In July, 2008, I, Princess Rachella, Intrepid African American Girl International Journalism Consultant, pulled up stakes once again and headed to Nairobi, Kenya. Through my various adventures, I've concluded that if I get any MORE explosively fabulous in these prequel years to "THE BIG 5-0," I will have to register myself with the Pentagon as a thermonuclear incendiary device.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
The End....
Technically, my Internews contract is finished today, but I’m staying an extra week to wrap things up for the new Project Director.
Not surprisingly, I’m having some mixed feelings. I can’t decide whether my first meal back in the U.S. should be Thai or Soul Food. Last night, I dreamed about chocolate ice cream. A few nights ago, my dream about prime rib and strawberry pie was so vivid, I could literally taste them. And this morning, as I transitioned from sleep to consciousness, my first thought was whether I should buy a frozen pie crust or make one from scratch for the sweet potato pie I’ll inhale during my first week home.
I’m interpreting these thoughts and dreams two ways. First, I’ve lost so much weight that even I’M starting to worry about me. Folks tell me I don’t look skeletal, or anything, but I’m down to a size 6, from a peak of size 14 two years ago. In many ways, it’s kind of fun….I’m enjoying wearing tank tops and shorts without feeling absurd about the way my gut is spilling over the waistband, and the rather unsightly imprint my bra is making where it’s cutting into my mildly doughy back.
Next, I’m even more concerned about ANOTHER ending….my butt. It’s damned near flat now, and I don’t know how to deal with it! Even though I’ve been relatively slim most of my life, I've always had a rather bubbular rear end, compared to the rest of me. Because youth is wasted on the young, I never really took pride in it, or anything. I totally took my tushie for granted.
Nowadays, because I’ve lost at least a good 15 pounds over the past 8 months, my butt looks like a half-inflated balloon. There’s little to no curvature. It looks like one of those Pillsbury biscuits out of the can…flat, squooshy, and unnervingly pliant. There’s no bounce in my bum.
Maybe I’m not the best judge of the situation. Being the sex-obsessed piglets that they are, I’m sure 8 out of 10 men would say my booty is perfectly adequate for their purposes. The problem is, I’ve been living in Uganda, where for a woman, an ass is a true asset. I mean to tell you, I’ve seen some butts over here that have made ME gape, and I have NO desire to play for the all-girls team. (To use a phrase I absolutely adore from the TV Show “Girlfriends,” I am “strictly dick-ly.”)
Just yesterday, I was walking behind a young woman whose butt resembled 2 raccoons wrassling in a burlap bag. I was amazed she could even stand upright with that bodacious bundle. All of a sudden, I felt old and inadequate, because my entire butt isn’t as full and flourishing as HALF of her left cheek. I was depressed well into the evening (and couldn’t even do a few tequila shots to ease the pain, because my stomach is so messed up these days).
I figure this has to be why I’m having all these intense food dreams. Perhaps they’re desperate subconscious pleas routed directly from my butt to my brain. Though the aging process and gravity can’t be avoided, my ass is begging me to “not go gentle into that good night” of receding rumpdom.
I’m doing my part. I’ve already joined the obscenely bourgeois Sports Club/LA’s Washington, DC branch. It’s a bit pricey, but they were having a 75 percent off initiation fee promotion. I figure I can at least pretend to be a wealthy narcissist even if I’m not. I can also take regular yoga and Pilates classes, and stalk the elliptical machines, and do some leg presses that will tighten this jelly up a bit.
Besides, ready access to ice cream, cheese and great wine should restore at least 10 pounds to my frame within a month.
I know I must sound incredibly shallow and insensitive obsessing about food in one of the poorest countries on the face of the Earth. It must seem like the past 8 months had no effect on me whatsoever, which is definitely NOT the case. In fact, I plan on coming back to Northern Uganda often, to do journalism trainings and media consulting. I believe Internews has helped me find my life’s work; never again will I be able to take a job where I don’t feel directly connected to improving the fate of my fellow human beings.
I just need to know that while I’m making a difference in the world, EVENTUALLY AND FREQUENTLY, I’ll be able to connect with to my two favorite people in the world….Ben and Jerry. If that makes me shallow, then so be it. Just as long as my ass isn’t shallow.
Not surprisingly, I’m having some mixed feelings. I can’t decide whether my first meal back in the U.S. should be Thai or Soul Food. Last night, I dreamed about chocolate ice cream. A few nights ago, my dream about prime rib and strawberry pie was so vivid, I could literally taste them. And this morning, as I transitioned from sleep to consciousness, my first thought was whether I should buy a frozen pie crust or make one from scratch for the sweet potato pie I’ll inhale during my first week home.
I’m interpreting these thoughts and dreams two ways. First, I’ve lost so much weight that even I’M starting to worry about me. Folks tell me I don’t look skeletal, or anything, but I’m down to a size 6, from a peak of size 14 two years ago. In many ways, it’s kind of fun….I’m enjoying wearing tank tops and shorts without feeling absurd about the way my gut is spilling over the waistband, and the rather unsightly imprint my bra is making where it’s cutting into my mildly doughy back.
Next, I’m even more concerned about ANOTHER ending….my butt. It’s damned near flat now, and I don’t know how to deal with it! Even though I’ve been relatively slim most of my life, I've always had a rather bubbular rear end, compared to the rest of me. Because youth is wasted on the young, I never really took pride in it, or anything. I totally took my tushie for granted.
Nowadays, because I’ve lost at least a good 15 pounds over the past 8 months, my butt looks like a half-inflated balloon. There’s little to no curvature. It looks like one of those Pillsbury biscuits out of the can…flat, squooshy, and unnervingly pliant. There’s no bounce in my bum.
Maybe I’m not the best judge of the situation. Being the sex-obsessed piglets that they are, I’m sure 8 out of 10 men would say my booty is perfectly adequate for their purposes. The problem is, I’ve been living in Uganda, where for a woman, an ass is a true asset. I mean to tell you, I’ve seen some butts over here that have made ME gape, and I have NO desire to play for the all-girls team. (To use a phrase I absolutely adore from the TV Show “Girlfriends,” I am “strictly dick-ly.”)
Just yesterday, I was walking behind a young woman whose butt resembled 2 raccoons wrassling in a burlap bag. I was amazed she could even stand upright with that bodacious bundle. All of a sudden, I felt old and inadequate, because my entire butt isn’t as full and flourishing as HALF of her left cheek. I was depressed well into the evening (and couldn’t even do a few tequila shots to ease the pain, because my stomach is so messed up these days).
I figure this has to be why I’m having all these intense food dreams. Perhaps they’re desperate subconscious pleas routed directly from my butt to my brain. Though the aging process and gravity can’t be avoided, my ass is begging me to “not go gentle into that good night” of receding rumpdom.
I’m doing my part. I’ve already joined the obscenely bourgeois Sports Club/LA’s Washington, DC branch. It’s a bit pricey, but they were having a 75 percent off initiation fee promotion. I figure I can at least pretend to be a wealthy narcissist even if I’m not. I can also take regular yoga and Pilates classes, and stalk the elliptical machines, and do some leg presses that will tighten this jelly up a bit.
Besides, ready access to ice cream, cheese and great wine should restore at least 10 pounds to my frame within a month.
I know I must sound incredibly shallow and insensitive obsessing about food in one of the poorest countries on the face of the Earth. It must seem like the past 8 months had no effect on me whatsoever, which is definitely NOT the case. In fact, I plan on coming back to Northern Uganda often, to do journalism trainings and media consulting. I believe Internews has helped me find my life’s work; never again will I be able to take a job where I don’t feel directly connected to improving the fate of my fellow human beings.
I just need to know that while I’m making a difference in the world, EVENTUALLY AND FREQUENTLY, I’ll be able to connect with to my two favorite people in the world….Ben and Jerry. If that makes me shallow, then so be it. Just as long as my ass isn’t shallow.
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