Day 3: A New York Ass-Kicking

Significantly easier. This is likely for two reasons. 1. COB was not there, so I was not as scared nervous. 2. The DI had us sample various obstacles, thus, I spent a few minutes waiting for other recruits to finish so I could take my turn. After some laps and stretches, we were split into two groups, namely, those in fatigues (the old-timers) and those in black pants (the Groupies, aka me). My platoon was taken into the middle of the pit o' hell, where the DI selected a girl (NOT ME!) to crawl up onto this semi-uphill net made of rope. Said girl hopped up onto this net of sorts and began to flap around like a dying fish crawl through this rope, while six of us watched. When she got to the top, the DI instructed her to flip head first onto the ground via a somersault, landing on her feet. She looked at him like he was crazy. I looked at him like he was crazy. She did it, though he essentially had to manually flip her body and lift her down. I got in the back of the line.

The DI moved on to the next device while one girl at a time crawled through the rope-net. Up next? A rope swing near a log and a pit of water, that resembled an oversize tupperware container. The object? Swing over the log, taking care not to fall in the water. Hoping he wouldn't notice that I did not crawl through the rope-net, I got on the rope swing. I didn't get very far. I tried again, and got on the other side of the log! Hallelujah! "I did it!!" I squealed! "No, you didn't," DI said. "The rope was between your legs; it should have been to the side of you." I picture Tarzan. "Oh." I walk back to the rope-net and try that. I start crawling. I flail around in the middle of the net. I feel like a giant bass. When I get to the top, I wait for DI to assist me with my somersault. "Tuck your head, bend your legs," he instructs. I am frozen. Somehow I do a flip of sorts and he lifts me down. Later, I find that this rope-net gave me rope burns and bruises on my arms (above). No pain, no weight loss gain, I guess.

Now we move on to a giant wall with a rope attached to one side, some pegs on the other side. As DI demonstrates, I am scrapping my jaw off the rubbery pit. He scrambles up the rope/wall all GI Joe-like, only to peg his way down the other side. I recall thinking to myself, "If I can go up and over that wall before my two weeks end, this will all be worth it." He motions to a recruit. After  a couple of tries, she makes it to the top. I am scared for her; I can't hold back. "Oh! Be careful!" I shout. Another girl looks at me and laughs, "You're such a mom," she says. I do not know what to say to this. The girl on the wall makes it down in one piece. DI suddenly looks at me. He wants me to go up the wall. Uhm... I make a run for it, grab the rope and try to scramble up the wall all Spiderman-like, only to slide back down. He teaches me how to use the rope to get up to the top. I do this. I am scared. I am now holding on for dear life to the top of this wall, legs dangling, trying to scurry my legs up to meet my hands and get on the other side. I am frightened of falling off the damn wall altogether. I hear a recruit shout my name, "C'mon Tina, you can do it!" Somehow I pull myself on top, now belly-side down. Where is the f**king peg on the other side? DI instructs me. Scared. I place my foot on the peg. Still scared. Another peg. Now I am low enough that if I were to fall, I would not break a limb. I make it down! On my feet! I feel good. I am Power. No. Wait. I am SHE-RA, PRINCESS OF POWER!

Day 2: A New York Ass-Kicking

Suffice to say that Day Two was worse than Day One. I wasn't planning to write a blog series on my two-week stint at Pure Power Boot Camp. But the absurd situation I've put myself in, combined with my incessant laziness, kind of makes for laughable material. *face palm*

I arranged to arrive to class at 8pm on the dot, body in pain from the first class — the lady at the desk said I could skip my push-ups, as class was starting. (Success!) I ran my laps and met up with my platoonmates for partner stretches. I did not mention these in yesterday's post. Partner stretches consist of sitting in two lines, pushing our partner's back/legs/arms/what-have-you so you get a painful nice stretch. The recruit nearest me (aka my partner) was a guy; I could tell he was a frequent boot-camper. You can easily differentiate the old-timers (clad in faded camo fatigues) from the Groupon newbies (black pants). I held his legs down during the butterfly stretch and did my best to keep my hands as far away from his, um..., as I could. *awkward* After the stretches, my Drill Instructor (a different guy from Day One), whispered something in my stretch partner's ear, who then ran to the front of the line. I guess I was slowing him down. Now I was the weird girl at the end of the line with no one across from me. Our DI silently walked down the middle. He turned to face me. "What's your last name?" "Smithers?"

Side Note: I was scared because Commanding Officer Brenner (aka the hot ab chick PPBC owner) sent me a "new recruit" email saying I could email her with any love/questions/etc., and my coworker suggested that I email her a link to my blog. So I did. She did not respond. So when the DI asked my name, I assumed that I was in big trouble. /end note

"WHAT?" "Smithers? Smithers." "Smeeters, are you confused?" "No! No." "OK, Smeeters. Good." (ShitIoffendedCOBwithmyblognowI'mscared.) Jumping jacks. I do about 50 and then take a break, continuing to count and wave my arms. The DI spots me. He laughs. I relax. I laugh. COB takes the old-timers. The DI takes the people like me. Only they're not really like me, turns out I'm Still That Girl. More hurdles. I straddle. (But I spotted another Straddler!) Over the huge walls. Only this time we have to go up the side without a ledge. So it's like... a flat wall that we have to crawl over like f-cking Spiderman. DI sees me struggling. He gives me a boost. Now I am belly down on the top of this wall with my arms and legs dangling over the sides. I kind of fall off and somehow land on my feet. I may not be Spiderman, but I am a cat!

Now we are instructed to pick up a rubber tire. I get my tire. We're told to do 50 of these tire lifts over our heads. My tire is heavy. DI says I can trade with another guy who's tire is lighter. I want to prove that I am badass, and I say no, I can handle my tire. After three lifts, I regret it. He says I can switch. I still can't really get past 10. My legs are shaking. I am seeing spots. He tells me to go get a bar and lift that instead. I run by myself to get the bar, while my platoonmates all have tires. This is embarrassing.

Now we do dips. I can't do these either. I feel like I am going to die. Did I mention that I haven't worked out consistently, oh, EVER? My body is in shock. I meekly ask if I can get water. He lets me. We do sit-ups. I am told to get an 8-pound barbell and to do 60. I do a shitload. I lose count. "SMEETERS! What number are you on?" "I don't know. But I have been doing them!" "No. Start over, Smeeters. You can do 20." I start counting from 5. He laughs. He is going easy on me. I appreciate it. But I am also ashamed.

Class is almost over. We get in a circle to say our kindergarten-classroom Words. It is my turn. I debate which Word to say. Strength? Honor? I try Power again. "POWER...?" "Are you sure about that, SMEETERS?" "Yes! POWER! POWER! POWER!"

On the way out of class, I meet two fellow boot-campers in the elevator. "I'm so embarrassed," I say. "It's OK! Is this your first day?" "Second." "Honestly, your second day is worse than the first. I don't know what it is, but it's brutal." They both agreed. "Really?! So you felt nauseous and faint and death-like?" "YES," the girl said. "It gets better!" Gosh. They're so nice. I will not quit this. I can finish! I am a cat!

A New York Ass-Kicking

It's no secret. I have commitment issues. I am easily distracted. I have been known to join multiple gyms, go for a month and then lie to get out of the contract. (I once "moved in with my grandma who lives in southern Missouri" and even had my cellphone bill sent there for two months so I had change-of-residency "proof.") So when I saw this Groupon for 75% off six classes at Pure Power Boot Camp, I figured what the hell. I was sold when I saw that it's located two blocks away from my work. I enlisted for two weeks of classes in early August (um, now).

The day of my first class (um, yesterday), I looked at the website in detail. Torture devices stared back at me — things like Barbed Wire Crawl and Belly Robbers scoffed in my face. I was getting nervous. I calmed my nerves with an iced coffee and a small cookie the afternoon before class. It's my birthday week. I can have a cookie. I arrived to class 15 minutes early (gasp! have we met?) as instructed in my "platoon uniform" of black pants and sneakers. Upon arrival, I filled out a waiver for new "recruits" stating that sprains and fractured bones are possible and that I will be added to some sort of "KILL BOARD" if I fail to arrive in uniform. Then they tossed an oversize army T-shirt at me and ordered that I do five push-ups. Done. Sort of. I changed into my shirt and joined my "platoon." We were surrounded by ropes and hurdles and torture chambers of all kinds stuck in a pit of what seemed to be an odd combination of loose rubber and styrofoam. The outskirts of the pit was swathed in camouflage and feel-good Words like POWER, INTEGRITY, STRENGTH and TRUST. It reminded me of those motivational posters in kindergarten classrooms. I liked it.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that my shirt was on backward — my dog-tag graphic was in front. Everyone else's was in back. Peeked in collar, sure enough, there was the XL tag starring back at me. Quickly switched shirt around and got in line for jumping jacks. Everyone just automatically knew to start counting. I was confused. For every number they shouted, they did three or four jacks. They also seemed to be counting backward. I mouthed various numbers and waved my arms around.

Time for some laps. Now I like to start out with a nice, light jog. Many of my fellow recruits/platoonmates/soldiers were sprinting past me. Overachievers, I thought to myself. We then split up into two groups. Commanding Officer Brenner (aka the hot chick with the abs) took the overachievers. A drill instructor guy (I will call him DI) took people like me. We immediately had to go over these wooden hurdles that went up to my belly button. Those in front of me were sticking their left leg up and pulling themselves over all professional-like. I straddled it. Left leg up, straddle, right leg over, slide off. The DI showed me out to do it. I was scared and thought I was going to trip over the hurdle, falling on my face in the pit. I straddled it again. I straddled them all. I was That Girl. The Straddle Girl Who Slowed Down The Whole Platoon. Then we went to a wall of sorts that was much taller than me. We had to climb over it and jump down. I got up to the top, looked down and freaked. DI claimed it's not that far and to jump down. So I did. I landed on my feet! I did three more.

Then we had to do these box step-up things and squats. I went to grab my water. "PUT THAT WATER DOWN!" DI shouted. Jaw dropped, I did what I was told. He wanted us to count while doing the steps. I don't think anyone knew whether to start backward or forward. So we didn't speak. "You can't count, so then GET AWAY FROM ME!" he snarled. "Go run three laps." So we did. I was scared. A nice girl introduced herself while jogging, asked if it was my first day. "Yes. Is it almost over?" "You've got 20 more minutes. Don't worry about it, you paid for it, do what you can." I liked her. At this point, I was feeling faint. I must've looked pale. Vomit was rising in my throat. I seriously thought I was going to collapse. We were given a 10-second water break.

Then we did some 200 sit-ups of sorts while being ordered to scream things like "I AM A SEXY BITCH!" The minute my DI turned his back, I rested. Yes. I am a dirty cheater. At the end, our platoon sat in a circle, and we were ordered to shout Words. DI told me to say POWER. "Power?" I said in question form.

When I walked out, legs shaking, I felt like I'd accomplished something great, aside from swallowing my puke. I realized that I had a huge sweat spot that looked as if I had peed myself. For a split second, I questioned whether or not I really peed myself. I did not. Whew. I go back tonight. Five more classes. I can do this.

NYC Cleanse: Post Cleanse + Verdict

Wake up today refreshed and psyched that I don't have anymore juice sitting in my fridge. Am 5 lbs. lighter since Monday! After five days with no coffee, my first stop is my personal Cheers, where the baristas all know my name and how I take my joe. I know the stars are aligned when I see that the flavor of the day is my absolute favorite — Caramel Nut Fudge! I then throw them for a loop when I request skim instead of my usual full-fat milk. Practically skip to work, pausing to pick up some fruit for breakfast. Upon arriving to work, I don't feel like eating. Shocking, I know. I finally start noshing on my fruit at around 10am, and it takes me a good hour to eat it.

At around 2pm, I head to Energy Kitchen for a salad. Apparently they're giving away sandwiches from 12-2pm today because it's tax day. Um, OK. The guy at the door won't let me in because he needs to cut off the "free food" line. I snap, "I don't want your free food. I just want to buy a damn salad." I'm pretty pissed. 1. Your business is open. There are better ways to run things. Like cutting off the free food line, not the entire store front. 2. I haven't eaten in three days. If you don't get out of my way, I won't hesitate to go all Hannibal Lecter on you and eat your ass. He proceeds to have an employee escort me to the salad bar. After nibbling on my salad, I begin to feel a bit nauseous. Maybe it's mental, but I'm turned off by food at the moment. This is a first.

*rant* Since living in New York, I've found that my patience has worn thin, and I feel extremely entitled when it comes to customer service. I blow up at cabbies who don't know their way around Manhattan and at waiters who don't know their ear from their elbow. I can understand if you're new, but if you're not new, and you were hired to do a particular job, and you work at an ice cream shop and don't know how to say "flavor" in English, we're going to have a problem. *end rant*

Off to La Casa Day Spa for my um, first-ever colonic. I don't think I will go into too much detail after all, but if you're that curious about my poo-poo endeavors, you need help feel free to message me privately! It was pretty much what I expected — my um, "stuff" came out in a tube. Then I sat on a toilet for 30 minutes. 'Nough said.

VERDICT

Total Pounds Lost: 6 lbs.

Overall, Jami (who lost a whopping 10 pounds!) and I are both extremely glad we did it — I feel lighter and healthier. I don't even want the chocolate in the conference room. Well... not really. Not only do I get full faster (thus, eating less), but I think twice about what I put in my body. Granted, talk to me in a month to see where I am. But I do hope this "health kick" sticks and rather than eating four cupcakes a week, I only treat myself to one. Would I do this again? Perhaps. Would I recommend this to a friend? Yes. But I do think there are less expensive options out there. I mean, it's just juice. Psst... if you decide to try the Blueprint Cleanse, use this 15% off discount code. You're welcome. Maybe next time I'll try Salma Hayek's Cooler Cleanse, though they do make you drink a juice that's identical to my personal hell the beet juice. Erm, nevermind. Thanks to my friend James, I will be playing Whack-A-Beet on a daily basis, instead.

Note: If you like what you've read, please follow this blog. Thank you!

NYC Cleanse: Day 3

It's my last day, yaya! Confession: I am really proud of myself. Yesterday, fellow cleanser Jami asked if I've cheated. I happily said no, I have not cheated, and no, I am not lying. BPC says you can have snacks like cucumber and celery if you really need to eat — but it's been only juice and water for me. And I honestly haven't been too hungry. By the time my stomach starts to growl, it's time for another awesome juice, which does the trick. Also looks like I've lost a total of 4 lbs. Final weigh-in coming after tomorrow's colonic. And yes, you're going to hear all about it.

Juice 1: Green Lemon
8:30am See? Even Sophie Sassypants wants nothing to do with the liquified leaves Green Juice, and she's been known to eat pretty much anything.

Juice 2: P.A.M.
11am Oh, Pamela, how I am going to miss you. Your pineapple-minty goodness has been my saving grace. You are the one BPC juice I would happily purchase for $1.79 from my local convenience store. But alas, you are only available in $200 increments surrounded by your less redeeming friends, Green Apple and C.A.B. Perhaps we will meet again after a few donuts and slices of pizza. ♥

Juice 3: Green Apple
2pm And you were just starting to get bearable! Adios, GJ.

Juice 4: Spicy Lemonade
3:30pm Meh. I have very little love for you. *Desperately wanting an iced coffee right about now.*

Just got this email from a coworker:

From: Coworker
To: Everyone
Date: Wednesday, April 10, 2010, 5:25pm 
Subject: Chocolates in the Conference Room
Hi all,
I brought chocolate back from Hawaii for everyone. Please help yourself and enjoy.

I was halfway to the conference room when I remembered where I was and what I was doing. FML.

Juice #5: C.A.B.
6:30pm Let the record state that if you like beets, you would probably like C.A.B. But as a result of a traumatic experience, my distaste for beets goes into a full-on hatred. Case in point: Out to dinner recently with my friend Rachel. Her entree comes with beets. I proceed to make faces throughout the meal due to the smell alone. Looking back, it was a bit rude on my part. Sorry, Rach. Anyway, good riddance.

Proceed to spend next hour talking Jami off the ledge. She wants to *gasp* eat dinner tonight! I tell her that it's like sex — so much better when you wait. Our "doctor's appointments" are tomorrow, and BPC says to ease back into eating "solids," so I'm planning on mixed fruit for breakfast, and a cheeseless green salad with olive oil for lunch. I have been thinking about Friday's food intake all week. I had originally decided on an onion bagel with full-fat scallion cream cheese for breakfast, followed by a celebratory Chipotle lunch with Jami. Then I remembered — my eating habits must change. If I'm going to have a damn bagel for breakfast, I better be prepared to have a salad for lunch. And vice versa. Chipotle and Fiber One it is. It occurs to Jami to mix vodka with her remaining juices.

Juice #6: Cashew Nut Milk
8:30pm I drink this with pleasure. Me: 18. BPC: 0. I did it!!!

Day 3: Done. (But my journey does not end here, my friends...)

NYC Cleanse: Day 2

Went to bed last night with anxiety about the next day's juices and severe headache — I blame lack of caffeine. Wake up this morning cranky. Probably because I know I'm not getting coffee or food of any kind. I'm not hungry, I just LOVE FOOD! Cheesy pasta goodness? Get in my belly. Determined to plow through, I drink my hot lemony water and go about my business. My um, bathroom habits are fairly normal, btw. (I know you were dying to ask.) Oh! But I seemed to have lost 2 lbs. Score.

Juice 1: Green Lemon
8:30am Plug nose and go for it. Surprisingly easier than yesterday. Side note: Maybe it's mental, but I find it useful to hold my nose during Juices #1, #3, and #5, because if I can't smell it, it's not really there... right?
 

Juice 2: P.A.M.
10:30am Have decided that this juice is my favorite. It's refreshing and thirst-quenching... like a healthy Gatorade of sorts. I sip on this for an hour, savoring it, and trying not to think about what's to come.

Juice 3: Green Apple
1pm Halfway there! I let my boss sample the grass-in-a-bottle Green Juice, and she seems to enjoy it. Then again, she is a phenomenal cook and enjoys various types of veggies that are generally foreign to me — most of which I wouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole. Done and done. Me: 3. Green Juice: 0. But I run out of giant Starbucks straws. Must replenish stash for Juice #5. *shudders*

Juice 4: Spicy Lemonade
2:30pm No biggie. I drink this while stealing straws running errands.

Juice 5: C.A.B.
5pm Have been dreading this moment all day. Wishing I were Dwight Schrute right about now. He has a beet farm. You can't have a beet farm and not love beets. Coworker Naomi is intrigued by my plight, so I offer her a sip. (Less for me!) She mentions that it tastes like pickles. Plug nose. Dive in. And then there was one. Looking forward to tonight's "milkshake."

Juice 6: Cashew Nut Milk
8:30pm Still doesn't taste like ice cream, but I kind of like it. Kind of. Tonight I noticed that my body feels lighter, overall — likely a result of not being weighed down by cheeseburgers and donuts. This must be how vegans feel. I have no plans to convert, but I am hoping that this feeling will help me think twice about cleaning my entire plate of penne a la vodka.

Day 2: Done!

NYC Cleanse: Day 1

Yes. That is my weight at the right. Don't judge. Supposedly it's average for my height. On the higher end of average, but I digress. And kindly disregard my orange feet, courtesy of last week's Mystic Tan. This is my journey to cleanliness, and I am not holding back. Moving on... BPC says to start the day with warm water and lemon — apparently this gets your intestines moving. Fine. I paid $200, and I'm going to do it right. Pour glass of warm water and immediately squirt lemon juice in my eye. Ouch. Am not off to a good start.

Juice 1: Green Lemon (romaine, celery, cucumber, green apple, spinach, kale, parsley, lemon)
8:20am I have not heard good things about this Green Juice, so I take drastic measures in the form of stealing some of those big straws from Starbucks for faster, um, sucking. Toothbrush is prepped with toothpaste. I am ready. I start gulping. Not so bad. I pause to catch my breath. Oh, God. I am overwhelmed by healthy bursts of flavor. Kale. Parsley. Spinach. Determined to get my money's worth, I finish in one slurp. I burp celery. This $20 bottle of juice cannot come back up. Gulp water, brush teeth, I am done. I am rock star.

I pass my coffee shop on the way to work — it is calling my name. I say I am sorry, but I cannot come in today, even if the flavor of the day is Caramel Nut Fudge. I see a man eating McDonald's hash browns on the train. I stare longingly, mouth agape. I realize I resemble one of the New York crazies and go about my business. Side note: Jami says she loves the Green Juice. FML.
 
Juice 2: P.A.M. (pineapple, apple, mint)
9:45am Tasty. This one I like.

Juice 3: Green Apple (romaine, celery, cucumber, kale, parsley, green apple, spinach, lemon)
12:30pm You, again. I love how they change the name of the juice to entice me, when truthfully, it's the same ol' shit I drank this morning. Awesome. Jami says to focus on the green apple, so I do. It helps for all of two gulps. Then the spinach rears its ugly head. But I finish.

Juice 4: Spicy Lemonade (filtered water, lemon, agave nectar, cayenne)
2:30pm Not bad. It's like lemonade... with a kick. Trying not to think about Juice #5. Post Juice #4, I sit through a brutally long meeting. For the first time today, my stomach growls.

Juice 5: C.A.B. (carrot, apple, beet, ginger, lemon)
6pm *nervous* Can't. Handle. Beets. Traumatic childhood experience: 9 years old, babysitter's house. PB&J and beets for lunch. I try the beets and immediately gag. Babysitter won't let me leave the table until beets are gone. The other kids ate their beets and are bouncing on the trampoline outside. I sit there until 5pm when my mom arrives. I am forever scarred.

Fill plastic cup with ice, prep Starbucks straw. Mmmm, Starbucks... Focus, Tina! The colder the juice is, the less I will taste the beets. And ginger. I forgot about the ginger. Hate the stuff. Pour juice, start gulping. I barely taste it! Until I pause to take a breath. Then the lingering taste of beets mixed with ginger manifests in my throat. Memories of my 9-year-old self waft through my mind. A coworker walks in to find  me staring forlornly at my cup o' beets. I laugh and try to explain why I'm staring into a cup of thick red juice. Mention the cleanse and impending colonic. (Seriously?! Do I have no filter? Do not discuss colonics with work colleagues I rarely interact with!) She raises her eyebrows and leaves. I finish my juice. I burp a beet and shudder. I leave work for my Monday night dance class and continue to silently burp beets mixed with ginger all throughout class. Gross is an understatement.

Juice 6: Cashew Nut Milk (filtered water, raw cashews, agave nectar, vanilla bean, cinnamon)
9pm After class, I longingly walk by all my favorite fast food joints — Five Guys (burgers), Chipotle (burritos), Grimaldi's (pizza). I heard a rumor that Juice #6 tastes like a milkshake, and it's my saving grace. I get home, pop it open and take a sip, expecting to savor its ice creamy goodness. WTF?! This is not a milkshake. It's... it's nothing more than a nut-flavored milky substance with a hint of cinnamon. So much for great expectations. I drink it anyway. Ha. Nut-flavored milky substance... oh, shutyourpiehole, you thought it, too.

Day 1: Done.

The New York Cleanse

Donuts, bagels,  coffee, macaroni & cheese, pizza, pasta, diet coke, brownies. The occasional vegetable. My eating habits need an overhaul. My body needs an overhaul. When my sweet work colleague Nicole first recommended the Blueprint Cleanse, I scoffed. $200 for three days worth of juice?! No, thanks. That was last winter. It is now Jersey Shore season, and I intend to flaunt my semi-bikini-bod with confidence. Truthfully, I just need a kick start to a slightly healthier lifestyle. At 28 years old, the time has come for veggies and anti-wrinkle cream. Armed with my cleanser-in-crime Jami and Nicole's encouragement, I schedule myself for the three-day Renovation Cleanse — this is for the person who thinks french fries are a vegetable, aka me. And just to ensure that my insides are fully clean, I've scheduled a post-cleanse colonic. Sorry, being my friend naturally comes with TMI.

PRE-CLEANSE

BPC suggests preparing a few days before by phasing out sugar, coffee, meat and dairy. So on Saturday, I quit my morning coffee (and we all know how important this is to me). BPC doesn't mention carbs, so I have a bagel for breakfast. (OK, and a smear of cream cheese...) Then I have some mixed fruit — something I never do. For dinner, I make stir-fry veggies, without rice. (OK, I tried to make rice, but I burned it. So by default... no rice.) I am on a mission to rid my kitchen-slash-living-room of any and all temptation. I toss my cheese. And eggs. Then, I spot a bag of jellybeans. Well, I have to get rid of them, right? So I decide to hide them... in my belly. Dammit. BPC also doesn't mention popcorn, so I eat some of that. And I discover some chocolate chips in the cupboard — I already f---ed up with the jellybeans, so I go ahead and eat those, too.

On Sunday, I vow to start over. In the morning, I accidentally eat half a frosted donut. Whoops. Then I have some mixed fruit, points for me. This is followed by an avocado and a tomato. Then Meagan comes over to watch a movie. She has a Coke Zero. I haven't had caffeine for two days. If I don't have a Coke Zero, I'm going to rip someone's face off. So I drink it. It. Feels. Great. Then I devour the rest of my popcorn. Needless to say, Jami did better with her BPC prep. All that remains is 18 bottles of juice in my fridge... to be continued.

The New York Dentist

My dentist is a condescending arse who wears way too much purple and has a peculiar fetish for mouth guards. He is convinced I need a root canal, yet the man has no proof. He refuses to set my appointments prior to 1pm because I was 10 minutes late one morning roughly four years ago. I'm always scared to go into his office. He's a one-man show with no receptionist and no assistant. This is weird. I could easily disappear into the abyss of his purple-swathed office, never to return and no one would be the wiser.

Case in point: On Saturday, I stroll in at 12:55pm for two fillings. He sharply demands that I sit down and straps a lavender slobber catchall around my neck. And so the drilling, poking, prodding (torture, essentially) ensues sandwiched between caustic commands to "Sit still," and "Don't move your head," followed by my personal favorite, "Good girl." (Oh, gee! Can I have a dog biscuit, too? No? OK, I'll settle for another wad of cotton while I choke on my saliva.) Meanwhile, I can't help but think that I'd kill for an inspirational ceiling poster or something to serve as a distraction. When it's all said and done, he hands me a travel toothpaste to add to my growing collection of tiny tubes of Colgate. Sad to say I never get a toothbrush. The dentists in the Midwest would hook me up (toothbrush, floss, the whole nine yards). But not this guy. I then bolt before he can give me his usual laundry list of reasons as to why I should spend $500 on a night guard. Thanks, but no thanks.

My Day at the Office Wellness Fair

So there was a 'Wellness Fair' here at my office today from 12-2pm. People from my gym next door came over and I was told they'd have Personal Nutrition and Fitness Assessments. Their Nutritionist is this older lady who gives off the 'Mean Old Lady' vibe. Anyway, so I went to her table to look at some nutrition fliers. Our conversation:

MOL: Let me know if you have any questions about anything.
Me (trying to initiate a conversation/seek help): Well, my biggest problem is that I eat too much late at night...
MOL: Oh, so is the problem acid reflux?
Me: No. It's weight gain. I eat before bed and gain weight.
MOL (openly grimacing): OK.

And then she just walked away. WTF? Thanks for the help. She could have been like, 'Don't eat past 8pm,' or 'Eat an afternoon snack.' Something helpful? Anything? On my way out of the Wellness Fair, the gym's Personal Training Manager stopped me:

PTM: I haven't seen you at the gym lately!
Me (shocked he's calling me out/feeling really guilty and fat): Oh! Well I had my wisdom teeth taken out last week. (It was the week before last.)
PTM: Oh! That's a good excuse then, no worries. I don't want anyone working out on pain meds.
Me (I quit taking the pain meds regularly over a week ago): Haha.
PTM: Let me know if you have any extra pain meds, haha!
Me: I don't.

Disclaimer: I am very grateful that my office housed a Wellness Fair. I just don't think my gym's Nutritionist is very friendly.

Fatty, Fatty, Two By Four...

It just hit me. I haven't changed a bit. I was perusing my own blog archives (I know, I'm a dork. I get a kick out of how moronic I am, OK?) Anyway, I came across this. I pulled that "chubby or average" line less than a month ago on my friend Andy when we were at the beach! "If I was walking down the street, and you didn't know who I was, would you think I was kind of fat and chubby or just average?" WTF?! Who asks questions like that? Not only to their friends, but to their guy friends?! I always end the question with an over-explanation of, "I'm OK being average! Really! I know I'm not skinny, or even thin so much. I just want to make sure I'm not, like, really fat. Because sometimes, I don't know. We all tend to have a distorted body image  of  ourselves. So, well, it's not like you would even tell me if I was fat. You're my friend; that would be awful. So, I don't know why I asked, sorry..." By that point the poor guy is looking at me as if I have four heads, mumbles that I'm not fat and quickly changes the subject. Then I indiscreetly change the subject back to my epidermal thickness. He pretends he doesn't hear me. After a handful of unsuccessful attempts at satisfactory reassurance, I take the hint and shut up. Seriously. Is that shit even normal?