Nuts! I screwed up.
I know! I know! I said I'd write every week. I also said I'd prioritize and last week, self pity took the front seat to self-indulgence. Sorry: at least I'm honest.
What ruffled my pity feathers? I blame the Pirate Queen.
The previous Friday she said, "We should diet." When the Queen uses the word "we" it's never figurative and it's results are always expected as immediate. What else is there to say?
"Sure!"
Nuts!
I'd like to say I diet strictly to support my wife, but the scale tells a different story. My Queen thinks I should stop cursing when I stomp on the thing and listen to what it's telling me:
GET OFF YOU FAT BASTARD!
I get it. Writers aren't know for their athletic prowess. FINE!
So, last Monday we started our diet. The South Beach Diet to be exact. Why South Beach? Primarily because I hate diets. I don't believe in them. Diets don't fix the problem, they just attack the symptoms. They're a quick fix that sets you up to fail. The South Beach Diet agrees with me. I find that refreshing.
South Beach approaches weight loss as a lifestyle change. I'm not just changing my now, I'm making choices for the rest of my life.
Alright...
So Monday began stage one of the diet: eliminate sugars. Stage one lasts two weeks allowing for an eventual return of my sweet friends in the distant future. This is just a system cleanse. I get it. I wave goodbye. I know it's not forever. Life was happy and great. That is until Wednesday when I discover a harsh truth: sugar and I have a complex relationship. It's hold is actually pretty strong and it's not going anywhere. I'm not hungry, but...Let's just say, if my sugar addiction and I made a movie, it would be "The Exorcist."
I'll rip the head off of any man who stands between me and a donut.
"The power of South Beach compels you!"
I'm not speaking figuratively either. I really would, if all my carb energy hadn't been depleted by this stupid diet. Oh, I'm not hungry; I can eat all I want—as long as it's the right things.
Nuts.
The power of South Beach depletes you.
My Queen says, "You're just not eating enough."
Let me tell you something; I'm eating plenty: celery, lettuce, non-fat cheese, cauliflower. I am one veggie stuffed pepper from sprouting greens. What I'm
not getting is my Rob Daily Allowance of saturated calories slathered in sugary goodness.
And fat. I miss fat too.
Saturday a commercial for Carl's Jr. came on TV. You know the ones: multiple nearly naked models devouring the burger
de jour for 60 seconds of advertising proof that sex sells.
"Really Rob?" My Queen airs her disappointment. "You're going to drool at the girls on TV when I'm sitting right here?"
I blink. "Girls?" All I saw was a jalapeno popper burger. Two fists of burning burger love screaming my name with pleasure. Girls? Sure, I suppose that could have been what Carls used as a pedestal.
Oh jalapeno burger, you will be mine...
My Queen doesn't listen. She's irritated because she'is dieting her own demons. She doesn't crave sugar, but she's missing something and it makes her snappy. Yes, our house is a house of joy. Come visit, we're a pleasure to be around while we sit across the couch from each other, trying to avoid each others trap-triggers.
"How's this dress look on me?"
"Take that off! You're stretching my clothes again, fat-boy!"
she's getting mean.
So far the only thing I've found the only joy in my diet day are the nuts. I get one serving daily as a snack. It's great energy before working out. What's more, Trader Joes packages these great individually wrapped servings. It's perfect. Come mid afternoon, when I feel a little twitchy, I grab the nuts. They calm me down. And this is my life for two weeks.
I'm dieting. I'm nuts. Welcome to my world.