36-28-26 (ps 37 1/2)

I'm feeling a bit out of proportion. For multiple reasons.

See, I think I got  - um -  shod from my last job because I wasn't cute enough or . . . thin enough. Or young enough. That may be a heavy charge to level, but based on what I was told after a month's worth of awesome work - who climbs a ladder to the fourth level to reach the most schmancy, expensive liquors and gets asked out four (five?) times by a customer if she has a fat ass? Who averages a 22-25% tip score between cash and card (measured on every check out slip so that isn't just me guesstimating it) if she's not good at her job - and gets canned after her three week bar tenure? I am calling BS.

The title to this post: my approximate measurements. Based on, yes, bra size (36D), ('spensive) jean size (27-28) and hip size (guesstimating here because my hips are smaller than my waist these days, which does bug me). Oh, and my age.

Me, last fall (too skinny, though I liked it) -

Stress non-eating phase . . .



This was me, last November with my Lucas Dog -

And just before moving to Chattavegas (apparently, that name has more import than I thought when I copped it from my first and dearest childhood friend as a silly joke) -

Forget him (I did) - the point here is how I look.

Getting ready for a date night (sorry for the selfie, y'all but it makes a point here)

(btw, these were actually 26's so I am moving "up" from there)

And this is me, today (literally) -

Pretty hairs, pretty girl - right??

So, you can't see the rest of me, but hopefully you'll run with what I am saying based on my face. (I'd show you a pic of the rest if someone had taken one...)

Fired for not being cute enough or thin enough? Hell, the old part - well, I'm not 22. I'm 37. But the rest of it?

I have struggled with body, food, image, whatever you want to call it for so many years.

I have discovered that while the restaurant world was an unintentional, unexpected and sometimes. . . un-fun (who wants to wait on, whether bartender or server, the parents of your friends from Westminster, deb balls, college . . .in your 30s . . .) - I am really good at it! My personality, my charm - my ability to read people (trust me, I know when she wants the dressing on the side or has 12 more questions about how something is prepared, and he wants his Woodford on the rocks or . . .) and I am good at what I do, right now. Really good at it.

But one thing I have worked on is looking at myself through someone else's mirror - because I still can't completely trust my own. My stomach is not as flat as I would like - but I wear a jean size that is smaller than so many women, so logically I cannot be fat. My legs are proportionate to my body, but long and lean - can I pass the "thigh" test like my crazy-skinny-body-mind wants? Not really, but they are small enough. Do I still think (big) boobs make me fat? Yeah, kinda. These are my issues.

When they enter the workplace - and they cost me a job at which I am damn good - I say NO.

A woman of 37, whom you hired, who is pretty, way more than capable, fit and more than physically acceptable . . . well, here is what I say:

Your loss.

Not mine.

And I find another place, that welcomes me - as I did the very next day. Will I have a bigger stomach than I'd like when I first start? Yep, but that's my issue - not yours. Will I do a fantastic job for you?

You bet your ass off I will.

Come see me in Chattavegas and see what you think for yourself.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

Mom, Mt. Vernon and Me

If the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mom-hammed has to come to the Mount. Mt. Vernon, that is.

This week, there was a bit of a significant event. In many families, perhaps, such wouldn't even warrant a comment, because it is so common. In ours, though, it was pretty - notable, and awesome.

The thing is this: I love my mother very much, and she loves me as much, or probably more given I am of her. But our relationship is, to say the least, complicated. 

But Monday, we were able to have an absolutely beautiful, loving and kind experience. Ok, first we moved stuff into my new place (Dad spearheaded this so don't think I am leaving him out) then we had to go to Bi-Lo and...but it's one part of the day, and a dinner, of which I write.

Chattanooga is a town filled with nearly all warm memories for my family.

When we lived here, for a bit when I was a little thing, we had our routines - much like those we would develop in Atlanta - about people, places and practices. And a particularly dear one we had was eating Sunday lunch after church every week at Mt. Vernon.

So when we trekked towards Lookout Mtn to get to the grocery etc (ok, living in Atlanta forever, I am used to calculating distance a bit differently than I have to now in Chattavegas - Lookout and Signal really aren't that far from downtown!), and passed Mt. Vernon, a bastion of my youth and our early family life - all it took was a glance between us and we knew where we'd be having dinner.

This is one of my favorite pictures of my mom and me, ever - 

With my pretty mama, at the Amanas, 2002 (yeah, we favor)

In this picture, we look happy and close. And we were. But belying the pretty (and similar, no?) smiles, there was a lot of tension. Not between us, at the time, but with our surroundings and others with us (this picture was taken the weekend my parents first met my former in-laws - enough said...). And the same things could apply to last Monday as well as to our recent collective family life.

It has been a rough - while - for my family. In all directions between family members, for various reasons on various levels, for . . .well, you get the idea.

But this week, God looked on us with favor, the stars aligned, the moods were right . . . whatever you call it, we had goodness. Moving someone's stuff from storage to a new place once again, driving back and forth a few hours, discussing jobs and rent and . . . all of that took a back seat to a mother-daughter moment that we don't come across often enough.

A meal, taken at a leisurely pace, and without worry of waistlines or calories, Important Topics of Discussion, checking cell phones, or any of the stuff that can easily overtake time together.

And, it was good. So very good. The company was mutually perfect - not a cross word, not a bit of tension (at least to my reticular activating system, as my daddy always calls it, and I hope not to hers), not anything but enjoying each other's company. This, my friends and readers, was a great blessing.

Oh, and the food? Well . . . 

A Southern Chattanooga classic gets modern with a kale salad- yum!!

Homemade pimento cheese (and I just realized - that's the same shirt my mom was
wearing in that pic from 2002! Cute thin woman!)

Meat and Three (er, two) - Ribeye, fried green 'maters and mac and cheese!

STFD, y'all! Not a bite left of their famous Amaretto pie after we tackled it!!

See - I was right, again (hee!). Sometimes, food is love. Or the communion you have over food is love. A place you walk into and immediately become the happy, delightful child you once were, and your mama becomes the wonderful, thoughtful young mother she once was - that is the Magic Kingdom, y'all.

My mother was my age now, the last time I remember being at Mt. Vernon. To say it was a treat to have come back there, together, under loving and happy manner - well, that just makes me think this:

“Ah, how quickly the hands on the clock circle toward the future we thought was far away! And how soon we become our mothers.” ― Peggy Toney Horton


And, more importantly, this: if I am becoming my mother, that is more than fine with me - it is a blessing.

Love, food, family. Blessings, all.


Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal

When There Are No Bites Left

What do you do?

That great sandwich - even that last Best Bite that you left to completely savor.

The final bite of the most delicate filet you've ever had, that you almost didn't want to eat because the sensation of it melting in your mouth was so delightful it stopped all thoughts of anything else.

A final spooning of the chocolate chip ice cream you ordered on bottom of the mint chocolate chip in your double cup, because you like it the very best just as you did when you were four.

. . . That - goodbye kiss. The one you may know is just that - or may not. Which is better or worse? And how are food and love so different, really?

The bittersweetness of knowing it's the last, or the thought of how long till you'll have another, bite or kiss - the tenderness of a goodbye touch that you don't expect to be the final one, or the forkful of goodness you think you'll have again very soon . . . 

What's left?

Well, sometimes, you try to make more. Surely, there's another recipe in your self-made cookbook compilation that you haven't tried, and it's bound to be delicious. Whether microwaved or oven-made, hastily put together or well thought-out. Another boy to kiss after a first date - or maybe just because you want to. Whether out of boredom, or out of hope or real interest.

Or not.

Maybe, the groceries or the energy to try aren't . . . there. Or maybe you try and it's not so tasty, or the attempt falls flat.

Do you put your apron back on, or fix your lipstick, and try again? 

Food for thought.

Yours,
Love Bites,
Carrie Neal