Sunday, October 19, 2003

First came the soup. Then the spaghettis. Lastly the main dish: a 32oz steak, called the “Big Jim Special.” In many homes across Latin America, a whole family could have been fed out of it. And there it was, on my plate. All for me. There was also one on Barry’s plate, and another one on Mario’s. A vegetarian would have lost his marbles at the mere sight of what rested on our plates. It was Barry’s birthday celebration, reason enough for me to put my diet on hold.

Salsa music played while Whites, Asians, and Hispanics danced to it. I felt out of place. People looked strange. It was already Sunday night, 10pm, and these people were still going at it as if it were still Saturday night. They — men and women, old and young alike — didn’t seem concerned at all. . I watched with disdain, not being able to see myself in their shoes.

I did picture my parents on the dancing floor. I also pictured Nicole next to me. But I know that Steven’s Steak House would not have been the place for my father to visit; way more than an hour had to pass before we had our first bite of food. Have I ever ranted on how much I hate waiting?! He hates it more.

I better head to sleep. I’ll see if I can go the whole day tomorrow eating very little. Tonight I ate the equivalent of three or four meals. I’ll now settle with weighing 165 on friday.

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