Apr 30, 2016

Detox Is NOT for Sissies

     Several years ago, I remember being bored out of my wits during my vacation one day. Luckily, I chanced upon a psychology book and in it I discovered a questionnaire measuring one's masculinity or femininity: the more points you scored, the more masculine you were and I'm proud to say I got something over 400 out of 700 points which kind of explains my sporadic pussy-loving tendencies. It also explains why I drink and eat like a dude: because I am one — I'm a dude.
     One would think that I'd take offense to that result since I'm more than happy to be a woman and I feministically bash men all the time, but in all honesty there's nothing worse than a girly girl if you ask me. If I had to choose between Fat Man and Kim Kardashian, I'd pick Fat Man every time. Therefore having all girl parts and a score of 400+ is just right in my book. This means I walk around in clean clothes (most of the time), occasionally wear make-up, tweeze my eyebrows, smell nice (most of the time) and show a smidgen of boobs or butt on occasion as well as kill mice, change my side view mirror and fix the toilet all by myself — gotta love that balance.
     But being a dude graced with (not trapped in, mind you) a girl's body has its downfalls: I, as I've said, eat and drink like a man. Which gets even more evident and out of control when I find myself in stressful situations which usually happens every couple of months when I have a major deadline approaching — like the one I had about a month ago. So let me tell you what my daily menu looked like a few weeks ago:

~ breakfast ~
a cup of cocoa (I don't drink coffee, I'm also a kid graced with a girl's body)

~ lunch ~
a pizza (delivered, what else)
a gallon of coffee (I do drink coffee when I'm pressed for time and have to stay alert 10-16 hours a day and that's when I drink it with half a gallon of milk and a generous dash of coffee liqueur)

~ dinner ~
a shandy (grapefruit flavor) with rum


     Of course I didn't eat like that every day — sometimes I had a bowl of pasta with store-bought sauce or burek for lunch and then pizza for dinner. Sometimes I had meet burek for lunch and then cheese burek for dinner. And I didn't always have a shandy with rum for dinner — sometimes I had two. Or half a bottle of wine. So there was diversity, don't get me wrong, but if you asked me to name one vegetable, I'd say salami, I kid you not.
      And so it went on for days. Weeks actually. Fuck it, I'm a dude remember?
     But when week three of binging was drawing to a close (and my deadline was far gone), all of a sudden a thought crept into my mind and it wasn't a pleasant one: out of the blue I started thinking about free radicals and all of the havoc I was wreaking on my poor wanna-be-dude body. Not to mention that I felt like shit, dreaming of drinking water — literally, just gulping water out of a bottomless glass for what felt like eternity — every night and waking up feeling like vomit (not like I was going to vomit, but I felt like I was vomit) every morning. So maybe that sudden thought about antioxidants and shit wasn't all that shocking.
     Although in my case, it was shocking and very much so. Why? Because I always look askance at those water-drinking, free-radicals-hating, herbal-tea-loving, salt-despising mor... people. That's all baloney (mmm, baloney) and I know that because I watched a show once where they took two identical twins who both drank six — SIX — liters of water a day because, as one of them said, 'water is good for your skin and your whole body and it helps you stay hydrated and yadda yadda yadda I'm so boring blah blah blah'. So the scientists measured them (the moisture in their skin and whatnot) and told one of them to keep drinking water and the other one to stop drinking water altogether. Then, after some time, they measured them again and guess what — there wasn't a difference, not a single one. So, like I said, BALONEY. But in the light of my imminent 30th birthday, I guess, and thanks to a vague memory of that missing gallbladder of mine, my better judgment got swayed: I went online and looked for the most hardcore S&M detox diet I could find, adamant to make a change and to 'jump start my metabolism' of all things, for fuck's sake.
     To do so, apparently, one has to abide by a strict detox diet for ten days and the Internet said that meant ten days of no beer, no wine, no coffee, no pasta, no bread, no dairy, no grains, no starchy vegetables, no processed meat, no nothing basically. I introduced the idea to my boyfriend and surprisingly he was game. And not just game, he actually seemed relieved saying, "We really have been eating crap lately." That's how bad it was — even an actual man was iffy about our manly eating habits.
     But letting go of that greasy, savory, scrumptious crap wasn't easy so of course we were putting it off as much as possible, always saying we'd start tomorrow, but eventually we ran out of excuses (and I drank all the water in dreamland) so we put together a detox shopping list, went to the grocery store, came home and got all hyped up (and drunk as a send-off for our unhealthy lifestyle) but the hype dwindled within the following day — at least it did for me and thus I was the first to break.
     The second day of our detox, my excitement and all that oh-I-feel-so-much better bullshit was gone, out the window, down the drain, BYE, and I had a major bitch fit, a major one, stomping my feet in front of the refrigerator screaming if I wanted beer or a piece of cheese, I'd fucking have one. I didn't, though, because I kept thinking if sissies could do this, I could do this.
     The third day, my boyfriend joined me with his tantrums and by the fourth day we were two miserable piles of irritability and all-round bitchiness just moping on the couch hating life and broccoli and shit — and no wonder since this is what our detox menu looked like:

~ breakfast ~
a glass of 100% fruit juice
a handful of blueberries
a handful of raspberries
a handful of nuts

~ lunch ~
broccoli/leek/cauliflower/zucchini soup
(made only with water, onion, garlic, salt and pepper)
a lettuce and red pepper salad

~ dinner ~
a beet salad with pumpkin seeds
an apple
a handful of nuts 

     Let me tell you, detox is NOT for sissies. And let me tell you something else: after eating like this day after day, no wonder broccoli was coming out of my ears. But most of all, no wonder I was craving beer. And so, when day seven of our calamity finally came, we decided to pull the plug on our detox, fuck it. Fuck detox, fuck metabolism, fuck antioxidants, fuck it, fuck all of it, we thought — we wanted beer and we wanted it bad. But because I felt guilty about quitting the detox three days early, I texted my friend asking her for permission.  Babe, it's been seven days, SEVEN DAYS! We've had it. We want beer. Can we have one in the evening and still say that we detoxed for 7 days or do we have to wait till tomorrow? If you say we have to wait, we'll be up till midnight and open our beers at 00:01. 
      You know what she said? You two are CRAZY, of course you can have a beer, you deserve it!!!
      And so we had a beer each — and it was the best damn beer I've ever had in my life.
     While thus enjoying our cold concoction of bliss and happiness, we of course talked about how we mustn't regress to our old, bad, unhealthy habits now that our detox was over and we truly were determined and enthusiastic about cutting down on dairy and bread and processed meat and salt and alcohol and all that is good and worth living for basically. We were determined, yes, we were. So ... want to know what I ate yesterday? For breakfast, I had leftover pizza from the night before, French fries for lunch and burek for dinner — it was our cheat day. The forth one in a row.
     But today my boyfriend says we have to put an end to this madness (quitter!) and now there's a bowl of Greek yogurt with wholegrain oats, flax seeds and bio, eco, organic, I don't know, some bullshit blueberries with my name on it waiting for me on the kitchen table — that's supposedly my dinner. But guess what? I've never craved a nice, large, chilled bottle of beer more in my life than I do in this very second. After all — I'm a dude, dude.
      Besides, what if I like my radicals wild and free, huh?
 



     Thanks for stopping by and looking and reading (obviously) my mishmash jumble of pot-pourri-like craziness, it means the world to me. Therefore, you're welcome to pop by again next week to see what's new on the blog — I post once a week every week, most likely somewhere between Wednesdays and Sundays. But beware, I'm not signing and sealing that in blood so your best bet is to follow FPS via email (or Bloglovin, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook or Google+) to never miss an update. Or simply come by again sometimes!




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