WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A DISASTER DECIDES TO KICK SOME ORGANIC GRAIN FREE DAIRY FREE SUGAR FREE LEGUME FREE ASS


Yep, I’ve done it. I’ve jumped on the bandwagon with housewives and wellness gurus and all types of white women and gays everywhere: I am doing #Whole30.
No, it’s not ironic! This is real. This is me. I am pursuing #mindfulness through #food in a #meaningful way because my mental and physical health are a teeter-totter and I need to grab life by the BALLS* and get my shit together.

*grass fed meatballs in a homemade marinara sauce over a cauliflower purée 

So basically #Whole30 is a diet that’s supposed to help you reset your system, jumpstart your metabolism, form good habits and figure out why you feel like shit all the time by omitting grains, legumes, dairy, added sugars, alcohol and pretty much all processed foods from your diet for 30 days. 

I am on Day 4. So far this is child’s play. In about 2 weeks I’m sure I’ll be bursting into tears every time I walk by a Popeye’s but for now, I feel great. Ok, maybe not great, just like, fine. 

Observations thus far:

-Salt is the most important food ingredient there is. A vegetable without salt is a thing you should get away from me.

-Nuts are filling but, depending on the kind, they either taste like crayons or little pieces of wood. 

-Raisins: not so bad 

-EVERYTHING seems to have added sugar, even stuff that doesn’t need sugar. I tried to buy sausage at the grocery store yesterday and it had fucking corn syrup in it. Reading ingredients can be truly eye opening.

-Ghee aka clarified butter is my shit. I don’t know how they make it or why it’s ok to eat on #whole30 or why it costs $14 a jar, but it’s delicious. 

-Most of the things I truly love eating are actually good for you, I just usually buy trash food because it’s cheap. For example, olives are a way more delicious snack than potato chips hands down. I’ll have 4 olives and be like *kisses fingers in an Italian way that’s probably offensive to actually do idk*

Now, my resolve hasn’t really been put to the test, so I’m not on a high horse or anything. I haven’t yet experienced a weekend, which is usually when I eat 10 burritos and a block of cheese, so that’ll probably feel less fun. As far as the not drinking thing goes, well, you know how much I love alcohol. And I still do. We’d just been spending so much time together and it was getting a little bit too serious so it’s good to take a break. Because then we can miss each other. And have makeup sex. What was I talking about again? 

Anyway, I’m entertaining this philosophy that consuming food and drink should be pleasurable before, during and AFTER the experience, and trying to find pride and power in how I treat my body. 

Doesn’t that sound so good? Aren’t you totally rooting for me? Isn’t it weird that in this very blog if you go back 4 years you’ll find a post where I take acid and eat an entire bag of Martin’s Potato Rolls? Life can be so unpredictable.

#Whole30 #Whole30 #Whole30

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“Inauguration Day,” if that even IS her real name

Ok. So it’s officially Inaug Day. Which means I haven’t woken up in a hospital bed to a nurse fanning me and my mother saying “Honey, it’s me, Mom. You hit your head in excitement on the ballot box after casting your vote for the first woman president who is now the president and you’ve been in a coma this whole time probably dreaming about some pretty terrible stuff.” 

You know when something really bad happens and you can’t get past the fact that it was so easily avoidable, so you just keep replaying the moment over in over in your head believing you personally can invent time travel if you just feel horrible enough about it? 

See: idk, the 260 self-inflicted traumas I’ve experienced in the past ten years?

So I guess in the back of my mind that’s what I’ve been doing. Turns out it doesn’t work tho! Especially not now. This wasn’t even our choice. Lack of consent defines this whole hellish experience from top to bottom. 

But if I’m trying to pin down how I feel at this very moment, well, I’m conflicted.

I feel tired, enraged, bitter, exhausted, annoyed about this. Kinda defeated by this. BUT, I also feel motivated, empowered, inspired by peers, by other women, by my LGBTQ family, by people of color, by all who withstand adversities I’ll never know. I feel solidarity. I do. Even though I haven’t been mentally able to totally face it, to engage every day, I feel a connection. I feel strength and somewhere deep down I fucking feel positivity. 

Y’all are doing some fucking amazing work. Every day that I log onto this god forsaken internet that I love so much, I see folks mobilizing, creating and coming together for the better. Making what needs to be made. Shouting what needs to be said. Putting yourselves and your hearts and your lives on the line to stand up for what you know is right and holy SHIT y’all! That’s what this life shit is about! 

Pat yourself on the back. Take a bath. Smoke a bowl. Eat some cheese. Treat yo self tonight. Please. You deserve it.

I have chosen to look at the blessing that in whatever small way, for whatever it’s worth, this is bringing us closer together.

This may not be the world I wanted to live in, but these are the people I wanted to be with. 

Admit it. Every year around the time that the leaves turn yellow and humidity’s strangle finally starts to loosen, you find yourself giddy with anticipation for the pumpkin spice lattes, the rosy cheeks and noses, all the amazing clothing items you will layer over other clothing items. You’re overcome with romance at the thought of snuggling up by the fire, kissing someone in the snow or just that feeling you get shopping for a new pair of boots. You skip joyously on those one or two days where all you need to stay warm is a denim jacket, thinking about how merry the holiday times are going to be this year. “Oh happy day! Santa is coming and he’s bringing snow!” you scream prematurely into the October air like an overzealous child in denial.

And then it happens. Without skipping a beat, the most bleak and resilient layer of stratus mother nature herself has ever begotten (it gets worse every year, I’m sure of it) collapses all your hopes and dreams, teetering instead between snow-less arctic temperatures and weather that can only be described as “fucking alright.” Thanksgiving rolls around, you gain the first five of that ten pounds you will undoubtedly accrue before New Year’s, and before you know it…the holidays are over. You had one pumpkin spice latte before you realized it was 400 calories and you burned off all your taste-buds on what you swear was not non-fat milk. You can barely afford your heating bill, let alone even dream of a working fireplace (pre-war doesn’t mean the same thing real estate-wise outside of Upper Manhattan). It’s mid-January. The last person who snuggled up to you was your cat, and that was only because your ten day New Year’s hangover turned into the full-fledged flu and the fever was keeping him warm. And even on the brightest, sunniest fluke of a 60 degree day you can’t help but know in your heart of hearts that the proverbial groundhog is giving you the proverbial finger, and there will be an ice storm in March.

So why do I do it? Why do I continue to insist that there exists a “winter wonderland” beyond Tumblr jpegs of some Norwegian girl in a poncho? I suppose it can be done. I remember being 8 and praying to god (shows what I knew) for a snow day so I could bask in the carpeted, centrally heated palace that was my suburban home. And with the right motivation and a good savings account I may have been able to spread some of those conveniences into my early twenties. But with my unfortunate inability to save a dime and what appears to be a solar-powered immune system, all this cloud cover makes me want to melt Klonopin in my cocoa.

That being said, my visit from the plague over the last couple of weeks left me with a lot of down time to handle some personal things that really matter. For example, I spent a few days contemplating my relationship with Gossip Girl’s Dan Humphrey and decided that while I do like his haircut, he is too pretentious for me. I attached studs to the back pockets of my jeans, cleaned out my computer and updated my flickr account. Oh, and I downloaded some music to help take the edge off that Seasonal Affective Self-Loathing. Enjoy dancing to this track by Newtimers. Now that I’m on antibiotics and pretending it’s April, I’ll be dancing with you.