extra extra extra pepperoni (and some unfortunate tofu noodles)

Act One: In Which I Dart Rabbitlike from Underemployed to Part-Time Employed to Overemployed

When it rains, get out your umbrella or forever hold your peace.

On the same day that I accepted the teaching job, the people from that big, fancy social-media company called and --- to my surprise, given our earlier interactions (Me: "What's a 'Tweet'?") offered me a job at their place too. And you know me: I can't say no to work. It's deep in the freelancer's blood. So what did I do? I took them both.

Not before a grave conversation with The Dad, however, who seemed satisfied that I was prepared to quit the social-media job if even the forehead of a Crohn's flare began to peek up from beneath the table. Don't worry. I'm not going to screw this up. After all, I know the odds: I only have one set of intestines, and there are an infinite number of David-Bowie busts floating around in the universe just waiting to get lodged deep within them.

Act Two: In Which I Try to Eat Something For My Health

I'd read about these noodles that were made of tofu, very high in protein, low in fiber, extremely low in calories. They seemed like the kind of thing that models would eat and deem, not knowing any better, delicious. ("Wow, and these turf pellets are really excellent as well!") Nonetheless, when I saw them at the grocery store this week, I picked up a packet. Surely for $1.99 I could figure out whether I was capable of adding beaucoup de protein to my diet while consuming something like 40 calories for lunch. (I'm sure you've all experienced the freaky weight gain that happens when you go back into remission after a flare. In my case, we're talking like 15 pounds. Tofu noodle, anyone?)



So here they are, the tofu noodles. You don't even have to cook them. You take them out of their baggie, drain the water from them, and heat them for a minute in the microwave ("to reduce authentic smell," the baggie says. Hmmmm). I mixed them with some tomatoes and Laughing Cow cheese (which is one of those diety foods that is genuinely delicious) and sat down to lunch.

Oh, God, the texture. The smell. The taste. The... chew. It was awful. Still, I plowed through like a champ. This, my gigantic bowl of 75-calorie lunch, had to be consumed. I had paid for it. And so, grimacing all the way, I downed the entire thing.

Fast-forward to one hour later, when the whole thing comes right up. I'm not kidding you: I still feel nauseous, and it is the next day. It is not a good scene here. Next time you're compelled to eat noodles, just eat the regular ones, and leave tofu for your stir-frys. But you already knew that.

Act Three: In Which "Inception" Momentarily Cures My Nausea, and Then It Comes Back Again

Even though my workday had been punctuated by frequent post-lunch bathroom trips to vomit, I was supposed to see Inception last night and my friend A. had already bought the tickets. Plus, it looked rad. And let me tell you: It was rad.



I had a few narrative qualms as usual ("Wait, all that was to prevent a business merger?") although they couldn't have been so off-base, as A. seemed to agree with me (or maybe he was just being tolerant). The cast was also excellent, and I have decided that Joseph Gordon-Levitt can be my boyfriend now, since a spot has opened up following the absurd douchery of Will Scheuster from Glee. You're welcome, JG-L. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Almost as soon as we were out of the theater, however, the nausea came back in full force. Don't acknowledge it, I told myself. Nausea is like a vampire in my experience; if you don't invite it in, it can't come. I figured I was probably hungry, so when A. suggested eating something (even though it was 10 o'clock) I said okay, good idea. We went to an enormous cavern of an empty noodle house, the only place in the whole neighborhood that was open. In one corner people were watching sports in a sort of sports? bar?, in the other people were singing karaoke in another? bar?, and we sat in the middle, quite unattended, while about three hundred different songs played at once from different zones of the establishment. Phil Collins, Ne-Yo. (Like a great mix tape in which all the songs play at once!) I ordered something that was essentially noodles and broth, and only managed to get through about a quarter of it, not only because I was nauseous but also because it reminded me somehow of those tofu noodles.

I made it home without barfing on A. or anyone else, although not without walking right by a drive-by shooting on my way home from the BART. You've never seen a nauseous person run so fast, ladies and gentlemen. Luckily I had that extra protein to fuel the sprint. Tofu noodles, you served your purpose.