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From Atlantis With Love, originally uploaded by emilyrems.

Contrary to popular belief, my life isn’t all big girl hip hop dance classes and fat girl flea markets. Nobody lives in a constant state of body affirmation, nor do I think we need to. Sometimes on the best days, the greatest feeling you can have is not to be really conscious of your body at all. Such was the case on Friday. LCF picked me up after work, it was a beautiful night, and we started strolling around. We hung out in Washington Square for awhile and then walked south until we hit Madame X, the beautiful red-velvet draped bar where we had our fateful first date lo those many moons ago. We went in and nostalgically drank minty mojitos and flirted with each other made each other laugh till I was afraid I’d fall off my stool. Then when the time came to soak up our cocktails with some sustenance, I suggested we go get what I refer to as “the secret sandwich.” Under cloak of darkness, sometimes this native american dude with a big cart painted with the words “From Atlantis With Love” parks around the corner from CBGBs on Joey Ramone Place and makes the most magically delicious wraps in the city. I’ve been there a few times and have a good rapport with the dude, who likes to regale me with the health benefits of all the fresh vegetables he’s cooking while he grills them, but LCF had never been there, so hand in hand, we hit the spot. Just as I had promised, the dude was there with his magical cart overflowing with vegetation and delicious smelling smoke. LCF was into it right away, so we both started chatting up the dude while he grilled our wraps. Mid-way through his schpiel about the health benefits of his vegetables, the dude asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a magazine editor, and then all of a sudden he got all overstimulated and started suggesting ways I could write about him for the magazine. I’m pretty used to this kind of thing, so I began implementing one of my many strategies for gracefully changing the subject when he burst out with, “I know! You could eat my food and we could show before and after pictures like Jenny Craig!” This idea not only delighted him but cracked him up. I tried to play it off but the damage was done. I had been having such a fun, romantical, and decidedly un-neurotic evening with my boyfriend, and then suddenly there I was, standing on the street with flaming cheeks while the wrap dude pointed out what a good “before” picture I would make for his fucking sandwich truck. “That wasn’t cool,” LCF muttered as we walked away with our wraps and gave me a squeeze, but I pulled away because I was afraid the hug would make the tears pop out of my eyes and actually start rolling down my suddenly very fat-feeling face.

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