Juicy Day 2

April 10, 2011

Saturday, April 8

Here we are on day 2 of the fast- hump day, if you will.  It began a beautiful, brisk Saturday afternoon full of activity, but the close has not been nearly as pleasant, leading me to wonder again if I am doing it wrong.  There’s no turning back now, of course, but even the smell of my roommate’s crackers just now sent me into paroxysms of grief since there is STILL no food tomorrow.  “Liveblog” after the jump… ungh.

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April 9, 2011

First, some housekeeping: let’s ignore the last few months, shall we?  The blog and I went on a little hiatus to re-evaluate what we wanted out of our relationship.  We might have done some things we both regret but we’re not talking about it.  So stop looking at me like that so we can just move forward, okay?  GOD, are you ever going to trust me again?!  I can’t keep apologizing forever!!  WE WERE ON A BREAK!!!


Now, on to the matter at hand.  Juice fasts have been all the rage amongst youngsters for quite a while now, it seems, so when the prospect of a juicing partner arrived, I bit the bullet and started the Blueprint Cleanse.  More so than the health benefits these Blueprint people claim to produce with their fruit and veggie delights, I am interested in the psychological effects of not basing my days around when/what/where I’m going to eat and obsessively reading food blogs.  That said, these juice puppies are pretty pricey, so this had better be worth it.  In the name of returning to regular updates, the whole experience will be liveblogged for your reading pleasure, starting from my preparation FAIL yesterday.


Thursday, April 7

8:00 PM: Yoga was real hard tonight.  I get the box’o’juices and holy Moses, it is big.  They provide a fun little insulated bag that will be perfect for my lunches!  The juices do sound tasty.  I compulsively put them in numbered order in the fridge.


8:16 PM: Happy I made it home in time for our weekly D&D game (shut up, it’s cool).  Even happier to see a bag of Doritos, unopened, pristine, sitting right in front of my couch.  So much for pre-cleanse healthy dinner.  Sorry, broccoli!  Doritos win.  Also, I lose.  Doritos will be the fluorescent orange death of me.


9:30 PM: Cereal is healthy, right?  Must make myself feel better about eating only Doritos for dinner.  Sort of works, until I eat an Oreo Double Stuf and feel like a failure.  Will instate a new rule banning snack products from the house post-haste.

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February 3, 2011

Note: This entry was meant to go up on Sunday evening, but I was too lazy to finish it until now.  I mean, the SAGs were on and I HAD to know who said stuff and wore stuff!

Upon entering Week 2: Yoga Boogaloo, I experienced my first real yogi disappointment, all thanks to one man: Bikram Choudhury.  There is a Bikram studio 10 blocks away from my apartment, and taking a class there seemed like a good alternative to making the 40-minute subway trek to my usual studio in Manhattan.  Furthermore, this particular brand of yoga has such a fervent following that I had become increasingly curious about it over the past few years.  So, armed with my rarely used hot mat, an enormous towel and very little clothing, off I went into my doom, and the undoing of what was supposed to be a really fun Saturday night.

First of all, the entire Bikram Yoga South Slope facility smelled awful, except for the tiny bathroom adjacent to the ladies’ changing area.  There was a pretty powerful air freshener in there.  I have never done yoga anywhere that smelled continuously of roses, but even the airy, seemingly well-ventilated lobby area of the studio made me wretch a little.  The temperature of a Bikram space is always 105 degrees according to Mr. Choudhury’s patented* style, and I’ll be damned if walking into that room wasn’t like entering someone’s exceedingly smelly armpit.  The studio’s website neglected to mention that another key atmospheric trait in Bikram is 40% humidity- a fact that, if I had been made aware of it, would probably have kept me away altogether.

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Gearing up to the month-long yoga project, I went to class once this week.  Awesome, right?  That’s what I call preparation!  It was particularly crowded at Yoga to the People on Wednesday evening, so much so that they opened up the rarely used 4th floor, which was subsequently packed with ten (10!) people per row.  Normally this type of crowd doesn’t bother me at all.  Though meditation has never been my strong suit, I can usually zone out enough to ignore the sweaty dude(tte) doing sun salutes four to six inches away from me.  Sadly, this was not one of those days so it is my pleasure to introduce a new feature!  That’s right, there are gonna be FEATURES on this blog.  And now, without further ado, I bring you Nincompoop Corner!


My spot of choice at this particular free yoga studio is by a wall where I can put my glasses near me without them getting stepped on.  Those, however, are plumb spaces so whenever I see one I jump on it without much notice of who might be next to me.  NYU must have just gotten back from winter break because the place was full of stupidly young-looking kids, like the pimple-faced little scamp next to me.  He was not in track shorts or yoga pants and a tee-shirt like the other guys in the room, but was wearing a baggy pair of jeans and a flannel shirt.  I’ve seen people wear jeans in class before so his attire in and of itself wasn’t THAT weird.  (Actually, the flannel shirt was pretty bizarre.  What kind of kid doesn’t wear a tee-shirt under a flannel?)  It got super strange when, two minutes before beginning child’s pose, he TOOK HIS PANTS OFF and proceeded through the entire class in his TINY BOXER BRIEFS.  This was entirely too shocking for me to hide my reaction, and his response to my double take was something like “huhhh huhhhhh, my shorts are real short, right?”  Yes, child.  Too short and too UNDERPANTS.  The flannel shirt, however, stayed on; his typical college-boy “I’m too lazy to shower” musk that was already pretty strong before we got started got WAY worse as the class wore on.

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For as long as I can remember, my favorite food in the whole wide world has been boxed macaroni and cheese.  Old family friends get a kick out of reminding me of times when, as a child, my parents would take me to dinner parties only to sit down and take out a Tupperware full of Kraft because it was one of the only things I ate.  My fear of new foods lasted for an embarrassingly long time; I refused to eat pizza until I was 9 and didn’t touch spaghetti and meatballs until years after that.  It took even longer for me to stop picking things like cooked onions out of curry and raw tomatoes out of salads.  Forget about salad dressing- the first time I ate a dressed salad didn’t happen until high school.

These days that has all changed, of course, and while there are certain foods I don’t think I’ll ever come around to enjoying (raw mollusks, olives, citrus of all kinds, mustard), I am willing to try pretty much anything once.  This applies most of all to cheese.  I love cheese.  If I remembered how to write sonnets, I’d go Petrarchan on parmigiano reggiano (not to mention that I do not balk at its $15/lb price- that shit is worth it).  Some of the smellier varieties, the serious ones that separate the cheese men from the cheese boys, have become my preferred snack food.  I have even learned to notice undertones of fruit, nut and smoky flavors in different cheeses, the subtle differences between a 1-year old or 2-year old cheddar, to distinguish flavors in a cow/sheep mix.  My next endeavor will be into the world of pairing cheeses with drinks, though probably not with wine since I remain willfully ignorant about that.  Definitely with beer though.

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Changes afoot!

January 13, 2011

SO.  The date on the previous post is incorrect.  I got in a fight with blogspot and broke up with that nasty bitch, at which point I discovered that I already had a WordPress account and a never-used WordPress blog!  Crazy.  Attempting to edit CSS and trying to wrangle the internet into submission have wiped any trace of what I wanted to write about from my brain and so I am going to bed, full of wrath for my laptop.

Coming soon: the great mac ‘n cheese debate!

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January 13, 2011

I have a deep, highly illogical fear of the button that says “start blogging,” and an even deeper fear of the button “publish post.”  The existence of a blog does not imply that anyone will actually READ it; in fact, I doubt I will even tell anyone that I am doing this.  My friends have suggested that I start writing again in some form for quite some time, but my argument against it is that my life is just not that exciting.  Regardless, here we are,  birthing a little blog baby in the hopes that it might become something one day and I don’t wake up one morning working on a dock somewhere, lamenting that I coulda been a contender.

In light of the new year (and maybe the last year EVER), this “blog” WILL be posted.  I have gone to yoga for three consecutive days this week, making this the most physically active week of my life since before December 13, 2010.  All the reasons I didn’t hit the gym or my yoga mat for such a long time are flimsy, bad excuses which boil down to a simple truth: I do not like to work out.  Whatever gene or nerve that makes people enjoy sweating, soreness and feeling winded does not exist in my body.  The gene that makes people love cheese, gin and making cream-based pasta sauces-  I have that.  Lots of that.  I also don’t like being bad at things, and I especially don’t like doing things I’m bad at while surrounded by people who are really good at those same things.

Thus is my yoga conundrum.  I have been practicing on and off for almost four (!) years now, though with absolutely no consistency and months-long gaps of nary a downward dog.  The class I attend, while convenient and an enormous bargain, does not lend itself to improvement.  So what’s an eternally novice yogi to do?  All signs point to paying some big dollars to join a legitimate studio and that, my friends, is the only new years…ugh…resolution I plan on making this year.  Starting after a quick trip to see my folks on the weekend of January 21, I am going to shell out the money, join a legitimate studio and begin a strict regimen of yoga every day for 30 days.  The reward: a birthday trip to the Big Easy, for which tickets have already been purchased.

Please note, whoever you are, that this is not a blog strictly about yoga.  But I am going to try and chart my progress, such as it is, for the whole world (read: no one in particular) to read about.  And now the time has come: PUBLISH POST!