****The was written back in January but I forgot to publish it. Silly me!*****
I bet you think you know what full is. I bet you think you know what it feels like to eat so much you actually can’t swallow another bite. So full that your stomach feels like it’s gonna burst. Normal people think they know what this feels like. But Lapbandsters know better. Especially Lapbandsters whose lapband happens to be just a touch too tight.
Well, I recently found out that I’ve been living like that for over a year. Back in November 2012, I had my very first experience with an inflamed esophagus. It was extremely painful. I couldn’t eat for days. I kept trying to drink water or hot drinks (dumb!) to soothe my burning throat but nothing would put out the flames.
I called Slimband at the time and they got back to me 5 DAYS after I called them. 5 effing days of suffering whilst waiting to hear what could be causing the searing pain I felt with every swallow. Well, thank my lucky stars for a thing called Google and the support of my fellow lapbandsters cause Slimband earned a big fat FAIL for their role in finding a solution to that trauma. (Yes, I most certainly could have gone to the doctor myself, but I don’t have a family doctor here in Ottawa so I would have had to go to a clinic, get a referral, wait for the referral and blah, blah – my lack of family doctor is a rant for another day!)
When the nurse finally returned my call, she asked me to visit my local clinic for a Barium Swallow. By this point, I was no longer in pain so I didn’t bother. Not to mention my irrational fear of such a seemingly disgusting procedure.
After this, I found myself struggling to eat or drink quite a few foods that I’d heard lapbandsters can no longer consumer once they reach their “sweet spot”. I also struggled to drink water, hot soup and anything with a consistency thicker than a chilli. I never really thought much of it, just that this was where I was supposed to be. Unfortunately, I was very wrong.
This November, I called Slimband to discuss the possibility of a fill knowing full well that at 9.5 ccs in a 10 cc band they were unlikely to grant it. It was in an effort to open the lines of communication again and to attempt to revisit their after-care support system. Well, I’m very glad I did.
After a conversation with a consultant and one of the lovely nurses, I was asked again to have the Barium Swallow. So, I did this as soon as possible which turned out to be 3 weeks later by the time the Radiology clinic could fit me in.
And this is what they found:
Turns out I’ve got a dilated esophagus. Big, huge, tears streaming down my very sad face. I can’t believe I let myself get to this position without realizing something was terribly wrong with my digestive system.
Slimband got me into their clinic here in O-Town within 24hours of receiving the results. Where they performed an aspiration. This is when they withdraw all of the saline out of the band to see how much is actually in there. In my case it was 8.5 ccs and not the 9.5 ccs they had originally thought.
So, they withdrew a full 2 ccs from my band so that my esophagus has a chance to heal. They never said it would heal for sure, but this is the first step in the healing process. It’s been two months now since I had the aspiration and I can say that within 2 days I felt infinitely more comfortable. I’m still restricted but having a drink of water in the morning is no longer an issue. And I actually feel like I can eat the foods I should be eating.
The next step is to submit my 7 day food diary, complete with before and after pics to illustrate portion size. Then, I’ve gotta have another Barium Swallow so they can see if my esophagus is returning to normal. If not, I have to consider removing the lapband altogether – at MY expense. Urgh.
I’ve gone through all swirls of emotions on this one but the biggest is disappointment that I allowed myself to live in pain for over a year and didn’t even realize it. I’ve certainly learned to live with a lot of aches and pains but this one tops them all.
What I’ve realized is that all too often, those packing a little junk in the trunk avoid addressing health issues because they’re afraid to see a doctor who might once again remind them that they’re overweight. My unsolicited, non-medical professional advice is to suck it up and GO TO THE DOCTOR. There might something wrong with you that has an easy fix, or worse! But go. You’ll be glad you did because you won’t have the anxiety which so often triggers eating in some of us.
When I started this blog, it was to share my Slimband story. Well, it’s been nearly 4 years and things here at the Digital Diva Blog have evolved a bit. I do still share my Slimband stories but I find myself focusing more on how my life has changed as a former fat chick (now I’m just a bit chubby) with a greater self confidence. That means that most of my posts are frivolous and feature an assortment of topics ranging from plus size shopping/fashion to crossfit/general fitness to food choices to dating in a digital world yet still maintaining relevance to bandsters and chubby chicks. However, the frequency of my posts isn’t much to be admired.
Now, I don’t often make resolutions as I believe them to be doomed from the start. So, instead I’m going to set a goal, a commitment, if you will. A commitment to keep a consistent level of communication and keep my followers better informed of my fitness and weight-loss goals (as well as my dating disasters) throughout the first quarter of 2014. I will strive to provide at least one post per week for the next three months. And since my 4 year bandiversary will be coming up shortly after said quarter ends, I’m hoping I’ll have more to say about my band than I have recently.
So, here’s to sharing too much information about my life in the most entertaining way I know how!
It’s Thanksgiving weekend here in Canadia which is always a challenging time for this luscious lapband patient. It’s a weekend of alcohol overindulgence and too much turkey.
For the past 3+ years since I had my surgery, any kind of turkey day has always been the source of some dismay. I can never quite get through a Thanksgiving (or Christmas) dinner featuring the famous foul without finding myself sharing half my harvest-celebration dinner with the porcelain gods.
Well, I’m happy to report that not one bite of my fancy feast with fabulous friends yesterday, or my family today, was sacrificed in the satisfying of this appetite. What was the source of my success in holding down the dinner I hold so dear? Chewing. Lots of chewing. Very, very slowly. I was also very conservative in the quantity of turkey that was piled on my plate.
The secret for me this year really is that I kept my limits in mind and stopped when I felt even slightly full. Granted, I’m a touch on the hungry side right now but I’d much rather be hungry before bed than suffering from the dreaded gastric reflux! Score one PB-Free feast for this lapbandster!
I’ve literally just finished reading an article on XOJane.com and I HAD to share it! I would normally just post the link but it hit me so hard I simply have to share the whole thing. It’s an article about an email from a man to his girlfriend after her body issues had an impact on one of their sexual encounters. I want to share it wherever I can and scream from the rooftops: Don’t let your own insecurities get in the way of the abundance of pleasure you can get from letting go and letting someone love you and your body the way you deserve.
I’ve always had insecurities in the throws of passion and for the most part, I try to ignore them and have fun in the moment. I lead a generally healthy life in the bedroom and don’t often let my issues get the better of me. Unless, of course, I’m with someone that for some reason I feel I’m unworthy to enjoy. And when that happens I focus almost entirely on my partner. That way, I’m busy with his body so he needn’t be busy with mine (unless he’s so inclined). What I’m really doing here, is forcing them focus on their pleasure in an effort to compensate them for having to be with someone like me. I mean, nobody wants to fuck a fat chick right? Well, that’s wrong. Just, wrong. It’s self deprecating, destructive and just plain damaging to your self esteem.
Here’s one perspective and what it’s like to be with a big chick. Read it all. It’s worth it:
“I wrote this earlier today, about a half-an-hour after talking to you on the phone. I wasn’t sure if I should send it but I am going to anyway.
You are a woman of size.
As I’ve stated before, your body—its size and shape—is something I find attractive. Last night I found it attractive in this way:
I had a great hard-on and desire to fuck you.
You lay on my bed, your soft, copious and aroused shape beneath me, its feel on my lips, soft and tender, but buzzing, and breathing—smaller girls being less of an asset here because there is so much less to taste and feel. You kiss a smaller woman’s skin from shoulder to breast and you are there in seconds, but with you there is much more to explore, the width of your chest, the length of your stomach allowing me more time in all honesty to build myself up, to feed, to touch and turn myself on, than with a small girl’s body.
This is a turn-on because I get off on feeding, on sucking in and bringing out my lover. I imagine in the night my cock slowly slipping into your mouth and me, facing downward, kissing you from your breasts to your cunt, your lavishness, sweet long and soft belly, bringing you up and out, pushing through your insecurities about your waist, lighting you up, and tugging an orgasm from your clit like a snake quietly and steadily wrapping itself around its prey. I like to take my time, like an addict smokes his opium. And small girls just do not have enough drugs on their bones for me.
This, in your case, is an asset, an arousal, that I am finding true—as true as I suspected—that as a woman of size, as someone who is physically larger than me, I can feel like the parasite, the lovely disease, invading warmly and honestly the body of its prey. But just to be clear, just in case this sets off some alarms and self-doubt, I am a complete snob when it comes to my drugs. I do not eat poor meat.
My mind and body associates your sexuality, your very sexuality, your lust for sex, your lust for me, with your size. I see your body, your hips, your “thunder thighs,” not as mutated and enormous obstacles surrounding an otherwise ought-to-be lithe and perfect interior shape, but as the lusty physical expression of a true physical desire.
When I am on top of you, when I drag my tongue across your warm waist, when you fuck me from on top and your squishy (yes, squishy) legs push down on me, I am tasting and encountering the desire of a full and curvaceous, truly horny woman’s body and soul, a need that pours out onto me, that expresses wildly and severely and sweetly the need of you to fuck me, or to just fuck. I see your shape—I have always seen your shape (yours, you) –as the expression of a woman whose flesh has its own way and will and character.
And this is very important to state: when I am trying to fuck and taste you, when my lips are against the white and soft and squishy parts, those parts do not react like a hidden, obscured and submerged body within a trap of flesh. They react, as your voice reacts, as a hot and active and salty broad flint, as a whole and active ass and large and squirming set of legs in the throws of sex, like something alive and pulling me in, pulling me in and wanting me to turn on and take you to the moon. They behave like a real body. There is no separation to me. I do not need to overcome something. I want to bury myself into you.
Yes, you have a stalwart body, but you also have a feminine body, a vulnerable body, that I can push into, not just against. There are soft spots, secretive spots, folds and active exposed spaces. You have delicate, aroused and pointed flesh, places to grab and press into, to pinch and pull and scrape and bite. Like that first night when I grabbed you and pulled you in—I love that feeling—that feeling, like my hand on your breast, that there is so much more than I can contain. So I must make love to it, I must pour myself out to you and enter you. To find the secrets. And grab on so tightly that the blood is squeezed to the surface. I don’t just want a brick to throw myself against (I do want that sometimes, of course, as I long to feel that power, that body’s full measure and lust to throw itself again me). What I also want is a world to explore.
So, yes, I am smaller than you. And I like that advantage we both have. As a top, I like the challenge of pushing you down. But I also like the sight of this gorgeous and voluptuous woman submitting to my body, my work, my cock, and feeling my ass because she wants to.
I feel like a sinister and devious burglar, breaking into something truly beautiful, crawling in beneath the beautifully scented and inhabitable flesh, (the curve of your sides making me want to tear you open and go in and go deeper and deeper) showing a true woman (god I’m a cheeseball) what an extraordinary cock I have, what excellent and devilish fuck skills are inside me.
Your lust is as your size is—big and overwhelming and womanly and oh, so fully developed. You are a fully sized and fully developed woman to me. You have always been. A rich and curvy and plush and bursting, devious, sweet cunt machine. I can’t help it, as I said before, there is so much beautiful, female, fuckable and enterable body to you, a body that is the perfect fit to your personality, just as mine, I suspect, is to mine.
And I love to slide on top of you, to push into you, and feel your body react. It is an animated and rich body, like biting into flesh and tasting fruit, tasting a strawberry, tasting blood. Your skin is so beautiful, and the flesh beneath it so rich and deep.”
To say I’m moved it a complete understatement. There are literally tears streaming down my face while I sit here in awe at the eloquence with which this man communicated his love/lust for his very own plus-size princess. It was steamy and sexy and overflowing with desire. It’s exactly what every rubenesque woman needs to believe their partner is feeling. Because they do. They want you. Every fat fucking inch of you! So, let go of your demons, get in the groove and ride that stallion til you’re both breathless, red in the face and satisfied. You might just see yourself through their eyes and from what you’ve just seen, it’s a (big) beautiful view.
First off, I just need to take some time to thank each and every one of you for taking the time to watch my first video blog post! To those who sent me their words of encouragement, advice and support, I can’t tell you how much it means to me!
On that note, I had a few questions come out of the last post so I’ve addressed them in my second video blog! Yep, I did it. I went and posted another one. I suspect it helps that I’m already wearing makeup and have my hair done so I really didn’t have an excuse to hide…Anyway, here it is!
There’s a bit about the Disappearing American, a bit about mortgages and my attention span and a little bit about courage, as inspired by Dr Brene Brown’s TedTalk on Vulnerability. I encourage all of you to watch it, she’s a very engaging speaker with some strong messages that just might inspire you to do something that scares you, show others your vulnerable side and become a stronger more courageous person in your own life.
As always, I welcome your comments and feedback. Thanks for watching!
One thing I’ve always known but have tried my best to change about myself is that I’m not much of a snuggler. I do, however, love me a great big bear hug and I am indeed partial to enthusiastic bursts of affection towards friends and loved ones (and the occasional invasion of their personal space). I’m also quite fond of a nice fumb-I mean, cuddle on the couch. By all means hunny, please wrap me in your great big guns (or average size guns, depending on the fella)and let me nestle into that safe spot under your arm where I belong. But I am absolutely NOT the kind of gal that needs constant coddling. In fact, I find it a total turn-off.
Gentlemen please, please don’t hug me like you hug your Mom. Maybe it’s because I’m a comforting person. Maybe it’s because I give the impression that I genuinely care about the problems of others (which I do!). Or maybe it’s just my big giant boobs and my oh so squishy physique. But boys, I’m not your Mom and I don’t want you laying your noggin’ down on my shoulders or my girls on the first date. “Put your head on my shoulder” was sung by a man to a woman and NOT the other way around. Unless, of course, you’re suffering from some terrible trauma whereby you’ve lost the will to live and all you need is some love, kindness and support. Then, and only then, please consider my breasts/shoulders to be your personal pillows.
I also do not need to you to spoon me at night. I do not need you blowing your hot air directly at my eardrum (I would sleep in a wind tunnel if whistling put me to sleep). I do not need you drooling in my hair (I don’t like to wash it every day, you know!). Nor do I need your paws cupping my breasts while you smile yourself to sleep (I know that’s not the only place you can find a spot for your hands!). There are two sides to a bed for a reason. One for you and one for me. In fact, you should treat the invisible line down the middle of the bed as lava. Because baby, if you touch it and/or cross it, you’re out of the game.
I’ve tried to change. I’ve even gone through phases of an intense desire to be as close as is physically possible to a man without actually having sex with him. But dispite my best efforts to let a man spoon me to sleep, it ultimately results in forking anyway cause your sexy bits are just too close to my sexy bits.
This post was featured in my stalkbook newsfeed today and I just had to share. I’ve been harsh on myself at times but generally speaking I agree with this sentiment: “When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a fat bird, I see me. I probably see myself smaller than I actually am” and this one, “I may be fat, but I’m fucking pretty!”
Truer words were never spoken. Sometimes I wish I hated myself as much as society says I should. But I don’t. There’s always been things I wanted to change (I mean, I wouldn’t have spent $16K on a Slimband if I didn’t!) but it’s not a result of self loathing. So, I just wanted to remind us all to celebrate the fat girls because even though “we have tits and hips and curvy, wobbly bits” you know you boys effing love us just the same even if you think you need to keep it a secret (you know who you are)!
I discovered something this week. Im plus size, yup Im fat… No I haven’t suddenly gained a load of weight, I just realised that it is how other people see me.
I was a skinny kid, my grandfather used to call me a skeleton with a fringe. I was a skinny teenager, I used to be a size 6 – 8, then at 19 I had my first child and went from a 6 to a 16, it hit me hard, along with a good dose of post natal depression. But I threw myself into being a mum and put my weight out of my mind, after all I had a loving partner and a gorgeous baby son. Two years later I had my daughter and two years after that I had my third child, our youngest son. Each time I got pregnant I gained a little more and a little…
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This Mixed Mushroom Pasta looks amazeballs. I’m not supposed to eat much pasta what with my lap-band and the tiny tummy but when I do want pasta, I want it to look/taste like this!
Small servings recommended.
Whilst scrolling through my StalkBook timeline yesterday, I stumbled across an article featured in Oprah Magazine that I thought I should share. The article is a feature written about self-portrait photog Jen Davis who has spent the last 10 years of her life taking perfect pictures of her 269-pound self and has recently undergone lap-band surgery. I so admire her courage and creativity that I wanted to share it with some of my Bandster followers.
The article spells out Davis’s journey from the refuge of life behind the lens to the full disclosure of the physical attributes that she felt kept her there. She did this by turning the camera on herself in an effort to overcome the insecurities she felt were her obstacle to having a healthy romantic relationship. Man, can I relate to that!!
Like Davis, I too found a creative outlet for my insecurities at an early age. As an adolescent I’d wile away the hours writing in black leather bound journals I’d stuff in my drawers filled with tales of a fitter, more desirable me. I wanted to be so much less so I could be so much more. Only I could never share my stories for fear of someone seeing into my soul and realising that the fat popular chick is a wannabe just like the rest of us. Reading this should tell you, I’ve moved from an intense fear of sharing my feelings, to displaying them proudly on my sleeve.
Like Davis, I too have spent my romantic life on the periphery because of my own personal issues with my fatter form. At 33, I’ve only really had two ‘healthy, loving relationships’. I’ve had other (mis)adventures but I often found solace in their lack of commitment and potential for a future. I honestly didn’t think I deserved it and truly believed I didn’t want it. Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure I’m as evolved there as I’d like to be.
Like Davis, I too have a lap-band. Although my rate of success isn’t quite as significant and Davis’, my band has helped me in various ways – including shrinking my stature by a fairly sizeable 45ish pounds. It’s certainly boosted my confidence. I’ve even shared a few sexy snaps of myself recently which I previously wouldn’t, no could’t, have even considered 2 years ago. The romantic side of things may indeed remain a work-in-progress but I’m working through it in my own way, just like Davis.
So, I’m curious to know how lap-band weight loss has affected some of my readers’ romantic relationships. Please leave your comments below.
I’m happy. You heard it right, I’m genuinely happy! I’m back in Ottawa, close to the people I love, doing a job I love, in an apartment I love, with lots of potential for fun in the future. AND I’ve even started losing weight again. I guess the whole ‘healthy mind, healthy body’ thing has some truth to it. Things really are GRRRREAT!
The only thing that seems to be missing is a +1 in all of this. In the past, I’ve spent a lot of time focusing on how much I don’t want to date. Generally speaking, I’m confident in my day-to-day life but being a fat chick occasionally has an impact on the ol’ psyche and where it hits hardest for me is about dating. I’d much rather focus on my physical needs than let myself get emotionally involved with someone. But honestly, I don’t even do that.
You see I don’t date because I don’t want to fall in love and risk a man leaving me one day. Since, you know, every man I’ve ever loved has left eventually…And I don’t date because I think that every man who’s attracted to me must have something wrong with them. I mean, why would any man be attracted to fat chick, right?
My brother recently asked me what I’m so afraid of when it comes to dating. He summed it up best with a Dinner for Schmucks analogy and he was oh so right: To my very core, I’m terrified that any man I might be interested in is only interested in me to take advantage of my perceived low self esteem, humiliate me and/or make me the butt of some elaborate joke about fat chicks. Don’t worry, I know how irrational it sounds – but that, my friends, is my biggest fear. You can see how that might make it difficult for me to date, yes?
It’s messed up in my pretty little head but I’m working on it…
A couple of years ago, I (half) made a decision to start dating again. When I made that decision, I made it thinking I was ready to invite someone into my life. I was looking for a connection – mental or physical – I didn’t care which at that point. The truth is that I just wanted to feel SOMETHING.
So, I started chatting with a potential suitor from an online dating site. We spent some time getting to know each other virtually but despite his best efforts, I could never commit to meeting him in person. It was safer that way – if he couldn’t see me, he couldn’t reject me. Even though we clicked in a few very important ways, I was just too scared to take the risk.
We’ve kept in touch over the years. As it turns out he’s actually a pretty cool guy who I’ve enjoyed chatting with on a number of occasions. Sometimes about things I’ve never spoken to anyone about before. We’ve developed a rapport. I trust him. And I’ve always enjoyed the attention.
That said, at some point along the way his pursuits (d)evolved somewhat in that he shifted his strategy from dating to something a little more mechanical. This in and of itself made the situation more appealing to me. It made me feel attractive and desirable for the first time in a long time. So, after some lengthy discussions and 3 years of his ever so patient pursuits, I finally managed to convince myself that I could give his proposal a shot. And what happened next, you say? Well, just when I’d resigned and chose to accept his advances, he tells me that he’s started seeing a lovely gal he’s been keen on for some time. Ain’t that a bitch?
I don’t have many regrets in life. But I can honestly say that not giving this guy a real chance during his nearly 3-year endeavour to meet me has certainly turned out to be one of them. The timing just wasn’t right and I don’t know what would have happened between us.
Truth be told, we were both pretty messed up on the relationship front so it most likely would have been purely physical. There’s something still lingering between us though so I’m doing my best to keep my distance. He seems to be doing much better now though. I guess I’ll just have to adjust the settings on the greenhouse window that is StalkBook so I don’t have to continue watching their relationship blossom.
Getting out of my own head will certainly help me with my dating dilemma. So that’s what I’m gonna do. I’ve said it before but this time I mean it…really. I think…
Uhhh, duh. I saw this pretty cool infographic and like it so much I thought I’d share it here. I gotta say, it’s filled with some pretty obvious points about perception. Primarily the fact that, when we eat foods that we know are ‘bad’ for us, we have a tendency to minimize the damage we’re doing to ourselves so that we don’t have to face the food-guilt that creeps up on us after a ‘bad food’ binging session.
After finishing up a fantastic Friday morning at my great new social media job, I thought I’d go out and explore the city that all my Toronto tweeps are tweeting about.
As it’s a gorgeous day today, I headed on down to The corner of Queen and Jarvis to sample some of the amazing food from Toronto’s Food Truck community.
For my first foray into gourmet food truck eats, I visited Buster’s Sea Cove. I opted for the Fish Tacos cause I know I love me some fish tacos. For two of the most tasty fried white fish tacos I’ve ever eaten, I paid $8.
When I first saw my plate I instantly felt that although the portion size is bandster friendly indeed, my friends with average-size tums might be disappointed.. That is, until I took a bite.
They are worth every single penny for these (somewhat) tiny-portioned tasty tacos! They’re fresh, not greasy, with just the right amount of filling for stuffing in your face like food truck eats should. The salsa/slaw was full of crunchy veg, a bit of heat and the hint of lime. The batter on the gorgeous white (cod?) fish was light and fluffy and with texture more like breading than topping…like it was actually part of the fish than an add-on. The small white tortilla was even nice.
I was more than satisfied. The texture and portion-size are perfect for a bandster on the go and leave just enough room left over to test your resolve at the Curbside Bliss Cupcake truck right next door…I will most certainly return to Buster’s Sea Cove.
Do you have a favorite Toronto Food Truck? How does it stack up for the bandster on the go?
“Would you still sleep with him if you knew he’d never call you again?” That was the question on my new roommate’s mind the morning after her housewarming party the night before. Despite the sting of her enquiry and that she was so quick to put me in my place, it didn’t quite come as a surprise to me that she’d popped that particular question. You see, the night before I’d found myself in a lip-lock with her rather charming stand-up comic-slash-actor-slash-electrician friend and she was concerned that I might have fallen for the funny guy and that perhaps I might think that I’m special to him.
Wow. If I hadn’t sized him up the moment he walked in the door I might have been hurt by what I’m sure she thought was a helpful hint. What she didn’t know is that I knew the second I’d seen him that he and I would be having some alone time later. I just had to play my cards right.
I learned quite quickly that he’d previously been an electrical engineer who happened to work with robots. So, a bit of a geek, then. I also learned that he’s a stand-up comic/actor. So, a bit of a show-off, then. The result of this combination is a late-blooming, yet attractive, charismatic man who’s eager for attention, praise and approval and all the while he’s humble in his pursuit. Putty in my hands!
Winning over this kind of man is as easy as winning over this kind of woman – The Game. Show him just enough attention that he’d think I could be interested then address his personal attributes in a backhanded way (ie You’re alright. You’re not the least attractive/funny/entertaining guy in the place). I think that’s actually what won him over. I simply didn’t swoon all over him. And in turn he was charming in his efforts to welcome me into their group. He was humble when his friends felt the need to share his filmography, he was sweet-funny not stand-up funny and it was very clear to me that flattering women isn’t something he struggles with.
In fact, before the lip-lock I’d watched him make his rounds sweet-talking several of the other lovely ladies at the party, then circling back to me and occasionally following me from room to room. I knew he wasn’t just interested in me, he was interested in any of the women in the room he hadn’t yet shagged. Since I definitely did (and still do) fall into that category and well, he wasn’t the least attractive/funny/entertaining single guy in the room, I didn’t really mind the attention.
So, when we stepped out onto the back patio, I knew what we were there for. We talked, we kissed and went back inside to the party. When it came time for the awkward goodnight, I took a beat in the basement and let him and is homies head home without a word. There was no need to make it more than it was. I didn’t and don’t need to know if he’s all that into me cause frankly, I just wasn’t that into him. I’d had a few hours of fun and that’s all I was after.
Here’s to a few more minutes of fun with some other hot TO totties!
I’ve been looking for a good at home Fish Taco recipe and I think this could be the one. I found it on Maggie’s One Butt Kitchen and it looks amazing!
Generally speaking, if you use the smallest soft tortilla size, two Fish Tacos is a perfect bandster portion. I’m sure that would also be true of these.
2 cups seeded and diced Roma tomatoes
2 tablespoons minced red onion
1 tsp. red wine vinegar
1 canned chipotle pepper,minced
salt, to taste
2 tablespoons cilantro,chopped
2 cups finely shredded cabbage
2 tsp. lime juice
2 tsp. honey
2 tablespoons minced red onion
1 jalapeno, seeded and minced
2 tsp. chopped cilantro
salt, to taste
2 lbs. tilapia
1/2 cup vegetable oil
3 tablespoons lime juice
5 tsp. chili powder
1 1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1 1/2 tsp ground coriander
1 1/2 tsp minced garlic
salt, to taste
1/2 cup Mexican crema or sour cream
zest from one lime
juice from 1 lime
8- 8 inch diameter flour tortillas
Combine all ingredients; toss and set aside.
Combine all ingredients; toss and set aside.
Combine all ingredients; stir to combine and set aside.
On a grill pan…
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