An April Fools' Ace

In my maturing years, I've found that, more and more, my life is finding its shape in a form that would thoroughly amaze and disappoint my elementary-school self. As an over-achieving fourth-grader, I was absolutely positive that I was going to go to Brown, become a lawyer, get hitched and produce four well-trained, handsome and athletic boys well before my ripened age of 26.

If only that little blonde-haired future scholar and matriarch could see me now – partially employed, living in sin, childless and financially rickety. Thank god she was happily naïve to my high-school self’s successful petition to be moved down from advanced to upper-standard classes because the kids in upper standard were more “fun” and my college self’s less than academic extracirriculars. But, standing on a shore very opposite from my youthful ambitions, I am not disappointed in any of my choices or unhappy about the things I have come to love… especially my foray into mastering the craft of the highly successful April Fools’ joke, a task I was not well equipped to handle in my younger years.

My pranks aren’t elaborate, they’re not YouTube material, and, honestly, if I retold them right now, you most likely would not laugh. But for me, it’s not about swapping fluff for toothpaste or putting cellophane around the toilet seat. It’s about the sly fool, the simple trick. A twisted story, an outrageous declaration, a silly little lie. My jokes are subtle and they’re effective. Not the ha-ha variety, but more like the got-ya sort.

I’ve got a good track record going - my 2008 April Fools’ just claimed its most recent victim. Almost exactly three years after I said I had been arrested on the way to work with a crowd of jaywalking pedestrians, my dear friend Laura was finally clued into the joke.

So, queue the devious finger tapping and slight eyebrow raise, I must now begin to concoct a new fib for Friday…

I Am More Than Poached Eggs and Soup.

Wondering where you are, how you got here, and where MmmmMollyMac went? Well, while my love for all things edible hasn't faltered in the least, I've decided to branch out from MmmmMollyMac's narrow food-related theme and reinvent my blog with more general focus.

The new name, "My View from the Eaves," comes from the little life I'm living in my fourth floor (or, as we like to call it, "penthouse") South Boston apartment. Up here, against a backdrop of the Boston skyline, lounging in my humble and cozy lodgings, I feel like I'm tucked up in the eaves, comfortably nestled in my quiet home about the hustle and bustle of the city streets.

These past few months have been a big growth period for me. I feel happier, healthier and more at ease in my own skin. After leaving my job back in November, I went in to talk to one of the creative directors at Arnold, a funky Boston-based advertising agency, for some advice on kicking off a career as a writer. He was not at all what I expected - no trendy outfit, no funky dark-rimmed glasses. He greeted me with a overgrown beard, capped in a well-worn winter hat and sporting what I can only describe as glorified sweatpants.

As I sat in his office, naive, nervous and feeling like I didn't exactly fit just right among his collection of vintage records and various artsy office decorations, he talked me through his broken career path, detailing an untraditional trip to the top. The deeper into the conversation we went, my confidence began to crown, my shoulders relaxed, and I started to really see what he was telling me. He put it plainly as we finished up our meeting, "You are a writer, be a  writer. Wear what you want, don't hide your personality, let your creativity come out. That's what they want. You do for them what they can't for themselves. It's a talent that they need."* It's advice I'll not soon forget - pure, true, and universal.

And so, with a revamped outlook comes a revamped blog. I hope you enjoy it!

*paraphrased a bit

Salt-Infused Jiggling Bellies

Pacing itself with the utmost reservation, and a few classic spikes along the way, the temperature is breaking out of winter's icy hold and creeping toward the mild double-digits of spring. And I inevitably, along with women all across the nation, have declared that this is the year I'm going to get into top-notch bikini-bod shape.

"Finally," I e-mailed my girlfriends, "I'm going to feel good at the beach. I'm starting to eat right and workout and I am going to feel comfortable in a bikini this summer." Then, I happily skipped to the grocery store in just a sweater and scarf because the 44 degree day was "so warm!" and, at the store I stocked up fruits, celery, low-sodium turkey cold cuts, and oatmeal - all the things that make me confident that this July 4th, I'll be posing for bikini pics sans cover-up and without the tell-tale "I'm sucking it in right nowwww" smile. 

But, all too predictably, the dreary days of March will stretch on, the corned beef will be eaten on St. Patty's day, the April weather will welcome not post-work runs along the water but instead ever-lasting happy hours complete with fried and fatty appetizers and, later, late-night greasy pizza. And, when beach weather comes along I'll be sporting a nice salt-bloat and a merrily jiggling belly.

In the meantime, I'm still sticking to plan and trying my best to cut a lot of sodium out of my diet. And, you know what? It's really hard. I told my friends the other week that the three things I was most thankful for were (in this order): opposable thumbs, the leggings trend, and salt. Now, I venture to take back the salt comment.

Do you know what foods have a ton of sodium? All of the good ones. You know what foods don't have very much sodium? The dumb ones. So, on day three of my reduced-sodium kick, I give myself 100-to-1 odds that I won't fight the craving and, in a couple hours, my grubby little paws will be digging into the bottom of the bag of pretzels for the saltiest scraps while my belly giggles and jiggles away...