Tag Archives: winter

We’re Off To See The Doctor

19 Dec

blog image oscar the grouch

Everyone needs an easily distracted friend.

Tina is the reason for my recent 3 Day Detox Diet.

Apparently, what began as an online search for tickets to “Wicked” ended with Tina standing on my porch with a bag of “food” (pineapple, green apple, spinach, flax, coconut oil, avocado, kale, bananas, more kale, etc.) while visions of boundless energy and flat bellies danced in her head.  Thank you, Celebrity Doctor.

Anyway, as a firm believer (see, parts of me are already firm) in being able to withstand anything for three days, I signed on.

And all was fine until Day One lunch which, like breakfast, was made in a blender.  (Let me pause for one second here to mention the significant amount of blender washing that ensued.  On the other hand, I didn’t clean anything else (or chew) for three days.)

Lunch was celery, pineapple, green apple, a cucumber, a lime, coconut oil and almond milk blended into one intensely beautiful green mass.  How it maintained its blender shape when plated was amazing.  And knowing that the color came from real foods versus a chemistry lab was inspiring.

Sadly, a Detoxer cannot eat only shapes and colors which is a bummer because Day One lunch did, if fact, have a Sesame Street aura about it and by that I mean it tasted like how I imagine Oscar the Grouch would taste (without salt).

He’s the one who lives in a garbage can right?  Sure, on the outside he’s all bright, happy, fibrous green.  But on the inside?  Trash and bitterness.   Enjoy.

By the end of Day Two, I had mastered the art of consuming lunch in four hideously large, icy-cold gulps.  Because nothing’s better than seventy-two hours of Upstate New York winter and a supply of icy-cold liquids (only) to keep you fueled.

Winter in Upstate New York is where melting cheese on things was invented for crying out loud.  Sometimes, when winter seems cruel and never-ending, we lift our spirits by melting two or more cheeses together and serving with pretzels and breadsticks.

We know that surviving winter means eating carbs (which are often served with tequila and lime).

Speaking of crying out loud, Day Three arrived.

By now I was emotionally attached to my blender.  Like when training a puppy, I was obligated to be near the blender every three hours or so.  Also like a puppy, the Detox Diet makes you pee a lot- just not while jumping up on people.  (Oh!  If ever oh ever a wiz there was!)

Still, my energy level was high and my skin glowed.   (Did I mention the required nightly lavender bath soaks?  They’re required.  As in: “leave Mommy alone!  She has to take a required nightly lavender bath soak.  Your mother is detoxing for crying out loud!”)

Speaking of crying out loud, I called Tina early on Day Three.  She was having coffee (with cream and sugar) having quit the Detox Diet after the mango/cayenne dinner shake on Day One.  Day One.

And yet somehow, by the time my final bath had been drawn, Tina, as the result of another internet search for “music theory-dyads,” had purchased the entire Insanity workout DVD series having convinced herself that she can withstand anything for sixty days.

We start Monday.

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Socks=Death

30 Oct

October 30, 2011: I have begun wearing socks regularly.  While that may seem hardly worth mentioning, I assure you that the donning of socks is huge.  Going barefoot is how I defy winter.  Going barefoot is my feet saying “hell no” to dampness and cold and a mild case of frostbite- just one and it involved Teva sandals, Jack Daniels and poor judgement.

I have also readied the house for winter ice cream consumption: Redi-Whip whipped cream, sprinkles, maraschino cherries and stretchy pants.

During the months of December, January and February, I eat more ice cream than my entire family does in June, July and August; eating ice cream in the dead of winter is my gustatory machismo saying “hell yeah” to my stomach.

To me, having a hot fudge sundae when it’s really cold out says: “I’m one badass, winter-loving mother.”  (With lots of body fat.)  That, and “I’m too scared to get a tattoo.”

To my husband, eating ice cream when it’s cold out says that I am emotionally eating (again) and that the approaching holidays are fraught with way too much extended family time and expenses and that, maybe, he should not listen when, come December, I will tell him that the only things I want for Christmas are some high quality chocolate-sea salt-caramels.

Instead, his brain will lead him to think that if he gets the caramels, he will inevitably face a Spring filled with radical dieting and “I can’t wear a bathing suit” lamentations and so, he will consider that what I truly need this Christmas are some high quality chocolate-colored wool socks.  He should not think.

Men can be so practical.  (Really?)  And wool socks are certainly great.  But my husband knows.

He knows that no matter how frequently I wore the socks, or how lavishly I praised the chill-repelling qualities of the socks, he knows that from the moment he gave me the socks on, I would, on occasion, contemplate using the socks to suffocate him while he slept because he failed to get the chocolate-sea salt-caramels.

He knows that given the right circumstances- full moon, hormonal imbalance, because it’s Tuesday (or Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday, etc.), he knows that I would kill him and then motor into town for a scoop or two.

And so I am expecting some fabulous candy this holiday season.

October 30, 2011: it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

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