so i'm on the master cleanse. as a way to start both the season and my thirtieth year (so what if my birthday was 2 weeks ago? that's simply a technicality).
how's it going? pretty freaking bizarre, actually. as an introduction, i should probably log my prior habits as of late. all in all, i eat pretty well. it's a heavy veggie diet for most of the week, pluggin' in some protein when i need it, and allowing myself the occasional cheeseburger when i crave it. i am by no means diligent, but stay on an even keel.
i go to yoga about 2-3 times a week (though i lapsed a few weeks ago due to a nasty ache in my wrist that had me doubled over in pain during one practice).
i could use to lose a few, but my weight is within the normal, healthy BMI. bit high on the healthy scale honestly, but much of that weight is kept in my, well, you know.
so, day one: not so bad. no headaches, no violent urges to pummel the stranger in my office who chose to make popcorn at 5 pm. i felt a bit spacey and bizarre by the end of the day, but made it to yoga, where we did lots of challenging asanas and i managed to stay in a lovely shoulder stand for a long, long time.
today, day 2, is not that great, actually. i did the salt water flush (or tried to, at least, before becoming violently nauseous) last night, only to wake up with a stomach that won't settle. ick.
the kickarse lemonade still tastes awesome, and i don't feel necessarily hungry (though i found myself fantasizing about thin segments of clementine about an hour ago), but DAMN i feel tired. delirious a bit. loopy as all hell.
my tongue's lookin' kinda white, but it seems too early to be releasing toxins (?!).
more at some point, after i regain full control of my verbosity. wahh wahhhhhh.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 08, 2008
evolution of taste
i've never been a picky eater. i consistently cleaned my plate, and could eat my body's weight in broccoli as a child (still can). my parents were diligent in making me try every bizarre foodstuff they'd order in restaurants. "try it once," they'd impore me. "if you don't like it, you never have to eat it again." that got me ordering (of my own volition) escargots and vindaloos by the time i was 8.
i never, however, liked oysters. or egg yolk. or eggplant. i'd turn up my nose and politely demure.
my first experiences in the world of drinking were of the sickeningly sweet variety. nothing screams "underage" than a midori sour or a white russian, folks (that is, unless you order a caucasian at a bowling alley and curse profusely). anything without some serious flavor was passed on. especially beer. i considered it to be cheap swill unworthy of my palate. and martinis? ew. only if there's a "sour apple" in there SOMEWHERE. bloody marys? you have GOT to be kidding me.
my, how things have changed...
i'll slurp down a dozen oysters in 2.38 minutes flat. i take my martinis extra dirty, with extra olives, and look forward to extra spicy sunday marys.
i worked in a beer and wine bar where i could outdrink men twice my size when it came to belgian beers (particularly la chouffe and the delectable westmalle triple).
and egg yolk? don't get me started. during my 3 months of freelancing (and mornings spent at home), i made sunny side up eggs with whole wheat toast, sprinkled with white truffle oil and sea salt every day. and basically licked the plate clean every time.
as i grow older, my palate has evolved to be less frivolous, which leads me to hope that my goals, which seem as insubstantial as my previous, lamentable love for all tastes adolescent, may eventually catch up.
i never, however, liked oysters. or egg yolk. or eggplant. i'd turn up my nose and politely demure.
my first experiences in the world of drinking were of the sickeningly sweet variety. nothing screams "underage" than a midori sour or a white russian, folks (that is, unless you order a caucasian at a bowling alley and curse profusely). anything without some serious flavor was passed on. especially beer. i considered it to be cheap swill unworthy of my palate. and martinis? ew. only if there's a "sour apple" in there SOMEWHERE. bloody marys? you have GOT to be kidding me.
my, how things have changed...
i'll slurp down a dozen oysters in 2.38 minutes flat. i take my martinis extra dirty, with extra olives, and look forward to extra spicy sunday marys.
i worked in a beer and wine bar where i could outdrink men twice my size when it came to belgian beers (particularly la chouffe and the delectable westmalle triple).
and egg yolk? don't get me started. during my 3 months of freelancing (and mornings spent at home), i made sunny side up eggs with whole wheat toast, sprinkled with white truffle oil and sea salt every day. and basically licked the plate clean every time.
as i grow older, my palate has evolved to be less frivolous, which leads me to hope that my goals, which seem as insubstantial as my previous, lamentable love for all tastes adolescent, may eventually catch up.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
downward facing
preface: i have a personal vendetta against patchouli wearers. i roll my eyes at the mere mention of "energy." my first impulse after doing something extremely physical is to pat myself on the back with a stiff drink. i still crave bloody hamburgers and can't get down with bob marley (try as i might).
that said- i'm turning into one of the people i used to make fun of. i am, in fact, turning into a yoga person.
my first experience with yoga was a few years ago. i took a few classes at the gym i belonged to, but hated how the teacher had everyone sit in a circle at the end of class to massage each other for 5 minutes. ew. i always wound up with a hairy dude in front of me and calloused hands gripping my shoulders as i twitched nervously and tried to come up with an excuse for why i leaned into the center of the circle precariously. it's hard to cite an inner ear infection after you've just spent 10 minutes with your legs over your shoulders and all the blood rushing to your head.
i started doing videos at home, but gave up. i have the bad habit of getting wrapped up in something, anything physical- then getting bored as hell.
i'd been feeling sluggish lately, and wanted a discernible split between my work life & my home life. so i went to yoga about 4 weeks ago.
and- truth be told- it felt fucking amazing. so fucking amazing, in fact, that i kindasorta get why ex drug addicts become obsessed with it.
it's something i look forward to almost every day, which is bloody rare (as rare as my burgers, in fact).
but if anyone ever hears/ reads me talk about my chakras or sees me wearing an ankle bracelet (or toe ring or ANYTHING with a batik print), please stage an intervention. stat.
that said- i'm turning into one of the people i used to make fun of. i am, in fact, turning into a yoga person.
my first experience with yoga was a few years ago. i took a few classes at the gym i belonged to, but hated how the teacher had everyone sit in a circle at the end of class to massage each other for 5 minutes. ew. i always wound up with a hairy dude in front of me and calloused hands gripping my shoulders as i twitched nervously and tried to come up with an excuse for why i leaned into the center of the circle precariously. it's hard to cite an inner ear infection after you've just spent 10 minutes with your legs over your shoulders and all the blood rushing to your head.
i started doing videos at home, but gave up. i have the bad habit of getting wrapped up in something, anything physical- then getting bored as hell.
i'd been feeling sluggish lately, and wanted a discernible split between my work life & my home life. so i went to yoga about 4 weeks ago.
and- truth be told- it felt fucking amazing. so fucking amazing, in fact, that i kindasorta get why ex drug addicts become obsessed with it.
it's something i look forward to almost every day, which is bloody rare (as rare as my burgers, in fact).
but if anyone ever hears/ reads me talk about my chakras or sees me wearing an ankle bracelet (or toe ring or ANYTHING with a batik print), please stage an intervention. stat.
Friday, June 27, 2008
reunions
so, i leave for london tonight. with a nasty ache behind my shoulder blade that got exacerbated after mimicking the fish pose after a few too many belgian beers on wednesday night.
ah, wednesday. i spent the night practically licking brownie crumbs from the concrete bar at the room in soho after an all-too-pleasant reunion with my high school partner in crime, the jinius. note: i spend every second i'm with her convincing her that she should a) marry me in california for papers b) join me in the merry world of copywriting or c) commit to pulling a costanza and doing the opposite of every instinct she has (which usually includes drunk texting men who have no business even talking to her).
which reminds me... we had a writing teacher in high school who (i think) lied about writing the keys episode on seinfeld. both jinius & i were obsessed with the show at the time and our first assignment was to artfully write ourselves into a scene of our favourite sitcom. we were each other's elaines, except neither one of us really fits the part. snarky, yes. shiksa, not really. and neither one of us ever wore wingtips, thank god.
the jinius is a kinda gal who's easy to hate. she has a thick mane of damn near perfect hair, skin that glows, and the kind of look that never needs accessories. she epitomizes young urban effortless chic and still looks like she's 18. her sense of humor, however, is closer to that of a 12 year old suburbanite boy. hence why we get along so well...
i dragged ji to her first club when i was a sullen, drugged out goth in love with my own drama (and indigo eyeliner). we've nursed each others break ups from afar, and acted as cheerleaders and sounding boards, but, living in a city as hectic as NY, never seem to connect as much as we should. so what now? i shall ploy her with the weekly promise of heffeweizen and food. seeing her is the kind of reunion that i'll never starve myself and lament over for months in advance. the FAMILY reunion, however, is slightly more tenuous.
TO LONDON!!!!
ah, wednesday. i spent the night practically licking brownie crumbs from the concrete bar at the room in soho after an all-too-pleasant reunion with my high school partner in crime, the jinius. note: i spend every second i'm with her convincing her that she should a) marry me in california for papers b) join me in the merry world of copywriting or c) commit to pulling a costanza and doing the opposite of every instinct she has (which usually includes drunk texting men who have no business even talking to her).
which reminds me... we had a writing teacher in high school who (i think) lied about writing the keys episode on seinfeld. both jinius & i were obsessed with the show at the time and our first assignment was to artfully write ourselves into a scene of our favourite sitcom. we were each other's elaines, except neither one of us really fits the part. snarky, yes. shiksa, not really. and neither one of us ever wore wingtips, thank god.
the jinius is a kinda gal who's easy to hate. she has a thick mane of damn near perfect hair, skin that glows, and the kind of look that never needs accessories. she epitomizes young urban effortless chic and still looks like she's 18. her sense of humor, however, is closer to that of a 12 year old suburbanite boy. hence why we get along so well...
i dragged ji to her first club when i was a sullen, drugged out goth in love with my own drama (and indigo eyeliner). we've nursed each others break ups from afar, and acted as cheerleaders and sounding boards, but, living in a city as hectic as NY, never seem to connect as much as we should. so what now? i shall ploy her with the weekly promise of heffeweizen and food. seeing her is the kind of reunion that i'll never starve myself and lament over for months in advance. the FAMILY reunion, however, is slightly more tenuous.
TO LONDON!!!!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
quiver
i cower in my office chair, listening to bonobo
and i'm scared to death both of seeing you
and being denied the chance
it's easy to say how over it i am
how i can't even imagine my old life
curled in quiet repose between orange walls that
hummed with the whispers we shared
but the idea of having to see firsthand how much
of a stranger you've become
makes me tremble
not out of forlorn love lost
frayed at the edges
but out of sheer curiosity
for the hope that some sliver of
amitie remains
how isolate we've become, dear
and i'm scared to death both of seeing you
and being denied the chance
it's easy to say how over it i am
how i can't even imagine my old life
curled in quiet repose between orange walls that
hummed with the whispers we shared
but the idea of having to see firsthand how much
of a stranger you've become
makes me tremble
not out of forlorn love lost
frayed at the edges
but out of sheer curiosity
for the hope that some sliver of
amitie remains
how isolate we've become, dear
Monday, June 23, 2008
curse of the bad hair
so, i'm going to london on friday. to my (very critical and judgmental) family.
so, shunning the shaggy dog look, i decide to book a hair appointment for saturday.
and come out with this.
no matter how i blow dry or style, i have serious nearmullet head.
ugh.
very not good.
the only thing i'm missing is frosted tips.
hellooooooo chop.
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