Valentina

I got a bit of a snide comment from a friend today after being asked about the the ready-skewered lemon and rosemary chicken from Fresh and Easy. My friends think I'm crazy because I love F&E but now all my family is hooked I can't be alone in my madness. Can I? So my friend's husband says, snitty as you wish on a Valentine's Day, "you'd better blog about the chicken." Well guess what? I'm not going to. So there. I know I'm probably dull and repetitive, but if you don't like it, don't read it. There are millions of blogs out there. Try Bai Ling's, for example.

Stranger things have happened today. Yes, other than the dog eating my 400g Toblerone bar.

First off, I'm extremely fat. No, not fat compared to other people, but for me, I'm what I delicately like to call "winter weight". I'm February Fat, which is incredibly dull because it leads to self-consciousness on the diminishingly slim wedge of attractiveness scale. I can usually get away with it, in heels and a skirt (thank God my legs are still good) with make-up and a fresh blow-dry. I'm not delusional about my hotness quotient. (Despite the fact that I saw the Madonna video from the Berlin press junket and thought, dang I want HER plastic surgeon and despite the fact that all my friends thought she looked awful). But the feeling fat thing is really dull. It comes hand in hand with being called "mam" in the market and forgetting to sing along to songs that you really like, and wondering if anyone would actually notice if you didn't shave your legs. But today, I walked, as I have done every morning since last Friday, with my lovely friend J, in Franklin Canyon. We walked early and we walked pretty fast, both of us scrubbed and be-sweated and be-sweatshirted, and the grass was green, green, green, and the sky was blue-gray, steely as if waiting for a storm. And there were all kinds of dogs out, and men and women running, and idiotic ladies with their dogs who really had no right to be owners of dogs, and buses full of school kids. It was lovely. Lovely indeed. And it does fill one with an eternal optimism which leaks into the day in unsuspecting ways. And what's more, a strange man who resembled a hair dresser or Dijon, or whoever that chap is with the scent that's blasted all over Rodeo Drive on billboards, always in Yellow and Black, said "Hi" not once, not twice, but three times, and then even gave me a look while driving his Very Large Mercedes down towards Beverly Drive. I'm sure that he's forgotten his bi-focals, and he was somewhat ancient, but honestly, it was the best feeling I've had in weeks. Thank you Dijon. May we have many mustardy moments.

But I jest.

Weirder still is as I was waiting at a light at the intersection of Hollywood and Laurel Canyon, after my little sortie to Fresh & Easy (hush now, Mr M, enough with the sarcasm), who popped out of their apartment building, all bearded and rock 'n roll but Charlie. Charlie Manson, right there in the flesh. Of course he didn't see me, waiting patiently at the red, listening to my Kate Nash (can't get enough, I swear), head down in my Prius. The only thing that the Range Rover and the Prius had in common is the color, and clearly Manson is not paying attention to the color. I stare firmly ahead and try to keep my eyes on the imaginary flow of traffic. But talk about ruining your day.

Whoosh whoosh, with all the negative energy. My Franklin Canyon walk brought such benevolence and brightness to a grey day and that I definitely don't need, especially on Valentine's Day.

Senor Mexico City is now home and apparently he was in Chicago, not Mexico City, and it was freezing and a waste of time. We're home and it's cold and the steak (from Fresh and Easy) is on, and the mashed potatoes, and the white squash (only 76c on sale) and All is Well. Truly. All is Well and He is Home and That's That.

Sweet dreams little Valentinas, and especially little Valentina, Amanda & Justin's baby. Happy Birthday!