GIGI GOES GAGA

SIX MONTHS SANS SHOPPING

After years of resolving to overhaul my life every January 1st, I decided a while back to keep it as general as possible: be grateful and kind, try something new, don't be afraid to fail. Committing to a gym membership only resulted in my checking account seeing more action than I was by the time February rolled around, and I've given up giving up on chocolate. This year, however, I have one resolution -- and it's HUGE.

I will not shop for six months. It's only been six days since the year started and I'm still working out the rules, but so far I've decided that "no shopping" means the following.

What I cannot buy

• Clothes, shoes, lingerie, accessories
• Makeup, fragrance, and other beauty products (incl. hair care)
• Furniture, home accessories, art work
• Gadgets and tech (unless essential for work)
• Books and music
• Pretty things that are non-essential to living (for example: stationery, toys/apparel for my shih tzu Scout, Funko Pop, etc.)

What I can buy

• Food (groceries, restaurants)
• Experiences (for example: travel, visits to museums)
• Health-related items (including toothpaste and floss)
• Plants and gardening supplies - spring falls within the first half of the year and so I made this an exception
• Home cleaning supplies - I can be frugal, but never filthy
• Monthly grooming: hair cut and color, facial, manipedi, and massage appointments - this is part of my DNA, even mom was this way -- and heck, she was at the salon two or three times a week!
• Gifts (preferably belonging to any of the categories in my "can buy" list)

Look: I'm still working out the details. I'm the sort of gal who can easily try to rationalize how an exquisite pair of shoes could be classified under "experiences" -- but I know that would simply be defeating the point of this exercise. So what exactly is the point of this then? To prove to myself that there's very little that I really need and to save for what's more important. I've been asking myself lots of questions.

What if I run out of hair conditioner? I'll need to go through all my samples and use them ALL first before I can buy a bottle.

I love to read and listen to music -- why deprive myself of that? I won't; I'll just borrow books from the library and listen to Spotify.

I lost 15 lbs. and my pants are too loose now -- does this mean I'll look like a stupid boy in the '90s? No, I'll just get them altered (I've decided this is an approved expense).

Oh no, I'm going to lose Sephora VIB Rouge status! Still sad about this, actually, but just think of how much I will save!

For years I've been reading accounts of people who have given up all spending, but I simply can't adopt a Frontier House kind of lifestyle. What finally inspired me was this piece in the New York Times by the writer Ann Patchett, who gave up shopping for an entire year. I've decided to try it for the first half of the year, assess what I gained from the experience, and then keep going if I feel I want or need to. Although this may sound very superficial for some of you, my little endeavor will cause me to make significant changes in my daily life, perhaps even to my psyche.

For most of my life I saw myself as an Ugly Duckling who simply learned how to groom herself. I became interested in fashion and beauty because I saw their transformative powers early on. My dad once heard a fashion designer friend of his say that there was no such thing as an ugly woman, just a stupid one -- and he repeated it to me when I was still a preteen (to this day I don't know if it was merely a casual remark or if he was trying to tell me something). Once I learned how to make the most of my body type and features, I then discovered a desire to surround myself with the prettiest things I could afford. When I first moved out on my own and had very little disposable income, I owned exactly two sets of "grown-up" plates, cutlery, and glassware, plush towels, and soft cotton sheets. I had one cooking pan -- a Calphalon, which I purchased at Conran's Habitat at the Beverly Center. I'm hardly extravagant -- but I like things that are aesthetically pleasing, that smell nice and feel good. But as Astrud Gilberto once sang, "Tell me how long must I keep wanting things, needing things when I have so much?" This stops now.

Now it's time for me to make purchasing decisions that go way beyond what appeals to my senses. In the past six days I've purchased a cable that connects my work laptop to a monitor (for when I work at home), yellow sticky traps for gnats and flying insects (I brought my plants indoors for the winter), and takeout dinner from a nearby Japanese restaurant (a Friday tradition). Each time, before I pulled out my wallet, I asked myself carefully: do I need this? do I have any options that don't involve buying something? Satisfied with the answers -- there wasn't an extra one at work, gnats are gross, and relaxing date nights at home once weekly are hardly unreasonable -- I think I'm off to a good start.

Wish me luck. I'll report back in six months.

 

 

 

ON THE STREET WHERE I LIVE

"You live WHERE now?"

Although I moved to Seattle a little more than two years ago I'm still blissfully unaware of geographical connotations. For instance, back in Los Angeles I knew there could be differences between living north or south of a particular boulevard, of what turning a block left or right could mean to the locals. I sort of understood how it was possible to live in a city known for its affluence -- and yet still be able to reside in the "bad" part of it.

When I first moved to Santa Monica in 1984, for instance, before I could even figure out where everything was (including myself), I was immediately informed of the nuances between living above or below Wilshire Boulevard -- of how further north toward Montana was heaven though heaven help you if you called south of the Santa Monica freeway home. In an area smaller than 9 sq. mi. even half a mile east or west would define your circumstances, at least in the (small) minds of certain people.

I've encountered this mindset everywhere I've ever lived. One time in the early '90s I bumped into an old acquaintance and we spent a few minutes catching up on the years since we last saw each other. I asked her, "So do you still live with your family in Canoga Park?" She sniffed back, "West Hills. We live in West Hills." The thing is, neither one of us was particularly wrong or right: before 1987, West Hills was merely the western part of Canoga Park. So, yes, she used to live there but she no longer does, even if her house hasn't moved an inch and herself outside of it.

So now I live in a working class suburb north of the city, where the crime rate is higher than I've been accustomed to in a long while. When we first decided to move here, for wholly practical reasons I admit, I had my reservations. The view was decidedly different, the people looked more well-worn. Then I reminded myself that for a brief period during my college years I lived in the kind of apartments where a homeless man slept inside the elevator during the cold winter months and where a drug dealer once stabbed an enemy repeatedly right outside my living room window. I once lived in neighborhoods where I've been mugged late at night right by the front door and where I had to vary my schedule of comings and goings daily so that the gang members across the street wouldn't be able to predict where I'd be when.

Despite having moved on to better and safer neighborhoods since that time, I've managed to retain my street smarts, even if they had settled somewhere in the back of my brain due to complacency. I may be a little softer now, but I still remember how to look around before entering or exiting my car. I still hold my key between my middle and index fingers as if brandishing a hidden weapon and I wear my bag close to my body. I generally don't wear expensive jewelry and I never wear shoes I can't run in. I'm prepared for this, I steeled myself as I surveyed my new area.

When I first moved here a few of my suburbia-softened coworkers expressed alarm. "No, not ________!" wailed T, a fragile-looking thing who had never lived outside of her parent's home. "Don't tell me you live there now."

Well, yes. Yes, I do, actually. She looked at me as if it were the last time she was ever going to see me.

But I've seen her many, many times since that day, and I'm still all in one piece. In fact, I've been living here for three months now and the truth is that it's been fun exploring the place. First of all, this area is teeming with international cuisine -- so much delicious food just up the street at wallet-friendly prices. Tamales for a little more than a buck each, gyro plates for the price of a McDonald's meal. Hand-pulled noodles, Bánh mì sandwiches exploding with fresh ingredients, Hawaiian and even Guamanian-Filipino mix plates. The only place missing is a fancy steakhouse -- but I'm not looking for one.

I've also met really nice people here. The shop owners are not just friendly; they really do want your repeat business. They hand out an extra stack of fresh tortillas to go with the grilled pollo you just bought, drop a couple of free baklava pieces in your bag after they caught you looking at them lovingly in the case. One of the check-out clerks at the grocery store, the one with the gray skin and pink hair, likes to overshare when you ask her how she's doing, but at least it's always interesting. Once a week I watch "Ellen" at 4 PM with the laundromat attendant; during commercials she tells me how she once suggested to her boyfriend that they marry at the little purple house/wedding chapel a couple of miles away just so they could get married now.

I don't know how long we'll be living here, but I have a funny feeling I'll miss it when we move again. That's the thing about how a place becomes home. It's not merely like becoming accustomed to a face; it's about learning to love even the parts of it you once thought looked strange. This place may not be heaven, but the fresas con crema with sliced almonds and chocolate chips we buy across the street is absolutely celestial, and the lady who makes and sells it is an angel.

 

 

29 OF 30: TODAY'S RANT

These days I find myself wishing people would simply stop trying to impose their personal beliefs on others, thinking their way is the only way, that it's the right way. There is a thin line between advocating for one's convictions and shaming someone else for theirs. Besides, if the goal here is to get someone to cross the divide and join your side, condescension and judgment would be your worst strategy. No one wants to hang out with a bully. If you want to entice folks to come over, then throw a party and make it look like you're having so much fun that they can't help but want to play with you.

Because it's election season, it's easy to assume I'm talking about politics. Or even religion, as religious-based groups are using the political to influence what should remain personal. To a certain extent, I am. Now, I'm moored to my political and religious beliefs so there's not much that can sway me to any other side at this point in my life. Still, I continuously strive to understand what I don't believe in; I read, I listen, I ask questions. In the end I usually become even more rooted to what I already believed in, although learning why others think as they do makes me see where commonalities exist and where compromise is possible.

But what I'm talking about here today is just as personal, though not as contentious (at least on the surface). I'm talking about what I choose to do with my own body.

I'm not referring to contraception and abortion rights here, by the way. I do want to make my own health choices, especially in that regard, but today I just really want to know: is it too much to ask that other people don't try to tell me what I should and shouldn't be eating and what my body ought to be doing?

I read, I listen, I ask questions. Anyone who does the same would agree with me that there's a lot of confusion out there. It's not enough to simply eat one's veggies anymore -- now you have folks who think you ought to eat ONLY vegetables and food that is harvested from the earth. Then there are those who will tell you that you MUST eat only those that are locally sourced or organically grown and others who say you should eat them raw, not cooked. I've also seen charts listing fruits and vegetables that are good for you, as well as those that are not. Really? There are bad ones?

Fine. If people decide to eat only certain things and not others, I don't begrudge them that. If their food choices line up with their principles I completely respect that as well. But it's my body and I ought to have a say as to how I choose to nourish it. And if it's that time of the month and I happen to crave fried chicken livers, please don't try to shame me or make me feel bad as a person. Trust me: I know I shouldn't be eating the stuff all the time, so I don't.

Recently, a story about how a television news presenter was scolded via email by a viewer about her size went viral. The man who told her she set a bad example for children everywhere because she wasn't losing any weight was obviously fit and active. His zeal for fitness, unfortunately, was matched by his contempt for those who didn't share it.

We see this everywhere today, not only when nameless, faceless trolls tear down celebrities with cruel words about their weight, their hair, their clothes, or any of the many other choices they've happened to make. We also see this when family, friends, and other well-meaning people judge us for ours.

Now I'm not a skinny person -- not by anyone's standards. But my body can do what I need it to: I can climb stairs without running out of breath, I can walk for miles and carry a conversation without turning blue in the face. I can move furniture when, in the middle of the night, I choose to redecorate my space. I can lift things using my legs, not my back; and I use 10-pound dumbbells to strengthen my arms. I get on a treadmill three to five times a week for 30 minutes and break out a sweat. I'm not superwoman -- but I'm no sissy either.

I don't stuff my face all day with crap, and when I do choose to eat chocolate or chips I have only enough to satisfy my craving -- which is usually the amount of one serving size listed on the package. I prefer not to buy my meals at a fastfood joint, but if it's my only choice late at night or when I'm out on the road in the middle of nowhere, then I'll choose something that looks like it won't kill me. Otherwise, I eat mostly homecooked meals and try to mix it up so there's always a variety of ingredients. If I eat out at a restaurant, there's always a vegetable dish. I don't drink sugary pop or even juice and I don't look for red meat. Overall my food choices are dictated by the weekly budget, a basic knowledge of nutrition, and at times powerful cravings. Dr. Oz may not always approve, but he'd probably say at least I'm trying.

Look -- I read, I listen, I ask questions. I try to balance what makes me happy and what's actually good for me. I just don't want to stress over what I eat or how much exercise I get, and I particularly don't want to hear anyone telling me I'm not doing enough. If I'm not the size others think I should be, I'm not going to worry about it.

But if or when I decide my size is a problem, then I'll know what to do then. Or at least I'll figure it out. I just don't want my figure to be someone else's problem. If they're worrying about mine then obviously they're not dealing with the stuff they should be focusing on instead: their own business.

10 THINGS I WON'T DO FOR LOVE

I've done many crazy things for love, but there are quite a few things I just would not, could not, do. I'm listing a few that I've actually been asked to do. A girl's got to have her limits, you know.

1. Do anything illegal - Some people say love is a prison, but I'm guessing this experience is nothing compared to being in an actual prison. Now I like being proven correct, but I'm not willing to find out if I'm right in this instance.
2. Sleep in a warm room - If he likes it tropical and I prefer it arctic (which I do) then we're sleeping in separate rooms. I have a hard time falling asleep as it is.
3. Go camping where there's no decent bathroom - I've never gone camping and the only thing I've had any experience digging into is my own soul. Somewhere in-between camping and glamping is my happy place. Some folks might call it an outdoor day spa but I won't bother with semantics.
4. Go to a theme park or Chuck E. Cheese - Disneyland is NOT the happiest place in the world for me (once, in 1983, was way more than enough) and I would rather attend traffic school than spend the day at any theme park, period. One of the worst times I've ever had was at the other place I mention, where a kid can be a kid. Well, I'm not a kid. Corollary to #4: Clowns, mimes, and Santa Claus freak me out, too.
5. Reveal my number - I learned this lesson the hard way a long time ago. If you do you're opening another whole can of worms, and next thing you know you're defriending a whole bunch of people on Facebook against your own will. And that's just for starters.
6. Destroy personal items - I won't destroy or throw away diaries, photographs, and letters just because someone else wants to remove all evidence of my past life. I'll respect the man I love and keep everything out of his sight and reach but I'm not about to wipe out my history so that it becomes all about HIS story.
7. Make me give up a beloved pet - When I had Boo I didn't date (or continue to date) anyone who didn't like cats. If there's anyone reading this who thinks I'm odd, substitute "children" for "cats" and ask yourself again if I'm being unreasonable. The same goes for dogs, by the way.
8. Turn my back on family and friends - I've learned that anyone who tries to get in between me and my family and/or friends is a selfish, manipulative bastard who wants to separate me from my support system so that he can control me completely. Never again.
9. Wear a thong, like, for reals - I work at a lingerie store so I get men and thongs, I really do. I'll gladly wear one for a few minutes to mix it up and spice up the evening, but any man who expects me to switch out my boyshorts for buttfloss all day had better be willing to do the same.
10. Eat durian - Yes, I know I might be missing out on one of life's greatest pleasures -- but I simply can't get past the smell. And I've tried, I've really tried. But when a man I love once told me, "If you really love me you'll eat [durian]" I told him that if it were a test then I'd already failed. After all these years I haven't figured out the "that" Meatloaf was referring to when he sung about what he wouldn't do for love, but in my head it's probably this.

WITH OR WITHOUT YOU

I haven't had a professional mani-pedi in exactly a year and one month now.

Yes, I know. Your blank stare reminds me that I really ought to stop making pronouncements like this, especially as there are millions out there in the world who would be happy to have, say, safe drinking water every day. There are people who face too many life-and-death issues to ever think about the way their nails look, much less care if they still have them.

But I think about my nails because I used to be at my local beauty salon every Sunday, where I'd get my weekly manicure and bi-weekly pedicure. Where I'd get a blow out so that I could start my week on an up note, with fabulous-looking hair. Whenever I'd get teased about my beauty extravagance, I'd reply it was a necessary expense because I didn't know how to do my nails or hair, no matter how hard I tried. Today is Sunday and my nails are not polished, nor is my hair otherworldly shiny and smooth.

There are many things I've had to do without because I'm in a prolonged period of transition in my life, when suddenly every dollar has to count for something. When I splurge on a grande white chocolate mocha (make that skinny, please) it had better be the way I like it. Please. If I'm feeling carefree enough to blow fifteen bucks on a movie, I'd be pissed if I didn't walk out of the theater with a smile on my face.

I used to buy only my preferred brands at the grocery store; now, I often choose what's on sale. Except in certain situations; for instance, I will only buy Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup over any generic brand, no matter the price difference. Some things, you see, are sacred -- plus I can only make my mom's macaroni casserole taste exactly the way it's supposed to if I use the brand she always did.

There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn't think twice about paying 25 dollars for lipstick. Now a makeup splurge consists of a purchase during a Buy One Get One Half Off promotion at the drugstore. I used to buy at least one "must-have" piece of clothing every week. As I sit here typing this I can't remember the last time I bought clothes for myself. Ah, wait -- I do. It was at the GAP a few months ago; I stood in the fitting room facing the mirror for ten minutes, trying to decide whether I should spend nine bucks on a tee shirt on sale at 30 percent off.

During times like this you discover just what you can live with and what you can live without. But you also realize what's most important to you. In my case, plush toilet paper. No matter how low my bank account balance is, I will buy only Charmin Ultra Soft or Quilted Northern Ultra Plush. Yes, even if it means dipping into my food budget. You've got to have standards, you know.

And even if all my clothes can now fit into one standard closet -- with room to spare -- I refuse to buy cheap clothing that will fall apart after a handful of washings. I'll save my money so that I can buy the one thing that I really want (or rather, that I really need). When I find my will breaking down as I'm dying to buy a REALLY cute pair of shoes on sale, I remind myself that I have a truckful of clothes and accessories back in storage in California that are begging to be worn again. All I have now are what I hauled with me from Los Angeles to Manila to Seattle; in other words, my essentials. It's not much, for sure, but for the first time in my adult life I know exactly what's in my closet before I open its doors.

Another thing I won't compromise on: a good haircut. I pay the same amount I used to -- but I get a cut only once every three or four months now, instead of two. I have to color my own hair, though, even if it means doing without the highlights that used to brighten up my face. And I won't write on cheap stationery. I still believe in writing thank you cards, and I take pleasure doing so on pretty paper.

I could make a short list of the things I won't do without. It used to be a much longer one, but eventually I discovered that life would go on without many of the things I once deemed as life's necessities. But you see, every dollar I could spend is a dollar I can save toward achieving the things I need to do to move myself forward. And even when I've gone past these days of essential penny-pinching, I suspect my list won't stretch out ever again. You may not know what you have until it's gone, but sometimes you learn that it really wasn't worth having in the first place.

Now excuse me while I attempt to give myself a manicure. It won't be pretty, I know -- but I suspect no one's really going to notice. Just as no one's noticed the frizz in my hair today. Or maybe because this is Seattle, where frizz is part of the landscape, like the rain.

 

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

I never thought I'd say this one day: food confuses me.

I wasn't a picky eater when I was growing up; in fact, I generally liked trying new things. And the more my sisters said "ewww" at something on the dinner table, the more I wanted to eat it and prove that nothing was too gross for me. I mean, I'm no Andrew Zimmern for sure -- I don't like celery, bamboo shoots, water chestnuts, beansprouts, and bittermelon -- but I'm pretty confident I can enter any restaurant anywhere in the world and find something I want to eat, even if it contains a bit of of the stuff that I generally don't like to put in my mouth.

It used to seem pretty simple back in the day: eat more fruits and vegetables and try not to eat so much red meat. Eat slowly so that your brain can signal you when you're full before you reach the point of overstuffing yourself. Don't skip any meals because you'll only end up eating more than you probably should the next time you face food. Do eat a hearty breakfast. Avoid eating lots of fried or sugary foods.

But now it seems like I need a PhD in Nutrition and Chemistry just to eat. It's not enough to shop mostly from the produce aisle; now I need to consider if it's organic and/or locally sourced. I also have to stay away from tropical fruit because of their high sugar content apparently; I'm also limited to eating something like eight grapes in a sitting, I think. I have to eat six small meals a day -- and make sure that I have at least 12 hours between the last meal of my day and the first of the next. There are good oils and bad oils -- and while coconut oil used to be on the "bad" list apparently now it's on the "very good" list. For a while experts were telling us to eat lots of fish; now, there are certain creatures of the sea we need to avoid because of the way they were caught or the toxins they contain.

I'm still confused about dairy: beneficial or dangerous? And then I have friends telling me to avoid wheat, gluten, any kind of" white" food for that matter. Wait -- I'm Asian; are you seriously asking me to give up rice? In the late 80s it was all about avoiding fats, now carbohydrates are the devil -- unless you're a marathon runner or a triathlete, neither of which I am or will ever be.

I won't even get into the bazillions of diet plans out there. I don't know if I want to be a "skinny bitch" -- can't I be a "healthy hottie" instead? And won't eating mostly protein give me bad breath (at the very least)? So what's the proper ratio of fats to protein to carbs again? Oh, and I'm not supposed to combine protein and carbs in the same meal, too? And I need to drink at least 8 oz. of water but just not while I'm eating because I'll end up diluting some kind of enzyme that I need to digest my food -- did I get that right?

Nowadays, there are even all these foolproof ways to fast (i.e. NOT to eat). I mean, really. Fasting used to mean water but no food. Now you have strange concoctions of maple syrup and cayenne pepper. And wait -- there are all kinds of products you can buy to cleanse your system, too (I thought eating lots of fiber did that naturally but I guess it's not enough?).

You can't eat out of a can, and not from a plastic container also. Microwaving one's food to heat it up is bad, but so is using aluminum cookware on the stovetop. And then there are the raw food advocates who claim that heating foods above 116°F destroys beneficial enzymes anyway. But what about that new study that says eating cooked tomatoes helps control belly fat?

I'm sorry experts, but I give up on all of you. I'm going back to basics. I'm going to mix it up and try new things, even rediscover tastes I'd forgotten about. I eat lots of fish, chicken, and tofu (never really liked beef anyway) but will endeavor to eat more greens and fruits (yes, even bananas, mangoes, and pineapples). If I can afford organic, then I will; if not, I'll make sure I give my produce a really good wash before I eat them.I'm going to, once again, enjoy my food but not feast as if it were my last meal each time, and to make sure that I only eat as much as I can burn off. Here's the key: I'm not going to stress out over eating.There's already too much I need to worry about as it is -- like how to pay for what I eat every day.  If there's one thing I know for sure it's that too much stress will hurt me in more ways than the small cup of steaming white rice I have for dinner ever could.

PASTA AND SARDINES

We were in a culinary rut tonight. We didn't feel like cooking -- actually, truth is we simply didn't feel like running out to the store to buy ingredients. We didn't care to eat out either, mainly because none of the nearby restaurants seemed appealing tonight and also because we vowed we were going to cook more and eat out less.

"I guess I'll just have sardines and bread tonight," my husband sighed, "Except that we don't have any bread." He decided to heat up a box of frozen garlic flatbread instead. With sardines?

I happened to be on Facebook chatting with my friend Ana, a gourmet and connoisseur of all things culinary-related, and shared with her my dinner woes. "I guess it's a bunch of random leftovers for me tonight," I said resignedly.

"What about pasta and sardines?" she suggested. Genius! I found this recipe online and adapted it to our pantry and palate. Here's our version (we followed the cooking directions of the original recipe).

9 oz. Linguine (the kind you find at the refrigerated section. Note: Fettuccine would have been better but we didn't have any.)
4 T extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium Hawaiian sweet onion, chopped
4 cloves garlic, crushed and chopped finely
1 Pomona lemon, juiced (freshly plucked from our tree!)
1 4 oz. can sardines in tomato sauce
1 pinch red pepper flakes
Grated parmesan cheese

*We also added a dollop of green olive tapenade (from Trader Joe's), just to add a bit more zing to the recipe. Again, this bit of inspiration was courtesy of Ana -- she had suggested tossing in a few capers or olives to spice things up

Delicious! Everything was ready in about 20 minutes and we didn't have to pay a cent. Thanks Ana!

A PIZZA "RECIPE" FOR THE NEW YEAR

I no longer make New Year's resolutions (or at least I resolved not to do so this year), but the one thing I know we'll be doing for the next 12 months is keeping a tight grip on the pocketbook. This means we'll be eating out less and preparing our meals at home more and more. Not so easy to do when we come home tired from work; harder still since we try to have dinner at 6 PM. But definitely quite more challenging with two people who can't seem to figure out what they feel like eating until their stomachs start rumbling in protest. My husband and I -- we may have long-term plans but we live daily on the fly.

For instance we had a late start this morning. OK -- I did, since I woke up at past noon. And when I opened my eyes, my husband wanted to know what we were doing for lunch. Still groggy, I thought about picking up something simple and cheap from somewhere nearby. (Truth is I thought about HIM picking up something since I could barely open my eyes at the time.) And just when we decided where he was going, I remembered the plan and said we were going to make something out of whatever we had in the kitchen instead.

Among the very few things we had in the fridge were: a box of four-cheese pizza from Trader Joe's, a bag of arugula (I always have this nutty green in stock because whenever I see it in the grocery, I think of all the wonderful salads I can make  -- until I get home, store the package in the fridge and forget all about it), and some prosciutto di parma. I then remembered a recipe I saw in this month's issue of Real Simple for a pizza with -- well, arugula and prosciutto -- and promptly went to work. OK -- not really. I was still too sleepy that my getting anywhere near a hot oven was deemed too dangerous, and so I supervised and put my husband to work instead.

While the pizza was baking in the oven for about seven minutes, he mixed in a bowl the following ingredients: a generous handful of the arugula leaves, a few slices of the prosciutto (torn into small pieces), a tablespoon or so of peppery olive oil (that I'd bought sometime ago to make my imaginary salad), fresh lemon juice from the Pomona lemon tree I'd planted in the garden this past Spring, and some sea salt and freshly ground pepper. When the pizza was done, he pulled it out and arranged the mixture on top of it. Voila -- a delicious light lunch in less than 10 minutes.

I thought about making a salad using the remainder of the arugula with fresh tomatoes and bits of mozzarella cheese as an accompaniment to our main dish but, alas, my fingers refused to pay any heed to my brain. Baby steps, people...

Happy New Year everybody!

WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU

As I was getting dressed for work yesterday, I heard the folks at the Today Show begin to report the horrors of germs on shopping carts. Then I changed the channel.

It's not that I'm in denial, or that I think if I don't hear the bad news then it can't affect me. It's just that I know germs lurk everywhere -- really bad ones, the ones resistant to anti-bacterial stuff even. So I wash my hands more than I ever have in my entire life, though not too much to be considered obsessive by any stretch of the imagination. And once in a while, I think twice before resting my hands anywhere -- even on my cat.

Still, I can't help but think that when I was growing up, mom didn't swipe the grocery cart handle first before driving it around the store. I also drank from the water fountains in school and at the neighborhood playground (which I guarantee were never sanitized) and I literally ate dirt when I fell off the slide. And if I think of other things I ate and drank at a few less-ritzy Manila restaurants (which would no doubt be shut down for health violations if they existed today in Los Angeles), why, I wonder how I'm even still alive.

Every day I get some email warning about the perils of not only germs, but toxins, everywhere, all around me. Apparently it's in our food, the things we use to cook our food with, and also how we choose to prepare them! Well-intentioned people tell me all the time how, say, tofu is good or bad for me. It's all confusing, really.

So I've decided not to freak out in fear and, instead, simply try to live a life of moderation. If I decide to eat the wrong kind of fish or heat up my food inside the microwave oven (covered in plastic wrap even) once in a while, I know I won't transform into a mutant today or ever. Or if I bite into  a piece of barbecued pork that's a bit burnt on the corners I won't panic. I suppose what I'm saying is that I've heard and read almost all the different reports and warnings and so I'll try to do more of what's generally considered good and less of the bad. But if I go about my days too worried about everything I touch or taste or sense then it won't be much of a life, at least in my opinion. Plus I think the stress from all that worrying about how to keep alive longer will only kill me anyway.

THE BUFFET OF LIFE

Sometimes I learn more about people -- complete strangers especially -- when I'm parked in a buffet line, awaiting my turn. I'm not always a fan of the buffet: sometimes it's just too tempting to overeat (which is never a good thing) but more often than not, the problem is that the food isn't really all that great. Buffets epitomize the victory of quantity over quality, with very few exceptions.

Yet a buffet meal has its merits. It erases any potential for awkwardness when you're in a group. There's no need to wonder if it's OK to order the dish with liver, for instance -- everyone can eat whatever they want. When it's time to split the tab, you simply figure out the per person price, add the cost of your drinks, and (usually) no one gets stuck paying more than his or her fair share.

If you want lots of options, a buffet is a good way to try a bit of everything without having to order a ton of dishes, which obviously can be pretty expensive. See, I do really well with options; I'm not the kind of consumer who becomes disoriented while in the middle of the cereal aisle in a supermarket. I guess I figure if I get my choice wrong this time, there's always another chance to get it right.

Which is why it baffles me to see how badly so many people behave in a buffet line. There are those who simply can't wait their turn: they cut in front of you and even the person ahead of you, as if they're afraid that if they stay put they'll end up with one or two fewer pieces of shrimp (and you can bet I will talk more about shrimp shortly). Why are they such in a rush, I wonder? As it is they've already shaved off minutes by not having to wait for a server to take their order and then wait some more to get their food from the kitchen. Is it really so urgent to heap food on their plate and get back to their table before everyone else? And really, why do they think they far more important than the people ahead of and behind them?

And then there are those who are so fazed by the sheer number of choices facing them that they take five minutes  staring at each entree, even as the queue behind them becomes so long that someone passes out from hunger.They can't seem to fathom the concept that they can always go back -- again and again if they want to. There's no one standing at the head of the line with a counter, ready to pull the plate off their hands if they've returned one too many times. Which brings me next to the people who pile everything on their plates so that they can't make out one entree from the next -- the food's just all mixed in one amorphous, multicolored mound. These folks don't annoy me so much as puzzle me; it's really none of my business if people actually prefer to taste their food or not. But why would anyone not want to?

One day someone will explain to me why people are most rude when there's shrimp on the table. Inevitably -- and I don't say this lightly -- you will see a person ahead of you pick off all the shrimp inside a dish and leave nothing but the vegetables and sauce for the rest. The worst offenders are those who do this not only for themselves, but for everyone else in their party, too (or so they say). Can't their companions queue up for their own shrimp? People get this way with lobster tail and crab claws, too, but somehow the shrimp lovers are the most vicious.

I don't pay attention to what people choose to put on their plate -- only how they do it. The way I look at it, people can get most greedy when they have ready access to plentiful, abundant, and especially unlimited resources. All of a sudden they lose their impulse to share -- it's everyone out for themselves. If you want to see human nature in action, get to the nearest buffet restaurant. Hopefully when you're there you realize that if you get only what you really want, but only as much as you can actually consume, you'll come out feeling pretty satisfied. Even if you really are a fan of the shrimp.

MY NEW FAVORITE PLACE: MILK+HONEY (COSTA MESA, CA)

I have a soft spot for Costa Mesa, not just because of South Coast Plaza (my version of Disneyland), but also that area west of it with the Japanese groceries and restaurants, as well as The Lab and The Camp. After living in Orange County for nine years now, I still miss Los Angeles and often think of moving back to my old stomping grounds, when just stepping outside my door brought a promise of some kind of adventure.

But for now, Costa Mesa is the nearest thing to what I miss about LA. It's young and hip, sometimes edgy; it's multi-ethnic and even has stirrings of culture, thanks to the new Orange County Performing Arts Center. And now it has one of my favorite hangouts this summer -- Milk + Honey, located in the aforementioned Camp center. It's this little oasis on an otherwise ugly corner of Bristol and Baker. It's pretty as a postcard thanks to its artsy yet homey decor and friendly, attractive staff. There's not much seating inside -- just a few barstools and a cozy spot for two beside the counter. But there's no reason to stay indoors when just a few steps away is a lovely, absolutely charming outdoor patio I could spend all afternoon in, complete with crunchy gravel flooring, a relaxing wall fountain, and well-chosen potted plants and vines eager to trail along the walls and iron frames.

But wait. It's the shaved ice that keeps me coming back. Based on the Japanese frozen treat Kakigori, Milk+Honey offers yummy flavors like strawberry, passionfruit, lime, and mango, for starters. Their modern version is sweetened with a bit of milk and honey, and for cents more you can add toppings like a variety of fruits and nuts or even carob or yogurt chips, and cookie dough or cheesecake bits. I'm addicted to the current shaved ice special: it starts off with a couple of dollops of frozen yogurt, then strawberry syrup is poured over the ice, and finally it's generously topped with slices of strawberries, bananas, kiwis, and bits of mochi balls and red azuki bean. All my favorite things in a cup for less than five bucks -- how can I resist?

I love this concoction so much that I haven't yet tried the store's other offerings: frozen yogurt, organic teas and coffees, blended drinks like java and tea coolers and fruit smoothies. For hungrier customers there are also brownie and blondie bars, as well as a variety of scones and other pastries. I could seriously wrap my arms around this tiny oasis of delights and stick it in my pocket. Each visit so far has been an adventure for my senses, and always a pleasant, refreshing experience.

Milk + Honey
2981 Bristol St # B6 (inside The Camp)
Costa Mesa, CA 92628
(714) 708-0092

*Photo courtesy of Yelp.com.

WEIGHT FOR ME

At my new workplace, apparently, we have our own version of the dreaded "Freshman 10." I've heard it from every single person I've spoken to; so far I haven't yet met anyone who claims to have beaten the odds. Of course I'm determined to be the first one to do so -- even if I'm already three pounds heavier than I was since I started working here a month ago.

It doesn't help that I haven't spent a single dollar on food since I've been at this place (seriously). There's free food everywhere -- even our vending machines give without taking. If I'm hungry but sick of string cheese, tuna and crackers, and trail mix, all I need to do is phone over another department and find out if there are leftovers from some team's catered lunch. At times I don't even have to ask: "There's KFC in the warehouse," someone will casually mention while walking by. Then minutes later another voice: "Want Indian food?"

Back at Trader Joe's there was always (free) food for the taking in the backroom or at the demo station, but the difference was that I never stopped moving so I burned calories quicker than I could consume them. Not here when I'm practically chained to my desk. So I've taken some drastic steps to stop this downward spiral. I've decided to stop using my phone to talk to my co-workers; I walk to their offices instead. I now bring my own sugar-free oatmeal mixes and low-sodium soups to work and drown everything with bottles of my favorite Skinny Water.

I suppose what I still need to do is walk to and from work (I live less than two miles away) and use the on-site gym regularly and I'll even get to reverse this awful trend. Gah, but I hate freshening up at work, especially if it means lugging all my gear around (you've probably guessed I'm not a minimalist by any means). Not even if the company provides us with lovely shower facilities, free towel service, and extra amenities like hair dryers. But I'll have to take these extra steps if I don't want to see another seven pounds on my frame and become just another workplace statistic.

In the meantime I'll have to stay away from the free food and take one step at a time. Literally.