Righteous Indigestion

I’ve been getting a lot of questions about my experiences with the Trader Joe’s Complete Body Cleanse.  The lovely Higginbottom, if you’ve been keeping score, is a seasoned french-fry when it comes to pain of the gall bladder.  She had to have her gall bladder removed earlier this year after several severe hospital trip inducing bouts of attack.  I started to have gall bladder pains myself.  So we decided to try it out. 

I was having sharp pains in my side and symptoms I was attributing to mild heartattack (thankfully I was wrong, it may have just been gas pains).  I did the full 2 weeks, even delaying the start of my blood pressure medication because I wanted to give it the full try. 

I pooped a lot.  That was one thing.  Mostly in the mornings, I would unleash my vengeance on the pipes.  The gall bladder pain went away, but I was also eating moderately more healthy.  Based on what was in the pills, it appears that Trader Joe took the policy that you should throw everything at the problem and probably something would stick.  So at the end of the whole run, my gallbladder pain DID go away.  But I don’t know if that was because of the Trader Joe’s cleanse.  I’m not exactly what one would deem a “healthy body type”.  I’m rather “gelatinous and fat-gorging”.  So perhaps it was just eating healthier that benefitted me?  

On the Simpsons, Lisa tries to explain to Homer the concept of flawed deductive logic.  She holds up a rock she finds on the floor of the house and says “Because there are no tigers here, I could say that this rock prevents tigers.”  Obviously it doesn’t.  So while my gall bladder and digestive pains temporarily went away, I don’t know whether or not that was because of the cleanse. But I did feel better after doing it.  

Weeks later, I’m still having some gas pains, but I’m also eating for shit.  If you are looking for a better gall bladder cleanse, Higginbottom prefers a harsher flush that involves drinking a cup of olive oil and orange juice as well as fasting for two days.  It’s pretty heinous.  I haven’t tried it.  

So does trader joe’s work?  Probably.  

I was thoroughly shamed by Higginbottom, who got up this morning at the asscrack of dawn so she could go and do yoga in our tiny, dirty living room. She is getting all up on the whole bootcampery while I am laying in bed and dozing.  I fail at life. 

I weighed myself this morning, prepared for the inevitable.  My blood pressure has been spiking as of late, and I’m worried about it.  The BP has been weird in that that systolic has continued to go down, but the diastolic is going back up.  I want it stay under 100.  It has to be below 90.  It better go below 80.  But it was above today.  However, the sys has been 139-145, which while not a victory, is cool. 

But my weight this morning?  203.  The fuck?  My goal weight for this week is 202.  Which is three days away and completely doable.  Much like Jesus.  That was sacredelicious, even for me.  I need to get my shit together and start busting it out.

Higginbottom believes I will benefit from yoga, in that it should lower my blood pressure.  I find it too….fruity?…to take seriously.  Who knows though?  My heart’s been doing the rage cage tango all week, so that would probably help.  Higs says that thinking positively and acting positively might be causing me to lose weight. 

All I know is, I can see my ribs.  Over my tremendous gut.  I truly feel like the Buddha.

Man.  I am atwitter with serious fuckery. 

I’ve pretty much managed to completely allow my life to be derailed by my insanely hectic schedule.  That’s no excuse.  And it’s beginning to wear on me.   I am currently trying to find new employment, which will hopefully come to fruition sometime this week.  I had promised myself I would be out of Glide Rite by March.  I hadn’t intended on it working out this way, but so much the so better.  I am also trying to match up a busy rehearsal schedule with a writing schedule.   I have to have the first draft of something turned in by April 15th.  Now, the cheater that I am, I actually already have two things already written out.  But I’m still trying to write new stuff.

So my diet has gone off the tracks, over the trestle and into the fucking ravine.  I have been essentially eating not just too much, but horribly.  I’m talking chili cheeseburgers, Cap’n Crunch milkshakes, pizzas, quesadillas, just absolutely horrible for you delicious gross shit.  I’ve been skipping breakfast and lunch because of stomach pains, then housing a big old meal, then laying around feeling sick.  Seriously, yesterday consisted of three meals of cake and butterfinger ice cream.  It’s like I’m a fucking six year old.

Strangely enough, I’ve kept my weight at or around 206.  I don’t know how or why.  And my body isn’t particularly fatter.  I’m still a husky lad, but I’ve been eating for shit. 

I wanted to be sub deuce for St. Paddy’s day, but that was a pipe dream that never came to pass.  Because I figured this would be a pass weekend.  But then I forgot I’d be taking my blood pressure medication.  It’s still coming in high, at like 142/90, and I need it down to at least 130/85 to feel better.  But I’ve been taking my medication and then passing right the fuck out.  Drowsy and unable to operate machinery?  Try instant fucking coma. 

Well, because it wasn’t coming down fast enough, the doctor wants me to potentially up the dosage.  I don’t want to do this.  I didn’t want to be on hypertension medication to begin with.  But, I have to do something so my heart no asplode.  But it’s still spiking high, and I’m afraid that I’m going to need to go up another notch on the ol’ medical belt buckle.  If I dieted like a normal boy and I kept taking my meds, and I got exercise, I should be able to combat this.  But I’ve been feeling like hell.

St. Paddy’s Day proved to be problematic.  I called a pharmacy to find out whether or not I could drink.  On my medication, it doesn’t say do not mix with alcohol.  On the safety packaging, it doesn’t say not to mix with alcohol.  I looked it up online.  It says with Atenolol, the effects of the medication could be increased by the usage of alcohol.  It also says not to skip a dosage.  That’s what’s on most of the paperwork.  Do NOT miss a pill.  If you remember, and it’s more than 8 hours between  your next dose, then take it.  But if it’s less than that, don’t take it, and go to the next one.  But it’s really important not to overdose.  Because that could be potentially coma city.  The pharmacist said, well, it doesn’t recommend it, but one or two drinks couldn’t hurt.  And then, because he’s a smart guy, he says, but I figure you want to do more than one or two drinks?  I said, yup.  He says, wait 10 hours between drinking and not drinking to take the pills.  But I don’t recommend it. 

Well, I like my alcohol.  But I like not going to the hospital more.  My weapon of choice is the Irish Car Bomb.  I bought the mixtures, and even some shot glass and Guinness pub glasses for the occasion.  So that afternoon, I chugged the car bomb, and then gently sipped the remaining Guinness.  I would wait two hours, and then drank one more.  I drank two on the night.  Then at our friends party, I wore my beer mug foam hat (best dollar spent at Target evah) and drank one more Guinness.  Then I stopped.  It kind of killed me to stop.  I wasn’t even acquainted with the word buzzed.  I wasn’t even tipsy.  I wasn’t even delightfully ribald.  I was essentially stone cold sober.  Which is not the point of St. Paddy’s.  So I failed myself and my heritage. 

Later that night, after much deliberation, I decided to take my pill at midnight.  I had stopped drinking at 8 or eight thirty.  Being the meaty fellow I am, I figured, the alcohol has to have processed by now.  So I took my pill. 

The next morning, my blood pressure was 129/89 the lowest it has been yet. But it also means I can’t consume alcohol until I fix myself.  Or at least, no more than one drink. 

I am putting myself on a boot camp regimen.  I seriously need some order and discipline in my life.  I am measuring and preparing and adhering to my tightened schedule.  Food plans, exercise plans, writing plans.  I need to do this.  My chest pains are starting to rear their ugly heads again.  And I don’t want that on my conscience.  I want to be healthy so I can enjoy my life.  I don’t want to have to worry if an occasional cup of coffee will kill me.  I want to be able to enjoy a big dinner because I eat healthy most of the time.  I want to be able to run around and play with the kids I will be able to have because I didn’t fucking die. 

I’m sad because I feel like I have to put away the foam hats and the Hawaiian shirts and the beer bongs and start acting all grown up and mature.  I feel like I have to relearn how to have fun.  It sucks.  I feel like I’m sacrificing the part of myself that’s fun and entertaining to stay alive.  And that’s depressing. 

You know what’s an excellent way to lose weight?  Not eating anything!  All day!  Except one meal!  That’s how all the girls in my gymnastics troupe do it, and they’re SUPER skinny, for reals!  I mean, I have to actually choke down a sandwich or a piece of dark chocolate here or there, because I’m not dedicated like Shaundra!  I mean, she looks totally pretty.  For a xylophone draped in cloth.  I can’t wait until my periods stop!  Saving money all over the place!

Higginbottom and I both seem to be on the receiving end of some sort of monstrous dysentery or some such shit.  I’ve not been eating much of anything since Sunday, and she’s barely getting meals in either.  I don’t feel weak, I just feel sick to my stomach.  So I haven’t been eating. Needless to say, my weight is at 204. 

I have headshots scheduled for today, so I went and ate something so that I don’t look like a melting pumpkin.  It felt good to ingest food, but it’s totally sitting in my stomach and complaining right now.  I don’t know if this is a side effect of something or I just don’t need a lot of food right now.  I just don’t want to shell out tons of money for my meals.  We’re on a stiff budget. 

or, How I Went on an Inadvertent Vision Quest, Found My Balls In An Oasis, and Decimated An Indian Tribe

I’m starting over. 

To say I fell off the wagon might be accurate, but there wasn’t a wagon to fall off of.  Also, I didn’t fall that far.  It’s more of a realigning of my priorities and the means by which I achieve my goals.  I am doing the right thing, but I’m doing it the wrong way, and I need to find a better way to do the same thing but differently.  Let me simplify things.

I am starting over.

This past week into the weekend has been particularly stressful.  I had a long heart-to-heart with my cousin and realized that I had my priorities all out of whack.  I went through a desperate struggle to finally get the medical care that I needed so badly, and I still don’t have coverage.  I am moving forward with my life, but getting there is all out of control.  I feel like I was carrying groceries down icy stairs, slipped, all the groceries flew up into the air, and I slid down the stairs, managed to stay on my feet, and all the food fell back into the bag.  None of it was exceedingly graceful, but I landed and all is well.  Well, I’m still in mid fall, but all the groceries are back in the bag, and I’m pretty sure I’ll make it. 

But I went right off the South Beach Diet, delayed taking my blood pressure medication until I finished the Trader Darwin’s Complete Body Cleanse, and concentrated on putting myself in a happy place.  The Complete Body Cleanse feels like it worked.  I had intense gallstone pain prior to taking it.  I don’t anymore.  I was incredibly gassy the entire time I did it, and I would poop like it was a game show, and we wouldn’t win the Nissan Versa unless I filled the plastic bucket.  But it was expensive, and may have been a waste of money.  You can’t really purge gallstones.  You can only settle them.  But I took medicine that let my liver clean itself up, and that’s always good.  And now I’m on the blood pressure medication.

The doctor put me on Atenolol, which is also for angina.  I have to take it at night, because it’s totally making me groggy.  I get severe night sweats, and my heart always feels weird.  But I think it’s because my body is actually calming itself.  My blood pressure is down to 129/93.  That’s fucking huge. And I’ve taken two pills.  But I think it’s because my body was so used to running at full steam, that now that it is slowing down, it’s beginning to hurt.  My chest gets sore, but not stabbing pain sore.  More like muscle pain sore.  Like if you’ve been walking a while, and stop.  Your legs hurt.  My chest has been beating so hard, it’s now starting to relax.  My heartbeat is strong, but slower.  MUCH slower.  So that’s awesome.

My cholesterol is 204.  Which is not great, but I don’t need to be on medication.  My LDL is 137, and my HDL is 38.  So I’m just short of the safety zones on those.  But that’s the entire point of the South Beach Diet, is that it will reverse the cholesterol.  It did the last time I did the diet, and there’s no reason to expect it not to continue.  I had a 36 point switcheroo.  I don’t have kidney stones, or calcium issues, or diabetes dangers.  My triglycerides are in the good zone.   So as long as I keep taking my hypertension meds, I should be great. 

Saturday, Higginbottom and I decided to go to Anzo-Borrego State Park to see the desert bloom.  There are supposedly 400 different kinds of plantlife, and it only blossoms really strongly for two weeks out of the year.  So we drove the three hours plus to the park.  We packed a case of waterbottles and peanut butter pretzels, cereals, lots of starchy carbs for the exercise.   The park is the largest in California, and Higginbottom loves to take-a the photographs, so I said, let’s do it.  Me, I fucking hate nature.  I admire it, it’s great, but I’m not the camping/hiking kind of guy.  Even though my youth was spent running through Pennsylvanian deep woods over boulders and cricks. 

We got to the visitor’s center, which was packed like fudge.  Because everyone else had the same goddamn idea.  We strolled around the visitor’s center, admiring the different kinds of cacti and little flowers.  There was a cement walkway leading off towards the Campground Trail.  Now we knew that there was the Palm Canyon Trail that lead into Bouquet Canyon.  Supposedly this was where the really awesome flowers were.  So we walked the path.  It lead through a psuedo garden landscape, with little signs explaining the different foliage and fauna we would see. 

As we were coming around the path, I see a dark shadow springing towards us at high speeds.  My brain instantly processes that this thing was a rabbit, a wild hare, because it’s ears were literally 3 times the size of it’s body.  I throw both my hands out and back into Higginbottom to block her, shouting out, “WHOA!”  It turned out to be two rabbits dashing across the desert plain.  I was proud of myself that my instinct was the protect Higginbottom, not to flee.  She laughed at me, saying, “You were scared of bunnies?”  I told her that, yes, I was freaked out, but what worried me wasn’t the first rabbit, but whatever was chasing it.  Since, it could potentially have been a mountain lion or a coyote.  And if they saw all this meat, they’d probably decide on a bigger meal.  Because I am Wilderness Jones. 

We walked the 1/2 mile path to come to the campground, and saw a sign that lead down a sandy path that said Palm Canyon Trail 1/2 mile.  So just when we thought we were walking the trail, we found we were at the beginning again.  So we walked a full mile to come upon a smaller parking lot that was full.  This was the paid lot, which was the beginning of the actual Palm Canyon Trail.  There was a little sign that said, at the end of this rocky mountainous 1.5 mile hike is a beautiful oasis.  So we just hiked a mile to get there.  There was no water at the end of the trail, so we filled our four little water bottles and decided let’s give it a go. 

As Higginbottom sagely pointed out, it was very Zen.  Just as we thought we were at the end of our journey, we had reached the beginning.  I pointed out that it wasn’t as if we had to hike 1.5 miles.  We had to hike 3 miles, up and back, to get to the fresh water again, since there was no water suitable for human consumption at the oasis, which I found to be hilariously ironic.  But we didn’t just have to hike 3 miles, we had to hike that, and then the same mile we just went across.  So it was actually going to end up being a 6 mile hike.  In the desert.  Under a blazing sun. 

We went for it.

It was an arduous trek, up boulder strewn canyons.  It was very narrow, and we kept taking the wrong path.  It wasn’t exactly delineated out with a path or anything.  There were arrows here or there, and little number markers that were seemingly randomly strewn along.  There wasn’t much shadowy areas to rest.  And it was a crowded path, with at least a hundred or so hikers going along with us.  We would take constant breaks.  Higginbottom looked like she was getting heat stroke, and I kept asking her if she wanted to go back.  Because I couldn’t carry her back.  She would rest, and then we would push forward.  It was very spiritual.  I was proud of myself, because I was able to endure.  I kept looking back and helping Higginbottom along the way.  I didn’t want her to hurt herself, but I knew she’d be crushed if we didn’t make it. 

It was demoralizing at times, because there were some Abercrombiesque couples fitnessing their way past us.  Also, families with small children.  And groups of senior citizens.  But we made it along at our own clip, careful not to over exert ourselves.  As I said, I had been raised running through woods as a kid, and climbing up hills and mountains.  So I know to climb with your hands.  I looked like I was doing parkour at points, springing off of rocks and using the sides of things to slide myself along.  Once Higginbottom got into the stride, she was doing much better.  We finally crested the oasis, which was essentially a bunch of palm trees at the foot of a creekbed.  It was a huge shady, boulder-strewn area, where we rested.  I finished reading A Canticle for Liebowitz, which is about the end of the world, and a desert monastery.  It was the perfect place to finish up. 

We rested, and ended up eating the entire bag of peanut butter pretzels and we were still hungry.  I knew from having marathon running friends that we needed limited proteins and much carbs for all the exertion.   We weren’t sweaty, because all of our hydration was going to our bodies.  We had to conserve our water on the walk back, but the sun had gone down a bit, and we were rested, so it wasn’t too hard.  We finally crashed back at the cars, and told ourselves while we were out this way, we’d go visit the Salton Sea.  And get some seafood.

The Salton Sea is the world’s largest saltwater accidentally man-made sea.  I don’t know the full story, but wikipedia it, and you’ll see.  Anyway, we just followed the road 30 miles or so out to the Salton Sea.  It was nothing.  It was less than nothing.  It’s a trailer park desolated wasteland on one of the sketchiest beaches this side of Revere north of Boston.  We pulled up, Higginbottom snapped a photo, and off we bolted.  We didn’t even try to stop.

We guessed our way home by going north on the 86 until we passed Coachella.  Coachella, also a disappointment.  Though we didn’t actually enter the city proper.  Because there doesn’t appear to be a city proper.  Maybe it’s similar to Iowa City, and it’s a hip college town.  Or maybe it’s a desert joint in the middle of nowhere. 

Instead we ended up on the 10 West, and followed the same trail I took to LA a little over a year and a half ago.  I’m stealing from Higginbottom, but so far on the adventure, we’d learned many lessons.  Sometimes it doesn’t matter what path you take, it will always lead to where you need to go.  I truly love Higginbottom, because it was more important to me that she make it and she be okay, so it really strengthed our relationship.  I have strong stuff inside of me, and whatever I’ve been doing to better myself is working, even though I’m still wrestling with a crushing depression.  Also, fuck what other people are doing, go at your own pace, and you’ll get there, and you might get more out of it.  We got to see a desert bighorn, because we stopped.  We got to see iguanas and birds, because we were walking slow.  It worked out for us.  Also, no matter what a place has for name reputation, it means nothing.  That’s right Salton Sea.  I’m fucking talking to your dumb bitch ass.

So on our way home, I talked Higginbottom into stopping at the Morongo Casino to hit their buffet.  We got there, sat down, and proceeded to demolish their impressive layout.  We decimated that motherfucker.  I had to laugh that we went on a vision quest and THEN ended up at an Indian casino, but since when have I ever done anything the right way?  We piled up six or seven plates of garbage.  I have officially cured my need for bad foods.  No more will I crave fried foods (at least for another couple months) or deserts or chinese foods.   I’ve killed them.  I waged war with the Gods of Chicken Fried Steak and Taquitos.  I vanquished Baron Burnt Pizza, and his minions of Hush Puppies and Sausage Gravy.  Emperor Dessert Bar tried to hurl cake and cookie and creampuff at me, trying a final wave of “iced cream”, but my papaya fu is strong, and pineapple helps break down protein enzymes.   I kill you, Morongo Casino.  I kill you dead.

So home we arrived, and collapsed.  I have been running illness and fever, so I haven’t been able to eat much.  But as I said, I’m starting over.  Since I’ll probably be leaving my job, that means no more Y membership.  So my exercise regimen has to change.  I’m on the hypertension medication, and that’s working, so I have to keep tabs on that.  I’m running around for the new theatre troupe I’ve joined, and I’ve got rehearsals and meetings and all sorts of crap.  It’s wild.  It’s also hard to work my diet.  But I need to be on the South Beach Diet.  So I’m going to redo phase 1.  I’m already having problems trying to figure out how to eat right.

But I weighed myself this morning.  And I was 205.  So all my damage has been done.  And I can push myself below 200.  I have the will power.  I have been to the Oasis at the end of Bouquet Canyon, and I have cursed its Champagne Supernova.  I have defeated the proud warriors of the Pechanga Canyon Buffet, at Morongo Casino and Resort Spa.  I have carried Higginbottom into the mouth of Hell itself, and protected her from the killer rabbits and varied cacti.  I have proven my love.  I have miles to go before I sleep, but I am strong. 

I’ve got papaya fu, motherfucker.

Alright, so between stress and laziness and feel-goodery, I managed to fall wholeheartedly off the wagon.  We got a pizza the other night.  An extra large Papa Johns.  And then because I was running around not eating for my medical appointments, and was totally fucking stressed out, I went to Uncle Hogly Wogly’s Tyler Texas BBQ for lunch.  Because of all the crazy shit that’s been ongoing, I haven’t been working out at all.  We’re back on track, managing to keep a relative Phase 1.5 to get our shit in order.   And so it was with a heavy heart (pun fully intended for those in the know of my maladies) I jumped on the scale this morning. 

206.

The fuck?

It was almost 205.  And I didn’t even go commando as is my wont.  I lost a pound.  Eating like fucking garbage.  And I’ve still got more of the week left to lose more.  But I feel fatter, so I checked the measurements.  I went down another half inch on my stomach and chest.  And my hips.  I think what happened was, my fat has gone into fallout mode, and is falling into my stomach again.  So my stomach just LOOKS fatter, but it’s actually not too shabby.  Plus, since I will be starting rehearsals, that’s usually guaranteed to net me another couple pounds worth of hard core workout.  Try jumping around like a jerkoff under hot stage lights for a solid hour.  You’ll sweat like Michael Jackson at a Chuck E. Cheese. 

But this was a lucky break, and fallout may still occur later because of it.  So I’m on notice.  But it is nice to know that I can still have a day or two once in a while where I can let things slide.  And if I’m going to do this seriously, I need to get my shit together. 

Well, this week has been a thorough disaster as far as eating habits go.  Yesterday, since thin crust pizza is legit on Phase 2, though probably later on in the phase, I ate a whole thin crust pizza from California Pizza Kitchen.  Because of this, dinner consisted of a non-fat, decaf, sugar-free caramel latte with splenda.  I decided to take all the purposes out of coffee-beverages and leave a tasty husk in its place.  Dessert is normally a ricotta creme, but it turned out I was completely out of fucking ricotta.  So instead, I ate 7 dark chocolate covered blueberries.  (Which is also allowed by Phase 2).  I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked up this week solidly. 

I worked out on Wednesday, and it went alright, but the gym was so fucking crowded I just didn’t have any ambitions.  So I did 20 on the bike and 25 on the treadmill and called it.  This weekend was going to be our date weekend, but in the next two days we have to get groceries, workout, go to the free clinic (thanks American Healthcare System!), audition for a theatre group, memorize and prepare my monologue, work 8 hours to make up for a sick day last week, and you know spend time alone with my lady.

Like I said, this is the difficult part of the diet, the part where you continue to bust your ass for minimal results.  I have committed to spending the next 6 months busting my ass to lose weight, in a safe and healthy way, and it’s going to take me over 30 weeks to maybe lose a pound or two a week.  It’s really frustrating.  And I have to mete out my carb intake and it STILL might be too much.  And I still might have to start over, because I fucked up that first two weeks. 

I’m just furious.  And I don’t want to work out, because I think by doing exercise, I’m building muscle, which is actually fucking up my weight loss.  I don’t feel like I’m losing any weight anymore.  And it’s annoying.  I hate this fucking diet.  I hate that I got so fat in the first place.  And that I’m so severely out of shape, I have to go to a doctor before I AUDITION, to make sure that I don’t fucking die first.  That I can’t afford to do this.  It feels like it’s taxing every single part of me: financial, spiritual, social, and emotional.  Physically, it’s not a hard diet to follow.  It’s just that it is a diet.  I don’t care what fucking Agatston says.  You cannot live your life without pasta and bread. 

But am I going to give up?  NO.  I’m so pissed off, but I can channel that better.  It just feels like I spend my life rushing around from one place to the other and I don’t have any time to appreciate it.  I can’t sit back and say, “Ahhhhh.”  Our gym takes 20 minutes to drive to (if we’re lucky), and then my workout can run over an hour, because I have to work out aerobically.  I can’t do bursts of intense exercise, because it could kill me, or at the very least severly hurt me.  Which I can’t afford, because I don’t have healthcare.  And so, any time I want to work out, it costs me 2 hours of my day.   Which must occur after 6:30, because that’s the earliest Higginbottom gets home from her toiling at the salt mines.   It sucks.  It just sucks.  It does not leave any time for anything else.  And even on the days when we don’t work out, we have to fit in time to prep food, or shop for groceries or do laundry, or any of the other nonsense that’s day to day responsibility.  Don’t forget, after the workout, we still have to cook dinner.   Even if we don’t have chores, we’re so fucking exhausted from our day to day shit, that we pass the fuck out.  I honestly have insane amounts of respect for parents.  How you do this, and fit in time to raise children, is beyond me.

I weigh in tomorrow, and I’m dreading it.  Granted, I’m still fighting, but I feel like if I could just break under 205 some time soon, I’d feel a little better.  Especially if I could break under 200.  That would be awesome.   I’m still fighting.  It just sucks. 

My weight was 207 this morning.  Three of the five days were spent on Phase 1, so I don’t know how much of the loss was due to that.  I’ll have to keep on to see how this progresses.  And yesterday, due to the fucked up nature of life getting in the way, required me to eat a lunch out of the home, and to not eat dinner.  I still got in the six meals, it was that they were out of order and messed up.  Lunch was from Quizno’s, a small turkey-bacon-guacamole sub on wheat bread, with a side salad and diet Coke.  Dinner was then, an apple and ten sips of coffee before I realized that holy shit, why am I drinking coffee, am I an asshole?   The sub was delicious.  I missed carbs.  And since weigh loss still happened, and I shifted some food around, I will assume I’m on the right track.  I am going to stick with this sort of nebulous Phase 1.5, because it feels like it’s working.  Like I said, March is going to be the bitch.  March is where I need to concentrate on watching what I eat.  That’s where I’ll fuck shit up. 

I think if I slowly reintroduce carbs, it’ll be on nights when I work out.  Not that I earn the carbs then, but I’ll burn them better.  I will only stagger in some carbs here and there.  We’ve already reverted to egg breakfasts on the mornings.  And the cereal is okay. 

Higginbottom has introduced me to the glory that is Stevia.  It’s a sugar substitute that supposedly doesn’t cancer up the labrats.  I made a ricotta creme with it last night, and it tasted fine, so it’ll work.  It just means that if I want coffee while I’m out of the house (and I do want coffee, heart a-splode be damned), I have to start carrying Stevia in my purse  satchel.  I’m also contemplating sprinkling Makara cinnamon and Stevia on my cereal.  I’ve never put sugar on cereal, because I’ve always eaten cereal that’s been endorsed by celebrities (Reeses) or the Navy (Admiral Horatio Crunch). 

I’ve also made my workout playlists.  But the only way to really test out the workout playlists is by, well, working out.  I’m actually posting about the workout playlists over at the other blog. It just feels more like a discussion best presented over there.  But sufficed it to say, in true me fashion, I ended up making five fucking playlists.  Like I’ll need that.  Ah well, variety is the spice of life.  Followed closely by Makara cinnamon.

The superbadgood news is that despite only shedding 2 pounds, it all came pretty much from the upper decks.  I’m at 47 inches on my chest and 47 1/2 on my stomach.  My manboobs are swiftly downgrading to training bra status.  I still totally pull a Buddha when I sit down, because where else is the fat going to go, but I think the chest is still bulky is because it’s falling into my armpits.  I have sideboob.  That’s been the strange part about the weightloss.  I always had a sort of Jell-O mold of fat around my waist and chest, a solid jiggly mass.  But now, all the fat is breaking down and shifting, so I sort of look like a trashbag full of Jell-O squares.  You know, something that creepy lady with the cigarette and wandering eye sends to picnics with her two dirty children.  But I’ll take the victory.  I look thinner, and I’m feeling good.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to hit sub 200 for St. Paddy’s Day.

Ironically, I just read Ms. Bend the Round’s post about proper workout music.  Which I was just about to post about myself.  Weird.  Kismetic, perhaps.  Or, because it’s damn silly hard to find workout music. 

I’ve been using the Nine Inch Nails Year Zero album, and then Serj Tankerian (I know that’s not how you spell it, I’m just too lazy to research the proper spelling) Elect the Dead.  Mostly because they’ve been the closest to fast techno stuff I’ve got.  I’m not a big techno fan.  My brother kind of eased me through what I do listen to.  I like Gravity Kills and Stabbing Westward okay, but for the most part the whole transient beats thing escapes me.  It sounds like noise.  I tried a little Crystal Method and Chemical Brothers, but I don’t want the soundtrack to MTV’s AMP, you know? 

So I’m working on trying to assemble a ska/punk workout playlist.  I have no idea where to start, and I’ll probably just end up making a late 90’s angry-at-your-dad, stab-your-girlfriend playlist instead.  But if anyone (and by anyone, I pretty much mean Bend the Round and Wolfe) has any suggestions, I’m all for it. 

Being Italian and Irish, going carbless is tantamount to spiritual warfare.  One portion of my lineage craves whiskey, potatoes, and beer.  The other half NEEDS breads and pastas.  So it’s difficult.  Despite the unwary sabotage, and narrowly managing to waylay a second this weekend (what is so difficult for baristas to understand when you order a SKINNY latte.  It even says Sugar Free syrups and Non-Fat Milk.  I ordered IN THEIR CODE.  Why they try to kill me, Dimmi?  Why?!), I decided to go into the Phase 2 portion of the diet. 

The interim phase between Phase 2 and Phase 1 is when most people fuck-up and quit the diet.  I will not do that.  Basically, the book itself sabotages you.  They offer you a Phase 2 menu that’s all carbed foods.  Which is what you might be eating the sixth or eighth week of the Phase 2.  You can only reintroduce a small portion of very specific carbs into your diet.  At first.  Basically, the idea is, you eat some carbs for a couple days, check your weight.  If you’ve gone up, you do three days on Phase 1 to settle your hash, and then go back to Phase 2 and try again.  You also lose much less weight during this phase.  A pound or two a week.  Usually, it tends to be barely a pound.  After the super phase of Phase 1.  So some people waffle back and forth, between Phase 1 and Phase 2.  Others get discouraged, make up their own plan, and start bargaining with themselves.  Yeah, you know, if I just eat one or two Oreos, what’s it going to matter?  Or, I’ll just eat less Phase 1 type foods and then have a whole pizza. 

Now, the trick is to steady the course.  To be smart.   But it’s hard going carbless non-Atkins style for most of the diet.  On Atkins, people could eat bacon or ribs and not care.   But that’s why they die from heart attacks.  This is a smart low-carb.  Did you know cow’s milk has fucking sugar in it?  Natural sugars, but still.  Found that shit out this morning, blew my mind.  You’d be surprised what’s in foods.  Even organic foods.  They use organic or evaporated organic cane juice.  That’s sugar cane, my friends.  That’s sugar.  No shit. 

Essentially, the farther down the ingredients list your evaporated sugar cane is, the less amount there is in there.  Because we really like the Kashi Heart to Heart cheerio-like cereal.  But that’s got sugar cane juice in it.  But it’s the sixth or seventh thing on the list.  Once it’s past four, it’s kind of safe. 

I’ve become label savvy.  And this is an experimental portion of the diet.  It’s a diet, you’re supposed to eat in a manner that is not crash-diet specific.  So I’ve started slow.  I’ve actually started faster than I had previously expected.  Essentially, I’ve gotten fed the fuck up with eggs and lunchmeat.  I like lunchmeat, but when you eat it in roll-up form, you taste and tear the individual tendons of fatty muscle.  It’s grossinating.  It’s so disgusting I had to make up the word grossinating to describe it.  So I replaced them with carb alternatives. 

I am essentially eating the same stuff as on Phase 1, except I’m going to replace the eggs with cereal, and the lunchmeat rollups with a piece of fruit.  I missed fruit like Joan Rivers misses being able to close her lips.  Now, these are two carbs added to the meals.  If it comes down to it, I’ll go back to the cereal.  On the weekends, I’m eating eggs still.  It’s just time consuming to get up in the morning and make eggs while making lunch and two snacks.  I would like to sleep.

The cereal I’ve chosen is called Uncle Sam.  It’s essentially flaxseeds and whole wheat flakes.  There are 10g of dietary fiber in this bitch.  I eat from a tiny little cereal bowl, with a bit of 1% milk.  It does not taste great, but after chowing down scrambled eggs for 14 straight days, it’s a godsend.  And with all the fiber, the carbs will be washed out in the inevitable colon blow that will occur.  So we’ll see how this plays out over the next couple of days.  I’m eating an apple today, and you have no idea how much I’m looking forward to that. 

But lunch is going to be leftover chicken parmigian (which Jenny kind of improvised last night with organic sugar free roasted garlic sauce from Trader Joe’s and can I just say oh my damn!  it’s just sauce, garlicked up chicken breast, low-fat mozzarella and parmigian and romano cheese, but it made me stop eating and concentrate on not crying with joy.  And that’s shit’s Phase 1, son!) and a small no-frills salad.  And dinner will be tacos and romaine.  According to the SBD, that’s about what you’re supposed to eat anyway.  And I cut out calories, because I don’t use mayonnaise or salad dressings. 

The other portion of my new health regimen is this product we picked up, Trader Joe’s Trader Darwin’s Complete Body Cleanse.  It’s a liver, gall bladder, digestive system cleanse.  Less drastic than the one Higginbottom has done before, so I’m all for it.  It’s mostly taking a lot of pills.  I’m going a couple days on it to see if I’ll stick out the whole week or not.  It really hurt last night, because to cleanse the gallbladder means to rattle around the stones.  But any sort of cleanse does cause discomfort.  If it gets too bad, off to the free clinic I go! 

I’m looking thinner, and feeling better.  So that’s good. I just need to keep it up.  Now is the challenging part of the diet.  I wish I had more of a weightloss head start on this badboy.  But it took me several years to build up an army of fat, so it’s going to come apart a piece by precious piece at a time.