Tonight’s The Night….

“Tonight’s the night we’ll make history, honey you and I…” So says Styx (don’t act like you don’t know). And this is what I’m telling my body. Tonight will be the start of my “Master Cleanse” body detox (aka Lemonade Diet). And I am trying to get my body geared up for making history – aka sticking to a diet I start. I’m pumped. Lets do this.

Of course because I am a responsible dieter and don’t want to throw my body into shock, I cut out caffeine already from my diet. I have not had one iota of caffeine since Sunday. I had the headache to prove it all day Monday. I feel so chic – I have now gone through drug withdrawal. I am soooo celeb.

Of course, this being my last day of freedom I had to indulge in some sensible splurges. For instance I hit Starbucks this morning but instead of my “tall, half-caf, nonfat, no whip mocha” that takes me longer to order than to drink, I got very sensible and caffeine free wild sweet-orange tea with NO sweetener. I am soooo good. (pat, pat, pat) For breakfast I got the Starbucks low fat banana chocolate-chip coffee cake. Since it says “low fat” I am sure that means it’s healthy and good for me. Normally I would not think banana-flavored cake with chocolate pieces in it was healthy, but Starbucks promised. They said. Starbucks would not lie to me. So down it went.

Then came lunch. There is a pretzel stand here downtown that is just a little independent guy doing his thing. And man he does it well. I am addicted. I had to have one before I went off into the diet darkness. But they have whole-wheat pretzels so therefore, once again – hello – good for me! Ok so they have so much butter on them they are shiny and I get them with cheddar cheese dipping sauce (or probably “cheddar-flavored” sauce) but still whole wheat = healthy goodness. So I truck my little butt off to the stand (plus I have to walk like half a mile to get there so that totally counteracts the calories and fat - its not like I'm having then delivered to my desk at the office... hey you think they do that??).

I got to my mecca and began to order. The plan was one whole wheat pretzel (as big as my head) with cheese. Oh crap - they were out of whole wheat. Oh man Oh man… well I already came all that way… so I got regular. And that walk made me really hungry. And it is my last day before fasting. So I got two. Each with cheese. And then I saw the pretzel bites. Little bite sized pieces of soft pretzel heaven. I would need an afternoon snack. So I got those too. A large order. With cheese.

At that point even I could no longer pretend I wasn’t a gluttonous freak so I did the only reasonable thing. I began to act like I was ordering for a group of people. I even went so far as to say “hmm they didn’t say which size pretzel bites they want so I’ll just take the large to be safe”. I am lying to a pretzel stand operator. Wow. The need for this diet becomes immensely clear at that point. I walk back to work feeling like a white collar crack-head hiding my contraband. Sooo tonight it looks like a dinner of plain steamed edamame is the way to go.

Oh who the hell am I kidding? Bring on the mac and cheese.

Bad Press

All celebrities get put in their place at some point. Either harsh movie/music reviews by critics, nasty mudslinging during divorces, tabloid scandals with full color photos, or in some cases (ahem-Britney-ahem) the legal system. It’s just one of the many costs of fame. Seeing as how, since starting this blog, I have been living the life (albeit in my head) of a celebrity writer, well-lauded for my witty and insightful writing, it was only a matter of time before the vultures preyed upon me. That time came last night.

Sitting at my computer, thinking diligently about blog topics, I off-handedly mentioned to my husband that I had gotten an email from a friend who had enjoyed my Vacation blog and said it really made her smile. Something in the way he said “Oh that’s good” tipped me off. I then asked – “Honey, have you *read* my Vacation blog entry?” Dead silence. Hubby says, “Well I’ve been really busy at work and just haven’t had time in a few days.” My response: “How many days?” -- “Like 6.” That is like the half-life of my entire blog. Ouch. My own husband… my helpmate in life… my supposed most ardent supporter… is not reading my blog. And to add insult to injury its my “very busy at work” husband who sends me links to new cars and You Tube videos multiple times each day. Busy. Yeah.

Needing to feel bolstered, I called my mother – my biggest fan, my best cheerleader - and inquired if she was reading my blog. “Oh I’ve read it, yes I really enjoy it.” Uh huh. “When did you read it last, mom?” Response: “I think I’ve read up through January 4^th”. Mortal wound #2… blood loss is too great … wounds are fatal… Ack.

So, I can’t even get my two most devoted family members to read my blog. What hope do I have of entertaining the masses? *sigh* But, as with any big celeb, I must simply brush it off, pick myself up, go on a shopping spree or bender, and have my press people put out a statement relaying that I am in no way deterred by these recent developments and that I will come back stronger than ever in the face of adversity.

And all 3 of my fans will cheer.

That's Heavy Man

I knew everything about my pregnancy and delivery before I actually got pregnant. I knew I was not going to gain more than 25 pounds (I gained 60), I was not going to be in labor long at all (13.5 hours), I was going to use hypnobirthing and have a peaceful calm birth with no drugs (epidural), and I was going to shock the medical staff with how in control I was of my “discomfort” (I yelled at the nurse twice and spent the last 15 minutes reciting the Lord’s Prayer for strength).

The only residual ickyness left over is the weight. I don’t know what it is about those last 8 pounds but they will not budge. Ok so I suppose the fact that I would rather have a root canal than work out may have something to do with it but still. On top of that I was at my heaviest ever when I got pregnant, so really, lets add about another 10 pounds to those 8. The hard part for me, is that all my life, until just a few years ago, I was a skinny minny with absolutely no effort on my part. In high school and college rumors would always go around that I was anorexic or bulimic (neither of which was true). I remember thinking if I ever broke 120lbs I would just euthanize myself (I am 5’ 9”). Yeahhhh. I shoulda been put down many pounds ago.

To add insult to injury this week already I have gotten Neiman Marcus’ swimsuit showcase and the Victoria’s Secret swimsuit catalog. I don’t look like that. I don’t look close to that. I would not like me in a swimsuit right now. Something has gotta give. So, I am finally taking my holistic nazi sister’s (shhhhh don’t tell her I said that) advice. This weekend I am starting what some call the Lemonade Diet, or what is actually called the Master Cleanse (the creator is very insistent that this is NOT a diet, but a body detox).

Here’s how it works. You drink homemade lemonade. That’s it. That's all you get. Nothing else. Not even gum. For 10 days. Oh wait – except the saltwater you drink in the mornings and the laxative tea you have at night before bed. Yikes. Ok so I’m over simplifying a tad (read the book if you really wanna know) and there is a whole cadre of info on why that does good cleansing stuff for your body, but what I really care about is that it is not unusual to lose 15 pounds in those 10 days. Yay. Sign me up. I am hoping against hope that I can make it – that I can put up with being a major crab apple (or that my hubby can put up with it) and a caffeine-deprived, food-deprived zombie for 10 days to get to the grand outcome.

Look for more blogs to come on my beginning and my progress starting this weekend. I hereby disclaim any hypoglycemic rants contained therein.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

Last night hubby and I started talking about future vacations. Now that we have the kidlet, we have to be a little more selective about where we go and what we do. At first it seemed that every place we wanted to go was "not a good idea." For instance, my dream has always been to see Paris. But transatlantic with a baby is not something I want to undertake. That puts most of my other "want to see's" off limits as well: Italy, Prague, Morocco, Japan.... Hubby and I also want to go back to the resort where we spent our honeymoon (the Royal Plantation in Jamaica) but it is adult-only so that is out. We considered looking into a "Beaches" family resort nearby but then the overprotective parent gene kicked in and we decided that on the off chance Cora would get sick we weren't as fond of the Jamaican health care system as we could be. So, with sticking to the US in mind, we thought about a ski trip to Colorado... but it would be a little difficult to teach a kid who isn't walking yet to balance on two strips of wood while going 35mph.

After a lot of discussion we finally decided that perhaps the Keys or South Padre would be the best bet for this year's outing. Both places are lovely, but it did seem a little less exciting than our prior hopes. People tell you when you get married to travel as much as possible before having kids. I suppose this is why.

But then, when I take a minute, I stop thinking so much about what *I* want to do, what *I* will be missing, what *I* would enjoy, and start to think about Cora's view of her first vacation. Her first plane ride, her first view of the ocean, the first time she feels sand between her toes. So while Paris is still in my heart and the back of my mind, I find instead that I am suddenly looking forward to chubby little legs sticking out of the worlds cutest swimming suit, sandy little hands grabbing for my hair, ocean breezes ruffling baby-fine hair, and grilled cheese sandwiches at an oceanside cafe - and suddenly it seems like the world's perfect vacation. Paris can wait.

Its All Cosmetic

I am a makeup whore. There, I said it (isn't that like a first step toward healing or something?). I have had fleeting relationships with more cosmetics companies than I can count. I read somewhere the average American woman has seven lipsticks. All of the women in Montana must have none because I skew that average so far the other way I can't even begin to fathom. I have more than seven lipsticks just in my purse. I have not just one, but two drawer-fuls of makeup; not to mention the fact that my bathroom counter looks like a department store display. I actually feel bad for the poor cleaning lady who comes once a month. Moving each of those little pots and jars probably takes her an hour in and of itself. Maybe I should dig out my old "Caboodle" (remember those girls?) and organize.

And I am loyal to no one. I have Loreal mascara, Chanel lip liner, Benefit cheek tint, NARS lip stain, Lorac glosses, Bare Minerals foundation, Mary Kay shadow, MAC cream eye color, Bourjois concealer, and the list goes on and on and on and on.... and on. At least I am not discriminatory. I will slum it with Cover Girl at the same exact time I'm slathering on Chanel. In my mind its the equivalent of pairing that Chloe blouse you spent a months' salary on with your Target pumps. If it all looks good together, who's to question?!

If makeup is my prostitution, then Sephora is my pimp. Luckily for my husband, for the longest time my pimp lived out of state. I would just send him his cut about once every other month or so. Unfortunately my pimp moved into town about 8 months ago. Bad news. Just like every other abusive relationship, I know I should stay far, far away but the pull is too strong. I always end up going back for more. In fact, this Christmas my in-laws gave me a very generous cash gift. Being a young couple with a new-ish house there are plenty of things I could have, *should* have spent the money on. Unfortunately, because I am weak, it all went to my pimp. Every last dime. I may end up on skid row, but at least I'll look good there!