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L.A. Affairs: I hated Feb. 14 — until I received a valentine from my dead husband

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Valentine’s Day. Ugh. Not a very good day for a widow. All over the place you flip, you’re reminded that you’re now not somebody’s valentine. And you’ll’t escape from it. There are the oldsters hawking bouquets by the facet of the highway, the sappy tunes on the radio. Then there are all of the locations you used to go together with your companion, reminding you that you’re now alone.

Valentine’s Day is a day I hold reminding myself I ought to simply spend some place else. Like one other planet.

My late husband, Michael, was great about Valentine’s Day — by no means excessive; he simply all the time did one thing particular. And totally different.

One yr, I used to be working at a TV manufacturing job in a dingy workplace situated over a tattoo parlor in Silver Lake: Michael confirmed up with a single-stem pink dinnerplate dahlia in a small silver vase. Because the identify suggests, it was huge and exquisite — a single flower, 10 inches throughout. Everybody within the workplace smiled. One other yr it was pink tulips. Some years we simply stayed residence and cooked one thing particular. Or we took our two children out for ice cream. Through the years, I purchased him books — or goofy socks.

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The reward itself didn’t matter. It was what the reward symbolized. There was nice consolation in all the time having a valentine — somebody you’ll select as your valentine yr after yr. Michael was good-looking and charming and extremely sort. We had been collectively for 21 years, married for 18, when he dropped useless of a mind aneurysm in 2012.

Final February, I made a decision to regulate the Valentine’s Day narrative. I opted for some self-pampering and determined to money in a present certificates I needed to a spa in Okay-town. I had been saving it for an important day. I write and produce movies and TV, and work gig to gig. Meaning I’m all the time shaking the bushes for what’s subsequent and counting my pennies. I don’t typically purchase espresso out until I’m assembly somebody about potential work. Plus, there are these two children I discussed — my daughter was about to graduate faculty, and my son was headed for his freshman yr. So I didn’t schedule a scrub or a therapeutic massage on the spa. The reward certificates would get me within the door for a soak and a sauna, and that must do.

Simply as I used to be on the point of go away for a day of leisure, I obtained a name from a man I’d met on a relationship app. We’d gone out a couple of occasions, and I already knew he’d by no means be my future husband. He talked principally about himself. He was in his 50s however nonetheless dressed like a 25-year-old rocker dude. He claimed to have a doctorate diploma in physics, though I couldn’t discover something he’d ever printed. He additionally owned a tech firm. (As soon as, once I requested him why he didn’t embrace “Dr.” or “PhD” on his enterprise card or his firm web site, he mentioned it was as a result of it will make folks suppose he’d be too costly …)

We’d get collectively infrequently for sushi or a film however I’d go residence alone.

I advised him about my spa plans, and the way Valentine’s Day was typically arduous for me. He mentioned he wished to hitch. I considered it. OK. It will be good to have some firm. He arrived late and met me on the spa restaurant.

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We shared some laughs, a straightforward dialog and a pleasant meal of bulgogi and a way-too-spicy-for-me fried squid. He’d ordered a number of objects — he even had a dessert despatched to the desk subsequent to us. He bragged that he’d simply signed a $64,000 contract that day. After our meal, I believed he would be part of me within the coed sauna, however he mentioned he wanted to go. That’s once I realized I’d been stiffed with the invoice. About $85. I’d by no means be going out with him once more.

Even the aaaaah of the spa was short-lived.

I returned residence that evening feeling offended and lonelier than ever.

I fell asleep fascinated with Michael. I by no means anticipated him to be such a tricky act to comply with. I simply all the time anticipated him to be there, with me.

And, in a means, maybe he has been. Many individuals who’ve misplaced a cherished one have tales about little moments the place it looks like they’ve acquired a nod, a message, an indication from the past.

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Essentially the most beautiful instance of all occurred to me final summer time as I used to be making ready to fly again to L.A. after getting our son settled in for his first yr in school. As I stood within the airport, ready to board my flight, I reached for my marriage ceremony rings. I’d worn them on a series round my neck for the journey, and I whispered, “Babe, we did it. Two children off to school.”

And as I introduced the rings to my lips to kiss them, I used to be startled by a blaring airport announcement: “Paging Michael Newman, paging Michael Newman.”

Michael Newman. That was my late husband’s identify.

The morning after my spa debacle, I lay in mattress charting my day of strolling the canines, calling my children and different chores, once I noticed one thing throughout the bed room.

A few years earlier, Michael and I had taken some goofy footage collectively in a photograph sales space, the sort you see at an amusement park or on the Santa Monica Pier. The strip of photos had been a few of my favourite footage of us collectively, and taking a look at it all the time made me smile. However by some means, it had gone MIA. I had seemed all over the place for it. I feared it had unintentionally fallen into the trash or gotten swept up with a newspaper and tossed by some means.

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I had cried. One other piece of us gone.

As I walked throughout the room that morning, there, resting atop a pair of my footwear, was the image strip. Seemingly fastidiously positioned.

However how? Not counting my two rescue canines, I stay alone.

Even from one other dimension, Michael was nonetheless being a very good valentine.

This yr? I’m trusting my intestine.

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I’d moderately spend Valentine’s Day alone than with any questionable valentines.

Maybe I’ll even take a last-minute journey out of city.

I can all the time take the canines, and the images, with me.

The creator lives in South Pasadena and writes and produces for TV and movie. She is presently in growth on a historic fiction venture for TV. She is on Instagram @margo.newman.75

L.A. Affairs chronicles the seek for romantic love in all its wonderful expressions within the L.A. space, and we need to hear your true story. We pay $300 for a broadcast essay. E-mail LAAffairs@latimes.com. You’ll find submission pointers right here. You’ll find previous columns right here.

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A member of the 'T-Shirt Swim Club' chronicles life as 'the funny fat kid'

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A member of the 'T-Shirt Swim Club' chronicles life as 'the funny fat kid'

“The first place I learned to be funny was on the schoolyard trying to defuse this weird tension around my body, says Ian Karmel. He won an Emmy Award in 2019 for his work on James Corden’s “Carpool Karaoke” special with Paul McCartney.

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Kenny McMillan/Penguin Random House

Comedy writer Ian Karmel spent most of his life making fun of his weight, starting at a very young age.

“Being a kid is terrifying — and if you can be the funny fat kid, at least that’s a role,” Karmel says. “To me, that was better than being the fat kid who wasn’t funny, who’s being sad over in the corner, even if that was how I was actually feeling a lot of the time.”

For Karmel, the jokes and insults didn’t stop with adolescence. He says the humiliation he experienced as a kid navigating gym classes, and the relentless barrage of fat jokes from friends and strangers, fueled his comedy.

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For years, much of his stand-up comedy centered around his body; he was determined to make fun of himself first — before anyone else could do it. “At least if we’re destroying me, I will be participating in my own self-destruction so I can at least find a role for myself,” he says.

Karmel went on to write for The Late Late Show with James Corden. He has since lost more than 200 pounds, but he feels like he’ll have a lifelong relationship with fatness. He wrote his new memoir, T-Shirt Swim Club: Stories from Being Fat in a World of Thin People, along with his sister Alisa, who channeled her experience into a profession in nutrition counseling.

“Once we lost a bunch of weight … we realized we’d never had these conversations about it with each other,” Karmel says. “If this book affects even the way one person thinks about fat people, even if that fat person happens to be themselves, that would be this book succeeding in every way that I would hope for.”

Interview highlights

On using the word “fat”

There’s all these different terms. And, you know, early on when I was talking to Alisa about writing this book, we were like: “Are we going to say fat? I think we shouldn’t say fat.” And we had a conversation about it. We landed on the determination that it’s not the word’s fault that people treat fat people like garbage. And we tend to do this thing where we will bring in a new word, we will load that word up with all of the sin of our behavior, toss that word out, pull a new one in, and then all of a sudden, we let that word soak up all the sin, and we never really change the way we actually treat people. …

I’ve been called fat, overweight or obese, husky, big guy, chunky, any number of words, all of those words just loaded up with venom. … We decided we were going to say “fat” because that’s what we are. That’s what I think of myself as. And I’m going to take it back to basics.

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On the title of his memoir, T-Shirt Swim Club

T-Shirt Swim Club: Stories from Being Fat in a World of Thin People

T-Shirt Swim Club

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Thank God for learning about the damage that the sun does to our bodies, because now all sorts of people are wearing T-shirts in the pool. But when we were growing up, I don’t think that was happening. It’s absurd. We wear this T-shirt because we … want to protect ourselves from prying eyes — but I think what it really is is this internalized body shame where I’m like, “Hey, I know my body’s disgusting. I know I’m going to gross you out while you’re just trying to have a good time at the pool, so let me put this T-shirt on.” And it’s all the more ridiculous because it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t actually cover you up, it hugs every curve!

On how bullying made him paranoid

You think like, if four or five people are saying this to my face, then there must be vast whisper campaigns. That must be what they’re huddled over. … Anytime somebody giggles in the corner and you are in that same room, you become paranoid. There’s a part of you that thinks like, they must be laughing at me.

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On how fat people are portrayed in pop culture

Fat people, I think, are still one of the groups that it’s definitely OK to make fun of. That’s absolutely true. … I’m part of this industry too, and I’ve done it to myself. … Maybe it’s less on the punch line 1719964293 and more on the pity. You know, you have Brendan Fraser playing the big fat guy in The Whale. And at least that’s somebody who is fat and who has dealt with those issues. Maybe not to the extent of like a 500- and 600-pound man, but still to some extent. And good for him. I mean, an amazing performance, but still one where it’s like, here’s this big, fat, pathetic person.

On judgment about weight loss drugs and surgery

It’s this ridiculous moral purity. What it comes down to for me is you [have] your loved ones, you have your friends. And whatever you can do to spend more time on earth with those people, that’s golden to me. That’s beautiful, because that is what life is truly all about. And the more you get to do that, the healthier and happier you are. So those people out there who are shaming Ozempic or Wegovy or any of that stuff, or bariatric surgery, those people can pound sand. And it’s so hard in a world that is built for people who are regular size, and in a world that is also simultaneously built to make you as fat as possible with the way we treat food. It’s like, yo, do the best you can!

Therese Madden and Joel Wolfram produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.

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Christopher Reeve's Son Will Reeve to Cameo in James Gunn's 'Superman'

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Christopher Reeve's Son Will Reeve to Cameo in James Gunn's 'Superman'

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Dining out with a big group? Learn the social etiquette of splitting the check

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Dining out with a big group? Learn the social etiquette of splitting the check

Let’s say you’re at a restaurant with a group of friends. You ordered appetizers, maybe got a bottle of wine for the table, went all in for dessert … then the bill arrives.

No one is offering to cover the whole tab. So how do you handle the check? Do you split it evenly among everyone at the table? What if you only got a salad while your buddy got the surf and turf special?

Splitting the bill is a fine art. Whether you’re eating family-style at a Korean barbecue joint or having a three-course meal at a fancy restaurant, there should be “a sense of equality in how the check is divvied up” when the meal ends, says Kiki Aranita, a food editor at New York Magazine and the former co-chef and owner of Poi Dog, a Hawaiian restaurant in Philadelphia.

She goes over common scenarios you may encounter while dining out with a large group — and how to dial down the awkwardness by keeping things fair and square.

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Scenario 1: I arrived to dinner late. Everyone at the table already ordered drinks and appetizers and are about to order their entrees. What should I do?

When you’re ready to order, tell your server you want your food and drinks on a separate check, says Aranita. “It’s easier to deal with than having to split a check in complicated percentages at the end of the night.”

If you do choose separate checks, tell your server that at the start of the meal, not the end. That way they can make note of everyone’s individual orders. Not every establishment offers this option, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

Scenario 2: Everyone ordered alcohol except me — and now they want to split the tab fair and square!

Speak up, says Aranita. “Just be like, ‘Hey guys — I didn’t drink.’ Usually, that’s enough for everyone to reconfigure the bill to make it fairer. The problems only arise when you don’t speak up.”

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If you are ordering round after round of $20 cocktail drinks, be conscious of the people in your party who didn’t order as much as you. When the bill arrives, “maybe pick up a larger portion of the tip” to make up for your drinks, says Aranita.

Scenario 3: We’re a party of six. Is it OK to ask the server to split the check six ways?

Many restaurants now have updated point-of-sale systems that make it easier for servers to split the check in myriad ways, says Aranita. But it doesn’t always mean you should ask them to do so.

Aranita, who has also been a bartender and server, recommends a maximum of two to four credit cards. Servers “have enough to deal with” when working with a large party, especially on a busy night. And running several cards with different tip percentages isn’t ideal.

“If you’re a party of six, just put down two credit cards” and Venmo each other what you owe, she says. This approach also works out great for that person in your group who’s obsessed with racking up credit card points. 

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Scenario 4: It’s my birthday. My friends should pay for my meal, right?

In American culture, it’s assumed that if your friends take you out to dinner for your birthday, they will cover your meal. But that’s not always the case, says Aranita.

If you set up your own birthday dinner, don’t expect to people to pay for you, she says. You picked the restaurant and invited your friends on your terms. So in this scenario, put down your card at the end of the meal. Your dining mates may pick up your tab, but if they don’t, “that’s perfectly fine. You’re saying: ‘I can celebrate me and also pay for me.’ ”

Scenario 5: It’s my friends’ first time at my favorite restaurant. I’m going to order an appetizer that I think everyone at the table will love. We’re all splitting the cost of that, right?

It can be easy to get swept away by the menu at a favorite restaurant, but don’t assume your dining partners share the same enthusiasm for the twice-fried onion rings. “You have to get their consent at the beginning of the meal. Say, ‘hey, is it cool if I order appetizers for the table?’ ” says Aranita. If you forgot to ask this question, assume that you will pay for the order.

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This episode was produced by Sylvie Douglis. The digital story was edited by Meghan Keane. The visual editor is Beck Harlan. We’d love to hear from you. Leave us a voicemail at 202-216-9823, or email us at LifeKit@npr.org.

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