby truth is that I’m not comfortable in my skin, I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been, the majority of my pants don’t fit me, (even my non-skinny pants don’t do up at the waist) and for my body type, I’m overweight.
So what now? According to a friend it’s a simple case of calories in and energy out. I think I’ll focus on the calories in part of that equation and when I am comfortable with that I’ll start to consider the energy out part.
On the plus side, I’ve always wanted to buy a moo-moo.
The biggest problem with public trasnport is the public.