Steamroller

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Easy Breezes, Unsweetened Coconut Milk, and Ginger Beer (aka: My Latest Disastrous Effort at Self Improvement)

It’s 232 days until my 40th birthday. 

Which is a mere 335,267 minutes.

At the beginning of our journey to 40, Samantha had the idea of launching our journey with 30 days of clean eating.  She had a specific eating plan in mind and she and her guy, G, did beautifully with the whole thing.  I agreed with much enthusiasm and frequented the pinterest board she’d made for gathering recipes.  We weren’t allowed any (any, any, ANY) added sugar so that was going to be a bit of a challenge but, that aside, when the predetermined start day came to pass, I was ready.

I know what you’re thinking:  O…oh dear, dear, O….with all your booze…and coffee…and cheese…and booze…and…well…booze—is such a plan really a realistic one?  And, I would remind you of that one time I did a juice fast.  For thirty (THIRTY) whole days I consumed nothing but fresh fruit and vegetable juice.  Yes, perhaps, I fudged a little by interpreting coffee as “coffee bean juice,” which, strictly speaking wasn’t totally allowed (freakin’ rules).  And, yes, a week and a half in, I may have had a conversation with myself that went something like this:

Me:  I mean--wine is kind of like juice.
Me:  No…it’s not.  You are only supposed to be drinking juice you can get straight from the pitcher of your juicer.
Me:  Truuue…but let’s think about this:  It’s just fermented juice.
Me:  Well…yes…but…
Me:  I mean, sure…I could juice some grapes into the juicer pitcher and then wait for it all to ferment…but why not just grab that bottle right there and cork it?  So what if they did the juicing and fermenting for me?  Big deal!  I could even POUR the wine INTO the juice pitcher, if it makes you (me) feel better.

And, it did, my people.  Pouring the wine into the pitcher DID make me feel better. 

And, so, I MAY have had a couple (3.5 large glasses) of wine during that 30 days.  The point is, other than a little creative rule interpretation, I totally did a 30 day juice fast.  At least with Samantha’s plan, I could consume actual food.  This was going to be a breeze.

And, THEEEERE it is. 

Every ridiculous experience of my whole life has been predicated on my faith in easy-breeziness.
 
Every.  Single.  Last.  One. 

(Ie:  Spiritual transcendence?  Sure…grab some fishing weights, pie tins, and climb up on the dining table—easy peasy.  Or…need to accessorize?  Sure--go to the store and *shrugs* try on some rings—what could go wrong?  Or…possible night time intruder?  Grab that bamboo stick and make like you’re a samurai—simple-dimple.  Or…well…I could go on and on here, people…but you get the gist)

So, I begin my clean eating adventure.  And, about a week and a half in, this happens:

Me:  *takes swig of unsweetened coconut milk that had been sitting in fridge since the diet began  because after having had two gulps I thought I hated it*  Whoa...that's not bad.  I don't know why I thought I didn't like it.  My taste buds must be getting accustomed to not having sugar because, *swigs* wow, that is really tasty.
Later, Holden (11 year old extraordinaire) walks into the room:
Me:  You should try the coconut milk again.  I know you didn't like it--but I thought I didn't like it and I'm on my second glass.  Seriously.  It's not bad!  I don't know if maybe I forgot to shake the carton before or something...but...it's really good!
Holden:  Oh, I do like it now.
Me:  *takes long, head tipped back gulp* So yummy, right?  
Holden:  Well...yeah...now that Dad put all that Almond Joy coffee creamer in it to sweeten it up, it tastes much better.

Oh for hell’s sake!  &**#&*@!!

Then, about a week after that, I got a migraine.  Consequently, I became a little nauseous. 

Three things you should know at this point: 
  1.          I was not supposed to be consuming anything with added sugar (as I mentioned)
  2.          Having a migraine makes me impatient
  3.          Apparently, eating clean makes me just the smallest, teensiest bit cranky

So, nauseous, I stomp into the kitchen and say to no one in particular:

“Eff it.  I’m having a ginger beer.  It’ll help my stomach.”

I’m reaching for a goblet…because, hello?!?!  If I’m going to take a nose dive off my diet, I’m going to do so with a modicum of dignity.  I shall sit with the dignified air of Coco Chanel and the grace of Elizabeth Bennet, ice clinking in my goblet, as I cheat like Hugh Grant on Sunset Boulevard in the back seat of his Mercedes circa 1995.  This is the thought I’m entertaining myself with when I hear Chris open MY ginger beer.

I’m immediately annoyed because he didn’t invert the bottle prior to opening it.  So, now, all the ginger is in the bottom of the bottle and the entire bottle won’t fit in my iced goblet—thereby screwing up the ginger to sugared sparkling soda ratio completely.  So, in a moment of sheer idiocy, I grab the bottle angrily (I refer you to #2 above), place my palm over the top of it, and turn it over in an attempt to rectify the situation.

The pressure in the bottle builds and it immediately shoots two very precise streams directly into each of my eyes.  And, then, more pressure, and it squirts all over my hair, the front of my shirt, and, oddly enough, into my ear (I think I’d turned my head in order to avoid more eye shots).  I can’t see a single thing, all sound is garbled like my head is under water, and I’ve just mopped the day before and so I’m super pissed that my floor is getting all ginger beer-y (see #3 above).  I don’t want to increase the mess so, blinded, I’m standing in place saying, “Oh God…Chris…can you…Oh god…Oh god…Oh god…”

To which he replies, through what sounded like tear inducing laughter, “You are an idiot…”

Which, really, I thought was a pretty fair assessment of the situation and wasn’t the least offended.  I would have totally called him an idiot had the situation been reversed.  He, however, thought it was an awful thing to say and as he mopped my face was saying, “You’re not an idiot…I’m so sorry I called you an idiot…what you did was a little crazy…but you, YOU’RE not an idiot.”  He pretty much repeated this all afternoon, which only served to convince me that he DID, in fact, think I’d been an idiot--elsewise, why would he have felt so badly?

So, a warning:  If you try to spend the last year of your 30’s transforming into the most fabulous version of yourself, the universe may try to thwart you. 

And, if you try and purposefully CHEAT that transformation process? 

It may literally spit in your eye.

The experience wasn’t without value, however.  I did lose 7lbs (Samantha, who had less to lose, lost over double that number). 

And, I also learned: 

Ginger beer? 

That shit will sting the hell out of your eyes.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.


And now:  335,106 minutes to go.

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