Rumbly, rumbly, in my tumbly

I am SO hungry. I've been hungry for the past 4 days. Yes, I've eaten. Plenty. I've eaten every three hours just like a good little girl should and I've eaten healthy foods as well - cereal, granola, fruits and veggies, lamb, yogurt. One might think these were filling or satisfying. Well that person would be very, very wrong. My growling stomach begs to differ with that person. I have been starving and I don't know why! My sister has decided that when she finishes her summer classes, she will go on a juice diet. No, not the psychotically restrictive one I tried last fall, but something a bit more reasonable. She went out, bought a juicer, bought a book about it, and plans to eat whole grains and healthy foods for two days, drink just juiced fruits and veggies for four or five, and then progress back to solid food gradually. This sounds like a pretty good idea, actually, and not just because you're encouraged to eat whenever you want. But what about after the "cleansing" ends? I did my diet, lost a few pounds, gained them back, and now I'm hungry all the time!

I might not be blaming the right culprit for my hunger though. Perhaps it's not the fast I went on oh so long ago, but perhaps it is more a matter of my body not knowing how to sync back up with U.S. time and U.S. food. I was in Europe for 9 days and I'm pretty sure my body is still on London time. Either that, or it's lashing out at me for starving myself so much while I was traveling. We did not keep the most regimented meal schedule, exactly. We sort of ate when one of us was about to fall over. Now my stomach seems to be in starvation mode and just craves food 24-7.

This is most certainly not conducive to my desire to drop my last 5-10 pounds by the time I'm 25 (in less than a month now, eek!). I'd hoped to do this gradually, with a healthy diet and exercise plan. I have a wedding to attend in less than 2 weeks and I still weigh more than before I left for my vacation! I've watched my portions, tried to eat balanced meals, and nothing works. My body is rebelling. Maybe it thinks it's winter and wants to pack in the extra lining. Well, stomach, you're WRONG! Now stop growling at me and let me do my work in peace. Who'd have thought I'd ever get to the point where I wanted to work more than I wanted to eat?? Someone commit me....

Everything is bigger and better in Texas

I'm about to find out how true this "catch phrase" is. Off to Lubbock I go, where I hear the men are beautiful and charming, which I'm hoping will make up for their likely lack of intellect. At least I will have a lovely hotel suite, wireless internet access (read: connection to reality), a pool, and sunny weather. This should make up for the undeniable fact that I'm going to LUBBOCK, yes? Let's hope! I'll report back after I've been delivered to my hotel via covered wagon.

And now on a more inward-looking note

I'm beginning to think that perhaps I missed the "this is how you act as a grown-up" class. In my more infantile moments, I'd like to blame my apparently socially-crippled behavior on going to a geek school. Did my college offer courses in "How to strike up conversation at your company party" and "How to balance professional and social relationships with your coworkers", but I just didn't get to sign up for them? That can't be it. Maybe my one-year stint as a full-time waitress sapped my ability to be charming and cheerful and yet sound completely, genuinely interested in any conversation. But I thought I maintained my charm even though I left behind my apron and barely-there uniform.

These contemplations began after I was told recently that I am ingenuine, interrupt others frequently, and that I am rude. This all explained to me in an astonishingly succinct three-sentence email. And now, though I've apologized for all such accusations, I am being punished. This person speaks to others in my presence but refuses to acknowledge that I exist. This person makes plans for activities in front of me, knowing that I can hear. My first instinct is to complain to my other friends, but I know this will lead to certain pain and anguish as, well, if I can talk, so can they. And not just to me. My second thought was to approach the email sender and ask what I can do to assuage said frustrations with me. Again, this won't help, because I will get the cold shoulder (again) and simply further display my increasing level of pathetic-ness. (Yes, this is a word now) If I run crying and needy to the offended party, won't I just be showing that I can be walked all over? Or is it better to continue to apologize and hope, oh please oh please, that I will be forgiven? Exactly how much grovelling is necessary and exactly how much shit should I put up with? And why hasn't someone come along and told me all of these things?!

My apologies of this post. No diary in reach and I had to get this out somewhere.

Paging Dr. Phil, you're needed in the Denial Ward

I don't know who Dr. Phil thinks he is, but I'm getting the impression that he really has a very slim grasp of reality. Granted, I've never watched his show so I don't know how "real" his healing powers are with people or whatever it is that he promises to do for those poor saps who hand their minds and bodies over to him on a platter. But I do know that, if his book is any indication, that Dr. Phil doesn't own a mirror. He also doesn't walk past floor to ceiling windows on his way to work. Or size himself up in the gleam of a parked car. Or even catch a glimpse of himself in his coffee pot. Perhaps he lives in the houses they lock "Extreme Makeover" participants in. That's about the only explanation I can find for why dear Dr. Phil believes HE should be giving weight loss advice.

I've been given the project of finding readings for a new book and I've been thumbing through books by the likes of Ann Coulter and Michael Moore. ::shudders equally at both:: I have to say, though, that the award for the most frightful sense of self importance has to go, hands down, to Dr. Phil. He spends the entire Intro talking about how he knows where I'm coming from. He ever so slyly tries to weasel his way into my brain, telling me "I know you are looking for something you can take tonight that promises slim tomorrow...I have discovered what it takes for you to create the results you want." Oh yea? Dr. Phil, you sir are one of the last people I want to take diet advice from. You're right up there with Nicole Ritchie and, well, Michael Moore. I hate to break it to you, Phil, but you're no feather weight. In fact, I'm gonna come right out and say you probably carry around a nice thick winter lining that will sustain you in the Arctic tundra. Do not pretend you know how I feel. Do not tell me what I'm thinking. And do NOT give advice that you quite obviously do not follow.

I feel much better now. I think I'm going to eat some cookies. Mmm....cookies...

All the time in the world...

Now I'm not saying that things would have definitely ended differently on Sunday when my boys went down against the New England Patriots if the clock hadn't been reset incorrectly, but what if? Those 52 seconds made the difference between the game-winning field goal and a chance to win it in overtime. Again, perhaps we still would have lost. Goodness knows, we didn't bring our top game. Botched lateral passes (that were completely unnecessary, I might add) and picks are not the kind of plays a winning team makes. But I can't help but wonder, what if? What if the clock hadn't been reset incorrectly? And what if Big Ben had been able to face his demons and finally win in those extra 15 minutes of game play? I realize this is only the third game of the season, and we now have the same record we did at this time last season, not to mention the same record as the Patriots right now. But what if those 52 seconds come back to haunt us further down the road? I can only hope that this shows the great black and gold that letting it play down to the wire is no longer enough. We need to come back from our bye week strong, aggressive, and smart. Smarter than the other team, no matter how many rings or magazine covers they have.

Here we go Steelers! Here we go!

To fast too fast?

So I've decided to go on a fast. Not one of those crazy 40-day, water-only fasts, because that would be, well, crazy. Instead, I am drinking only diluted orange juice for 3 days. Oh and green tea. But basically, that's it. I'm also abstaining from exercise, except yoga, and contemplating shoving cotton balls up my nose so I don't have to smell the Mac and Cheese being made in my office's kitchen. Oh yea, this will be a piece of cake. Oooh, cake.

In all honesty though, I wonder if fasting might actually be good for a person. As Americans especially, we eat so much junk and breathe in such bad air, and goodness knows the water in this fine city is filled with chemicals my liver had kidneys have never been prepared for. Maybe it really could be healthy to take few days, either as "Spring Cleaning" as my trusty homeopathic websites like to call it or as a preparation for hunkering down for the long winter months of hot chocolate and canned soups, and really take stock of my diet. And besides, if I can really pull off consuming only juice every 2-3 hours for 3 days, perhaps I'll think twice before reaching for yet another pint of ice cream or a second helping of bolognese.

I'm fairly certain I can do this, too. In high school, I participated in the 30-hour famine with about twenty other members of my youth group. We stopped eating at 2pm on a Friday, went to church for a time to worship (and not just pray for a Big Mac or anything) and headed out in the morning to package clothing and food at World Visions and The Food Bank (yes, a sick, sick joke, I know). By the end, we were all pretty much dozing off on our feet, a very strange sensation, let me tell you, and I'm not sure whether or not I hallucinated the brightly colored over-sized steps that I passed out on for about an hour that afternoon. But we went back to the church at the end of it all and, at 8pm that evening, we had our first meal. Black beans and rice. No salsa, no margaritas, no chips, and no sombreros. Just black beans and rice. And it was one of the best meals I've ever had.

This experience was good for two reasons. One, it taught me how to do without. Not only did I not eat for 30 hours, but I realized how many people need the supplies we were packaging because there's no forseeable end to their fasting. We packaged Ramen noodles and canned soup to be sent far outside my little suburban bubble and it gave me a sense of what it means to really want, but not be able to have. Two, and this is far less selfless and humbling, it shrunk my stomach. We were all so hungry when we got back to our church, but when we sat in front of our meager portions, not one of us could clear our plates. And for weeks afterward my eating habits didn't recover. I lost weight. I felt lighter and happier. And I'd really accomplished something, a real test of self control.

It is for this second reason that I am fasting again. I would love to be able to say that I'm fasting for the starving around the world, but I'd be lying to myself and to the one or two people who still read this blog. I am 15 hours in at this point, which is when "ketosis" is supposed to begin and my body starts to break down all the garbage and toxins I've been storing up so we'll see what happens. Hopefully I won't see any of the 500 negative side effects I've read about and will, instead, find spiritual enlightenment and maybe even a smaller waistline as a perk. At the very least, I'll stop pigging out on chips and dip and, hopefully, avoid my usual 5lb winter lining this year. Now shall I have the glass of water followed by the glass of OJ or mix the two and sip delicately? So many options!

Budget schmudget

I'm quickly realizing as my finances whirl above my head, out of control, that I have no idea how to design or maintain a personal budget. I've tracked expenses in a "spending diary" before and I plan to again this month. But somehow all this ever does is make me feel guilty for what I've spent. I spend hours and hours beating myself up over some much needed new undergarments (and yes, even the lingerie was a necessary expense, dammit!) but nothing ever changes. Or I save and pinch one month, and have a blow-out shopping trip the next. The worst part is that this behavior isn't restricted to my spending. I'm struck by how much these habits resemble the way I diet - guilt mixed with an ungodly amount of obsessing and fixation. When I can't spend or eat, these activities are all I can think about.

So how do I break the cycle? Do I just suck it up and keep myself to my budget and insist that I maintain it for a longer period of time? Maybe a month isn't long enough. Maybe I need to go two or three, or six. Who knows? Maybe I need a personal trainer both for my diet and budget. Someone to stand over my shoulder at the sale rack in J. Crew and slap my hand as I fondle the perfect pleated skirt with grosgrain ribbon that I just know will complete my wardrobe. And then this person could follow me as I stroll past the food court, turning my head away from the glory that is Ben & Jerry's as she whispers "Wouldn't a nice juicy carrot really hit the spot right now?" Mmm, I like this woman already.

Or would I just be better off letting myself go for a while? I've been overweight and I know I don't want to go back to it. Why not live a little, within the little reason I still possess and have a baby scoop of ice cream, or if I'm really being strong, just asking for a "taste" and walking away. (Yes I've done this and am probably blacklisted from every Ben & Jerry's in MA, VT, and NH, but it works every time!) Why not buy the new designer jeans I desperately need as the zipper on my perfectly broken-in pair has just died? Which, by the way, I cried over. You should know that. It was a sad, sad day. Maybe this whole budgeting thing is overrated. If I can't afford the personal trainer for every facet of my life, should I just stop worrying about it? I mean, I'll know I've spent too much when the bank starts leaving threatening messages on my voice mail, right? And it's not like I'd be the only 24-year-old who's spent time evading the bank.

Perhaps I'll think about this more over a nice, healthy smoothie that I'll sip as I peruse the new fall lines during my lunch break. And if you don't hear from me in the next few days, please come down to the jail and bring bail money (which I promise to use strictly for bail) ....and perhaps a scoop of Chubby Hubby.