Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts

Friday, January 25, 2013

Juicageddon Day 2, 3 & 4 - Or, How I Almost Died

O.k., obviously I'm not dead. {unless I'm a highly dexterous Zombie who's fingers have not yet atrophied).

But I was almost dead!

Well, not so much.. But, if you think about it, we could die at any time - it's not something you can actually predict. So, yeah....

Perhaps the truth is that I was no where near death, but might have 'felt' like I was. A smidgen.

And so, today's post will be to tell y'all how my Juicing challenge is going to hell in a hand basket, like the express bullet train to hell. 

Day 2 was fine, I went through the day feeling hungry, but physically doing o.k. I was run down, feeling a bit tired, but nothing that slowed me down too much.

My breakfast and lunch consisted of:
Sweet potato
Carrot
Pear
Apple
Cucumber
Celery
Ginger

This was THE tastiest juice yet! I really liked it, but alas did not save any for Hubbypants to try. Sorry, Hubbypants. Love you!

I'll skip the rest of the juices I made, because it's B.O.R.I.N.G. Other than to say, don't juice Swiss chard, unless you enjoy drinking things that taste like lawn clippings that turned to the dark side or holding your nose while you drink. I'm still gagging just thinking about it.

I started feeling a bit run down the evening of day 2 and ended up slogging through day 3. I stuck to the plan of just juice, but the night of Day 3 did me in.  While sitting on the couch, playing on my laptop, I felt as if my brain did a reboot - things got twirly, as if a giant troll picked up my house, spun it around quickly and set it back down. I had to go to bed after that. (let's note, here, that Hubbypants has been doing perfectly fine...the bastard...Love you oodles, sweet of my heart).  


The morning of Day 4, still feeling a bit woozy, found me inhaling three heapinglyginromouslyhumungous soup spoon size bites of leftover soup before leaving for an appointment. Said appointment took much longer than I expected, so I was HON-GRAY by the time I got home. I then whipped up some juice for lunch, which...I think...actually evaporated before it hit my stomach. The run down feeling, achy tummy and blah feeling persisted, so I ate two heapinglyginromouslyhumungous spoonfuls of peanut butter. I didn't even care about potential gluten cross contamination - shoveled that shit right into my mouth. At least it was a smaller spoon than I used for the soup. (have you ever noticed how much peanut butter you can fit on a little spoon? I'm equally adept with Nutella). I drank my dinner juice, thought I was doing fine, until that sneaky woozy feeling started to come on. So, I said, "Screw it", and had more soup. Slightly more than the morning, but certainly NOT what a normal person would consider a serving. Poor Hubbypants, I sat right next to him while I ate it. It might have been a passive/aggressive attempt at getting back at him for doing so well.

How well IS he doing, you ask?

Oh, he's doing fine. Dandy, even. He isn't even feeling hungry. It is merely because I love him so dearly and that we don't have enough life insurance on him to keep me in the princess lifestyle I've grown accustomed to that I don't kill him in his sleep.

To round out my rapid descent into Hell is the glasses glass (singular...that's my story, sticking to it) of tequila I sipped last night. Apparently, soup is a gateway food. What? I just enrolled my daughter in the homeschooling program through our school district. She's in 9th grade, so it isn't like the work is easy. Did I mention that I'm the 'teacher' according to the district. You would deny me tequila? No...no, you would not.

Besides, tequila is 'natural'. It is 100% agave after all. I think that is considered a vegetable, right? A vegetable that has, for all practical purposes, been juiced...and fermented. Fermented stuff is good for you.

Anywhooo...I'm going to wrap up with some thoughts, because all the stuff above didn't involve any brain power - pretty much like most of my blog posts.
  • Juicing is a pain in the ass.
  • Juicing takes a huge amount of effort as well as produce.
  • Planning is super important for anyone planning to bring juice to work. Hubbypants needed a breakfast juice AND a lunch juice, plus a snack juice. 
  • We FAILED on planning a snack juice. Big time. 
  • Everyone is different, but for us we should have been drinking AT LEAST 4-5 twenty ounce glasses of juice. AT LEAST. To get enough calories to not feel woozy and out of sorts, I think closer to 30 ounces per juice would have been wise. Hubbypants did fine on 3-4 sixteen ounce juices a day, but I did not. 
  • I got sick of juicing, the actual preparing of the juice, 2 days ago. Too much work for a long period of time.
  • Ease back into solid food with small, nutritious meals. Going the veggie route for a couple of days is probably the best choice. You certainly wouldn't want to cancel out all the effort of several days of fasting in one meal!
Conclusion:
Yes, I would do it again. My experience with our very first fast will help me prepare much better for future fasts. I'll certainly plan to juice double the amount to make sure we are getting enough calories. Losing weight is great, but losing it from severe calorie deprivation isn't good, since it will likely come flooding back. I'm going to work really hard to keep off most, if not all, of the 9 pounds I lost this week.

Also, I do think juice (or even green smoothie) fasts are great. It is a challenge to disengage ourselves from food and can also help us gain a bit of control over cravings. If the volume of work, or buying a juicer scares you, there are alternatives...like purchasing prepared juices (and not just a giant jug of orange juice).

Whatever you do, read...read...read...to understand how much you should consume, what the side effects might be and to listen to your body. I did, but fell short.

That's it, my descent into hell is complete. I'm not unhappy about it, I'm pretty sure I was destined to live eternity there anyway.

p.s. You may have noticed there is no day 5. Shut up, someone will hear you. I'm hoping no one else notices.
p.p.s. The chicken sausage and egg I ate this morning was practically orgasmic.
p.p.p.s. Hubbypants is STILL sticking to plan. Because he is awesome, a natural at it even.
p.p.p.p.s. I hate him just a little bit.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Juicageddon - Day 1: I'm Alive!!

We lived!

Dude...

I miss food.

Day 1 of the juicing fast was fine, except that we lost a soldier. Three of us went in, only 2 came out to plow ahead toward Day 2.

My daughter caved, she couldn't take it. After going all day she melted down and ate a bagel with pepper jack cheese.

I can still smell it.

And then she ate a bowl of Chocolate Cheerios.

I can still smell those, too.

S'ok, because it just means that I only need to buy enough veggies and fruit for just Hubbypants and I to continue this fast for 4 more days.

I need to buy a damn farm. The amount of veggies and fruit needed to make enough juice for at least 3 meals, plus more if we are feeling fragile, is staggering. I'm kind of glad my daughter dropped out. Cha-ching, baby! Oy.

However, so far everything I've created has been drinkable - not that we wouldn't choke it down if it weren't, no way are we wasting all that money nutritious gold.

Day 1 started with a 16 ounce juice made of:
Kale
Blueberries
Blackberries
Red pepper
Carrot
Celery
Apple
Cucumber

Lunch was a 16 ounce Berry Upbeet smoothie from Jamba Juice - made with beet/veggie and berry juices, nothing else.  It was tasty - but boy, something with sherbet in it would have been divine.

I spent the next hour and a half salivating every time we walked past the food court. Only crazy-ass people go to the mall during the first phase of a fast. While my sister-in-law enjoyed her lunch, I drank a venti chamomile tea from Starbucks. And it sucked donkey balls I was totally happy and satisfied with that.

The rest of the day was spent drinking various herbal teas and drinking gallons of water, 100+ ounces to be exact...enough to fill a damn swimming pool. That sloshing noise is me walking through the house.

When Hubbypants got home from work we walked for 30 minutes - up hill - before making our dinner juice. I made it up the hill, despite my deprived state...weakened from hunger, struggling for each step. O.k. not so much, but my tummy was rumbley and someone nearby was making something that smelled really 'effing yummy.

Dinner juice was:
Broccoli
Red & green bell pepper
Cilantro
Spinach
Apple
Celery
Orange
Cucumber
Avocado
Ginger

It was...fine. It tasted like a glass of veggies and fruit, so I guess I'm doing something right. Although, if I were to make it all taste like a chocolate milk shake? Well, then...I'd market that bitch and be richer than J.K. Rowling, those guys who founded Facebook and Microsoft and all the oil sheiks in the Middle East. I'mma get right on that.

As for how I'm feeling?  Fine. I'm hungry and I feel like I want to eat - like, chew something - but, I'm not feeling bad. I've got energy, no headaches or feeling faint, etc.

As of this morning I was down 4 pounds from yesterday's morning weight. That means that my body has expelled every ounce of liquid I consumed. I counted my eleventybillion trips to the bathroom toward my daily aerobic activity. Although, I must say I have not experienced the...um...cleansing...part of the fast yet. I just know there is another 2 pounds - AT LEAST - of horrid toxicity hanging around in my intestines and colon. Apparently my body is being a toxic hoarding jerk. Whatever, I'll just drown it again today and show it who's boss.

So, there ya go, Day 1. I'm now into Day 2 and...well...you'll just have to wait until tomorrow.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Midlife and Tattoos: Why I Ink.


No, I am not barreling at the speed of light toward a midlife crisis, I'd like to squash that idea right now.

Yes, I realize that at 40-something many people are removing their tattoos not getting them.

No, I am not desperately clinging to my youth by pretending to be edgy and cool - I'm ALREADY edgy and cool, just ask my kids and then ignore their snorts and eye-rolling.

Yes, I may possibly be out of my mind, but the crazy is what keeps y'all coming back for more so I'm  unleashing a whirling dervish of it here in today's post. You're welcome.

I am getting another tattoo. 1 + 1 {will soon} = 2.  (pfft, who says I'm bad at math)

Saturday I have an appointment with a tattoo artist to realize an image I've carried in my head for a long time. I'll be armed with printed examples, several of them, and a whole bunch of vague ideas of what I want. With any luck, Mr. Artist won't hang up his stabby-inkgun-thingy forever when he's done with my consult. Check out my inspiration wall.

Why? Why am I marring my body forever? Again.

I suppose saying "because I want to" isn't enough of an answer, so I'll try and explain.

I've wanted a tattoo since I was a teenager - way, way back in the day when parlors were few and far between and the only people you saw exiting them were likely on a first name basis with the booking officer at the local jail. Where I grew up the tattooed teardrop next to the eye was all the rage - a favorite of the gangs, who were usually the only ones sporting ink. The tramp stamps, tribal bands, sleeves and torso/back covering murals were virtually non-existent - at least they were not on public display.

Yet, I loved the simple tattoos I did see and I've watched the craft evolve into a true art form over theses many years. Call me crazy (if you haven't already, you know you want to), but I love the idea of using skin as a canvas. Also, too...it is incredible the amount of skill and talent necessary to create a work of art on the human body. Tattooist, good ones, are amazing.

I know, I know...your fingers are poised over your keyboard, ready to regal me with all the virtues of not marring my body for the rest of my personal eternity. Here, let me save some time - just visit this link to the Mayo Clinic and it will cover all the basic health risks. Yes, there are more, I know. And, you can research the risk for contracting AIDS and such via tattooing on the CDC website, but I think you'll find the risks are just as great, or greater, in...say...going to the dentist. Yup, through a clean reputable tattoo parlor the risk for illness is very small.


The biggest risk of tattooing? Society - mainly the perception of me they'll form once I show inked skin.  In other words, if my ink is in a highly visible spot, getting a job might be THAT much harder.

Societal perception, as a whole, is very negative toward The Inked.  But I want to challenge those stereotypes and preconceived ideas - ideas formed through word of mouth, not real experience with an individual. We form our ideas based on outward appearance - you are less likely to trust the teller at the bank with your deposit if you can see lots of inked up skin. So, companies ask their employees to cover them up. Isn't that person still the same under their clothing? Does dapper attire make a person more respectable, responsible and trustworthy? For heaven sake, our politicians and smarmy bank executives who've bilked oodles of money from people wear suits and 'respectable' attire! I don't know what their skin looks like under their suites, but I'm willing to bet it isn't covered in tattoos (and honestly, I really don't want to envision them nekkid so soon after eating breakfast).

I want to challenge you to think of that heavily tattooed (or not so inked up) person as someone who can help balance your checkbook, not just your tires. I want you to think that person is able to manage a successful business or care for your children, not just serve up perfect foam atop your cappuccino. The number of tattoos does not translate to a lack of brain function or propensity toward crime, manual labor or living a lifestyle on the fringe of society. Many of you already know this and I'm likely preaching to the choir.

But some of you don't and will no doubt tell me that it is a bad idea to join the ranks of The Inked. This post is to acknowledge that your concern is valid and to thank you for it. It is also to let you know that I fully understand my one person crusade will not change eons of negative attitudes toward tattoos.

I love the way ink looks on the body, maybe not the scary and gross ones, but generally...I love them. As my skin ages, the tattoo will morph and age as well. Some day it will likely become a wrinkled mess, I realize that. Have you seen the skin of old people? It is already a wrinkled mess, often filled with liver spots and bruises, because old people bruise easily - that is just what happens to our bodies, all of us.

If I'm lucky, I'll go into my twilight years with much of my memory in tact (I hope), so when my grandchildren ask what that mark on my skin is, I can tell them that it was once a beautiful butterfly that reminded me of all the people I loved who battled cancer. "And the other blob, grandma? What did that one mean?"  That was a compass, each way point bearing the initials of my family, so that no matter where I might roam or what direction life would take me, those way points always point toward people I love - people who hold the true meaning of 'home' to me.

When I'm 80 and my skin decides to make my ink more of a puzzle than a portrait, I'll still know what they mean. I'm o.k. if they won't look attractive, I'll be 80 - I'll be farting in public, wearing an adult diaper and pondering the early bird special for supper at 3:00pm. With any luck, I'll be conspiring with my grand kids to give their parents gray hair, stealing the car keys to go on a joyride or giving my own children headaches when I try my hand at shoplifting for the first time.

Hmmm...perhaps these tattoos DO lead to nefarious thoughts and actions. Well, I've got another 40-ish years to come up with a few doozies!

Please stay tuned for the next installment of Melissa Ink's, where you'll {hopefully} see pictures of my next memory in the making.

Peace!

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Words We Should Not Keep

If I were an artist, 
I would make this into a poster
and
then
I'd give it to you.
Yes, you...
The one who stores these words
in her head,
giving them a place to nest, 
and 
then
believes them. 
But, I'm not an artist,
I'm just like you. 
Perhaps together
you
and 
I
Can put these words
where they belong
and 
then
they will no longer reside
inside of
us.

(Click to enlarge image)