Day 12

So this has been an interesting week. I've certainly lost some weight. To reward myself, I went shopping over the weekend and bought a new dress. My friends, the dress is fabulous. It's the kind of dress that makes me, a very minimalist, short-hair, no-nail polish because it takes too long kind of girl want to paint my toe nails, put on mascara, and wear high heels.

It's the kind of dress that makes you feel like a million dollars. It was a $200 BCBG dress on sale for $50. It wouldn't have mattered if it were $10. The thing was just engineered for me: perfectly tailored for my chest, stomach, and hips. When I wore it out Monday, I felt sorry for every other girl that didn't have it on themselves.

And the funny thing is, I didn't care if anyone else liked it. I liked it so much, it didn't matter one whit about anyone else. That, my friends, is a powerful dress. Every woman should have a dress like this. I wish that I had a whole closet full of them.

But back to the diet. I'd say it's been a good 10 days of dieting, and the last 2 days I have been sliding down that slippery chocolatey slope of desire. I had a drumstick last night. Tonight's treat of choice was a Twix. I figured, ah, what the hell, my shorts are about to fall off my waist. Can't I have a little reward?

The body makeover book suggests that one should reward oneself over milestones, just not with food.

Whoops.

To give me further incentive to exercise (ha!) I ordered a heart monitor online. I'm one of these geeky, organizing kind of freaks, and it just made more sense that I could know where my target heart rate was at all times so I could exercise as efficiently (and therefore as little) as possible. Amazon mailed it off Monday, so hopefully it will get here soon.

Day 4

I think my taste buds are atrophying. Or they're becoming keener. Could both things be happening at the same time? Since this diet takes salt totally out of the mix, everything has been pretty much bland and tasteless. So after I obediently chew through a meal, I'll have something sweet like a grapefruit, or a banana, and it will taste like the best thing ever created on the planet earth.

A somewhat surprising development is that this diet has revived my interest in cooking and meal planning. I used to just eat whatever was in front of me, or what was in the refrigerator. Now I'm perusing through cookbooks again, and wondering what will taste good with what. Tonight I made a great entree, Carmelized Onion Chicken. It was fabulous. The best thing I've had all week. I paired it with a side dish of rice, and as soon as I ate it, I knew the rice was wrong wrong wrong. Potatoes were what it needed. Unfortunately, I had to go to a meeting, but when I came back you can bet I grilled up some potatoes to try with the chicken. And I was right. It's like all the taste pieces are falling into place.

Day 3

I can now add "gobble gobble" to my farm yard repertoire. At this rate, I will be sampling cornish game hens and emu's by the end of the week.

Today had some more cheats: three bars of chocolate, and I sprinkled a pinch of sea salt over my dinner. It really needed it.

The interesting news is that I've already lost some weight. My pants were incredibly roomy around the waist today. Could it be really working?

Cheats

Day 2 was harder. I overboiled the oatmeal this am, making it a congealed mess. All the meat was getting to me, so I didn't eat very much of it, resulting in getting more hungry. Also this evening I got a powerful, powerful craving for chocolate.

So I cheated.

Cheat #1
Drizzled olive oil a bit of olive oil on the veggies and chicken breast to grill

Cheat #2
Ate 1 square of a Hershey's chocolate bar. (Why can't those squares be bigger?!)

Tempations Overcome:
After my work this evening I only ate a banana, even though the taste of chocolate was lingering on. (Man, shouldn't have written about that. Now it's back on my mind.)

Pleasant Surprise:
The new All-Clad grill pan rocks I made the best grilled chicken I have ever had. Sealed in the juices, and it came out very tender. It made me dig up the The Joy of Grilling book that had been moldering on the shelf. I'm going to start experimenting with marinades to try and get some flavor back in my no salt, no olive oil life.

Old MacDonald had a farm

If you are what you eat, I would be sprouting wings, gills and fins. I have never eaten so much meat in my life. Is this the Atkins diet that I'm on? I'm suddenly suspicious. I'm eating little meat-filled meals every two hours. Carbs are not banned for me, however, just the simple, starchy fun carbs. I can still eat complex carbs like oatmeal. This food is so school-marmish.

Also salt, butter and olive oil is banned. I mean, really, I should just put on some sackcloth and ashes and get it over with. What is life without the taste of fat?! Thankfully I am modifying this diet so that I get one free day a week, in which I will participate in all the buttering and oiling that I can stand. The sexy food. All the sexy food is gone from my diet. (And isn't it ironic that the sexy food just makes you look very un-sexy?)

As I was thinking about this process, I'm finding that what I'm doing is really challenging myself to meet a goal. Something that I've done in many other parts of my life, but never physically. I think that's why I am always so fascinated by the Olympics. The idea that someone has complete care and control over their bodies: that they can push it to the limit. That has never been me. I am the person who has perfected the art of blissfully laying on the couch while having the remote, computer and microwaved s'mores arranged in just the right spots, so I can reach them without moving anything more than my arm. Now that my friends, is something to be proud of.

Planning to fail

I find this menu planning to be the hardest part of this whole system. I'm somewhat...frenetically organized. I wanted to do the entire week's shopping and planning in one fell swoop this morning. It took me about an hour, but it felt like a thousand years. I had Excel fired up to do the planning, and then my menu planning software to plug in all the recipes to generate a shopping list. Yes, it would have been faster if I had simply written the list on the back of the envelope. But then I wouldn't have been able to whip myself up into a frenzied state of control. And that, my friends, is what I do. Procrastination by organization. See, it looks like I'm doing something (planning the menu), but I'm actually just perfecting the tools to plan the menu instead of planning the menu. It's all smoke and mirrors.

Finally, after much frustration, I got the planning done. All I can say is, man, that is a LOT of meat I'm supposed to be eating. Plus for my alleged body type E (Ironically, a thin person trapped inside a slowly thickening large person), I can have no pasta or bread. Let the whimpering begin.

The good news is that I found a wicked deal on an All-clad grill pan on Amazon. $50!! It came in yesterday, and so I was able to haul out the Charlie Trotter cookbook to imagine all the smart, whimsical, charming dinner parties I would be having. "Oh this? I just whipped this up. Do you know that not only is it simply delicious, it is completely healthy for you?" Throw back head, laugh, and pass the paired wine.

It could happen.

I didn't start the food diet today. I knew I would be completely grumpy trying to plan the menu, while eating the menu. It starts tomorrow. So today I had my own private Fat Saturday, before my own private Lent. I dallied with the butter. Chatted aimably with the coconut empanada. Canoodled with the ravioli. Stayed out past bedtime with the tiramisu.

Also my favorite pair of Gap Body pants that go with everything are tight, too. The pants that I wear when I feel puffy and unloved, and immediately make me feel better. Are.too.tight.

Tomorrow is not coming fast enough.

The Return of the Resolve

I am puffy, puffy, puffy. Nothing is fitting any more. My clothes are shrinking before my very eyes. Today, my khaki pants threatened to cut my very life force from my waist by forcing me to take shallow, mincing breaths every time I tried to walk, sit, or bend. But, that, sadly, is not the final indignaty.

The FI happened on Wednesday morning, when my friend Corinne came over. We were talking about gyms, and work out programs, and I said, "oh, you know, I bought this workout program off tv. Look, I'll show you." I reach up to the Provida box perched on high at the top of the entertainment center, bring it down to open it, and start shrieking at the top of my lungs. "Ants! Ants!"

The whole box was filled with thousands of swarming ants. Nasty, nest building ants. I guess they were attracted to the glue or something in the cardboard? They were munching up the paper, and building a nice, nasty nest along the inside seam of the box. Oh, it was horrible. And worse yet, Corinne was all, "how long has that box been up there?" (In my mind, dark thoughts: long enough, obviously, you skinny—)

I dumped all the ants out on the carport, and then felt sorry for the whole munched interior of the Provida box, and emptied the rest of the contents onto the kitchen table. Whereupon I was forced to look at it during my meals.

So that, coupled with my puffiness, has led me back to the land of the infomercial resolve! Where I must always speak in exclamation points! Finally! So tomorrow, I promise, I am going to write out my menu, and try this diet for the week. I'm only going to comitt for a week at a time, as I think my resolve lasts about 7 days.

Also...after much, much deliberation, I think I'm gonna quit the gym. I'm paying them $38 a month for guilt? Heck, I can do that for free.

No, seriously. The new plan is that if I can get out the door in this next month, and walk around the block a couple of times, consistently, then I will reward myself with new jogging shoes. If I can do it for two months, I will be a pulse meter. I am motivated by new, shiny, techological toys.

And pants that fit.

Evil Incarnate

My friend Irma and I like to use the term 'evil.' It sometimes startles people to hear us use the term. We use it to mean that something has a hold over us, we are powerless over it, and it must be destroyed. As in, "those big, flourless chocolate cookies from Central Market are evil. They must be destroyed." Translation: "I can't stop eating these cookies. Who made them? Where can I buy more?"

Today, I realized there exists a true incarnation of evil in my life: mass produced Mexican cookies. Here is the problem with Mexican cookies. They are a unholy alliance of two things that I love: cookies, and candies. Mexican cookies are often brightly, ambitiously rendered. It's not just a cookie. No, it's a flat cookie, with four marshamallow's crammed on top PLUS colorful candy sprinkles. My favorite brand of Mexican cookie, Gamesa, has this down to an art. I don't know what they put in their cookies, but there's always this lingering taste left of something more. You eat one, and it's as if the sweet taste has only lasted for one brief, shining moment. You eat another, just to get that bland, sugary taste back in your mouth.

Gamesa used to rock, especially their variety packs. But then they got bought out by some big conglomerate like Pesi or Nestle or something, and they started reducing the variety in the pack, shrink wrapping them, and also—heaven forbid—introduced the chocolate chip cookie into the mix. They just couldn't leave well enough alone. They wanted to appeal to white America, too.

But white America already has their cookie classics, like the Oreo. Can't we just accept each other for what we are? Gamesa, take out the chocolate chip and put back the hard lemon zinger thingies. Really, I think this is the dark side of multiculuralism.

But as always, I digress. The good news is that today I noticed that there were more brands than my beloved Gamesa. There was also a brand called Bimbo, which looked highly promising. I'll have to check it out the next time I'm there.

Falling In

So I was just watching the evening episode of Friends, and caught the new Gap commercial featuring Lenny Kravitz and Sarah Jessica Parker.

I am seriously underwhelmed.

What are they selling me, here? Jeans that I can customize to fit my lifestyle? How do I wear my jeans? Over my legs and butt. Listen, Gap. If I had time to be all creative and thoughtful and funky with my jeans, I wouldn't be buying them from the Gap. I'd be buying them from Goodwill and sewing on my own geegaws on them.

Basically, the commercial wasn't selling the intangible: sizzle. I didn't want to become or be near either Lenny or Sarah. I just wanted to change the channel.

24/7

In reference to the beach volleyball photo on my post on equal opportunity, a loyal reader asks

"is a butt like that possible only from jumping and darting on sand all day long? Or can mere mortals achieve such firmness and roundness?

Well, my friends, the answer is yes, mere mortals can achieve such greatness, but it's a 24/7 job. Last night, SexOlympic Gold Medal winners Misty May and Keri Walsh were on the Tonight show. They came out dressed in—get this—athletic warm up suits. (As if to say, gee, I'll put on the slouchiest thing I own on national television and pretend that I didn't display nearly every square inch of my skin for two weeks. Girls, girls, girls. We all know you have great bodies. Don't hide them now! Let's see what they look like in real, fashionably-cut clothing!)

Anyway I digress. Basically, they said that Beach Volleyball is a full time job. Their day can run from 8:00 am to 8:00 pm, and consist of training, playing, working out, etc. and etal.

And you know what? If you work that hard on your body, then you deserve every glorious square inch. And if you get paid, even better.

So yes, we can achieve the Beachvolleyball butt. But since it's gonna be on our own clock, loyal reader, I will have to say that the cost will be at quite a premium.

Heck, it'd probably be worth it. I'll let you know once I get the Provida box open.

iTunes hangover

I looked in the library and couldn't believe what I had done the night before. I don't remember it. It was late. I had listened to one too many songs. I got confused. Possibly from reading too many Amazon reviews. I wasn't responsible for my actions, was I?

I had bought Little River Band's Greatest Hits.

The thing was, I wasn't even trying to by their album. I was trying to buy Neil Young's Harvest Moon. And I'm not just throwing that in there so you can see how cool and erudite I am. I just woke up to the fact that I like Neil Young. I'm a 1980's baby: born and bred on the MTV. But Neil Young's album was listed as a partial album, and I went on Amazon to see what song was missing, and somehow, that led me down the dark late night path to remembering a time when the albatross, and the whale, they are my brothers.

It's just a sad state of affairs, I tell you.

Latest Crush

Just a little bit of a crush going on right now.

The international language of the butt slap

After watching a few of the international basketball teams playing, I'm amazed at how everyone has seemed to approriate the American body language of sports: butt slaps, hand slaps, chest bumps, etc. How does this body language spread so quickly internationally? I always thought it was a peculiarly American thing, but now I see that I'm wrong. After the bronze finalist game, I watched Larry Brown give an approving butt slap to a passing Lithunian player, who took it in stride.

I have to wonder, do the Chinese and Russians butt slap, too? Hard to imagine.

What's Not Hot

Since this is the SexOlympics, I thought I'd offer a short, useful primer on what is not sexy.


1. Music being played while competition is being judged
2. Synchronization
3. Competition being referred to as "a routine."
4. Spirit hands, glitter, or a gamine toss of the head
5. If the participants look like they could be the back-up band in Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" video

Say it, Sister

And I thought I was harsh.

Uh Oh

Just saw the commercial for Garden State on television. The promo quote was "this summer's Lost in Translation." I was thinking about going to see Garden State, but that endorsement gives a big warning sign for me.

I really wanted to like Lost in Translation, but it just made me impatient. It reminded me of a funky, cooler, thrift-store version of Scent of a Green Papaya. Green Papaya made me want to tear my eyeballs out. I'm all for unspoken moments, lost chances, roads not taken blah blah blah but 2 hours of it? Too much, I tell ya, it's too much.

Two, two, two tasks in one

It is now almost physically impossible for me to do one thing at a time. Since I'm feeling badly this evening, I'm resting. My resting includes watching television while simultaneously reading email and blogs. If the remote had not mysteriously disappeared, my third task would be switching channels during the boring parts of the SexOlympics.

I have a theory of why this multi-tasking mindset exists, and I call it Computer Time. I work on the computer a lot, churning big files and laying out pages. My current set-up renders art fairly quickly, but anytime there's a hang, when the file doesn't render instantaneously, I turn to another task while the computer finishes. I've had to do that a lot lately, while using my old G4 450 that still has OS9. I think "Oh, Photoshop's gonna take a while. I'll just check my email on my laptop while it catches up."

What does this mean? I can no longer sit and wait. I have to do something while I wait. Standing in line at the check-out register, I have to be reading a magazine. Sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office, I'm checking off to-do's on my Palm. I can never, ever let the microwave countdown to the final time. I'm always in there a good 20 seconds before, checking to see if the food is done even though it is I that put the time down in the first place.

Tonight, though, I wish I did have the remote. I'm stuck in commercial hell. In closing, I just have one thing to say: McDonald's, nobody, and I mean nobody, is going after your chicken.

I wanna sex you up

Just finished lunch on the couch, while watching the SexOlympics. All those sweaty bodies shimmering in the hot Greek sun. Yes, Nelly, it is getting hot in here.

At any rate, I was watching women's water polo, which so far seems to be the only water sport I've seen that has totally missed the boat in terms of glamour. Those girls are truly working it. This has got to be one of the most athletic competitions out there. Are they nuts? They're treading water, fighting each other, and trying to throw a ball into a net. Made me tired just looking at them.

Plus their head gear gives them this oh-so attractive nun habit look. I have no other way of describing it. They look like broad-shouldered, fierce, kick your ass nuns. And because they're so focused on the game, the expressions on their faces seem positively beatific.

NBC tried to make up for the sex appeal though, in these little jazzy breaks between plays where they'd show individual team members. First a close up still photo, then a live-action shot while the girl would gamely, yet hesitantly shuffle along to upbeat music. I could just hear the director, off camera saying, "Loosen up, have fun, throw your hair! You're at the SexOlympics!"'

Skip, skip, skip to my Lou

This article in today's New York Time's (subscription may be required), talks about how the iPod seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to shuffle preferences. Seems kind of odd to feature it in the paper now, since the iPod has been out for a while. Nevertheless, I found this particular passage amusing:

"It is truly bizarre," said Mr. Cedarholm, who no longer likes Fugazi. "Before, it was this hidden gem, and when I heard them I would be like, 'Oh yeah. Fugazi. Cool.' "

Now he hits the Fast Forward button.

And now the NYT's writer show her age. Maybe not in physical years, but in mindset. Fast Forward? What is this? 1977 in front of Mom and Dad's tape deck? I think not.

Skip, people, skip. Mr. Cedarholm skip's through his music.

With one term, the NYT's sounds positively dowdy.

All's Fair

This is what we are striving for: equal opportunity oogling.

Truly. This land was made for you and me.