Inspiration February 9, 2010

When I was younger, everyone used to tell me that I had “so much potential.” I would beam with pride as I spoke about my ambitions in life, waxing poetic about all the ways I wanted to change the world. When life at home was particularly lonely (as it often was), I would lose myself in the pages of my favorite books, and felt myself becoming someone else… someone important. I discovered prejudice and battled hatred alongside Scout Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. Through The Bell Jar, Esther Greenwood taught me to deflect the pains of depression and hopelessness into soulful journals. And John Grisham’s endlessly thrilling collection of legal novels opened my eyes to a world of intelligence, intrigue, and perseverance… a world where the good guys usually win.

Hell-bent on escaping from my mother’s abusive grasp, I graduated at 17, and with my Grannie’s assistance, left home under the cover of night via an airplane bound for Houston. The plan was to find an apartment in Austin, attend the University of Texas and make my family proud. My mother’s wrath at my departure, combined with the fact that she’d spent all of the money my dad had given her for my college tuition, put a damper on my plans. Dad did what he could to help me, but like most abuse victims, I fell into a messy emotional spiderweb of guilt and shame, blamed myself, and eventually ended up back in Georgia with my mother.

I continuously subjected myself to endless rounds of angry arguments, physical abuse, and manipulation. I would like to say I didn’t know any better, but I did. I was simply weak. And she knew it… and she preyed upon my weakness at every given opportunity. I fell victim to her over and over again, not because I was stupid, but because I lacked a real sense of family. I can only blame so much of my loneliness on my mother… I long ago accepted that some of my pain was self-inflicted. And so I set out to recreate my life and create a sense of family on my own. I married Jonathan at 23, and finally began living the life of an “adult.” I worked 50-60 hours a week as a paralegal, attended college full-time and maintained a high A average, even with my Honors coursework. I joined a sorority and served in several leadership positions in my chapter and for the university’s Panhellenic Association. I had my sights set on Yale Law, and I wasn’t stopping until I was there. It seemed there was nothing I wasn’t capable of accomplishing if I set my mind to it.

And then life happened. In my junior year, I separated from my husband. In the midst of a painful divorce, I quit my job, then Atlanta to move to San Diego… to “find myself.” All I found was more emptiness and a higher cost of living. I didn’t know what I wanted or even what I needed… but I knew I wasn’t going to find it in California. And so, with a lot of help from Daddy, I moved back to Texas to once again be near my family… to figure out what’s missing in my life… to heal.

The healing process is difficult. I’ve been through all the stages of grief over and over… and at this point, I’m not even sure which demons I’m battling. I have all the love in the world with my Dad, my amazing stepmom of 25 years, my siblings and Grannie. I have some incredible friends, and I live a good life. But it’s still not enough.

I always hear her voice in the back of my mind, telling me I’m not good enough. Telling me I’ll never live up to my “potential,” pushing me down to make sure she still has control over me. I hear him telling me that I’ll never make it without him… saying that I’m just like her, and that I’ll never be able to commit to anything. That I don’t know what love is. And sometimes, I let them get to me… Sometimes, I think they’re right.

Perhaps I’m just one of many experiencing the Quarterlife Crisis… that mid-20‘s freak-out wherein you realize that you have accomplished virtually nothing from the long list of goals you set for yourself as a wide-eyed teenager, and honestly have no idea what you want to do when you “grow up.” George Bernard Shaw once said, “Life isn’t about finding yourself. It’s about creating yourself.” And since I’ve had very little luck in locating myself amongst the chaotic messes I’ve gathered along the way, I started thinking about what I want.

I want to find a job that inspires me – something that allows me to help people and maximize my “potential” – but I don’t know what that is. I’m passionate about law, but disheartened by adversarial nature of the legal system itself. I don’t want to spend my life fighting for causes I don’t believe in… so you can imagine my difficulty in finding a legal job that gives me a reason to wake up in the morning. It wouldn’t hurt to finally be doing something that makes my Dad proud… though I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to accomplish that. It doesn’t hurt to try.

I want to find a love that inspires me – someone who allows me to be myself, without judgments or unrealistic expectations… someone who understands that I’m not always as strong as I appear to be, but loves me anyways… someone who wants to take care of me just as much as I want to take care of him… someone who knows that I will give him so much more than I expect him to give me, but gives and gives in return anyways. But I’m not sure they make them like that anymore. And if they do, I’m not sure that I’m able to let my walls down, even if I’m ready and willing. I have occasional glimmers of hope, and those moments instill such a blissful feeling of peace and comfort… pure happiness… but those moments are fleeting. So, I’m probably striking a blow to my image as an independent modern woman by admitting that true love is the foundation for everything else I want in life. I don’t really care. I happen to like fairy tales, and it’ll be perfectly fine if I manage to live in one, even for a brief period of time.

I want to live a life that inspires me – full of love, laughter, music, creativity, passion and devotion. I want to see the world, meet new people, try new things. I want to appreciate my friends, love my family with all my heart, and do one thing every day that scares me. I want to create myself.

Target: Engaged January 11, 2010

Facebook is plotting against me. It’s doing everything it can to make me feel inadequate. It’s teamed up with some of my oldest friends, and even some newer ones. And it’s succeeding. The weapon of choice? Diamond rings.

Today alone, I read engagement announcements from 3 different girls.

Yesterday, there were 2.

Last week, 5.

And the week before that, 6.

The week before that, 9.

That’s 25 engagements in less than a month, Facebook.

ENOUGH, ALREADY!!

See, the holidays are bad enough with 80% of my family questioning why I’m still single, asking when I’m going to have children, and insinuating that I’m some sort of biological retard because I haven’t grown a human in my womb yet. Facebook (along with my scheming, happily attached friends) seems to think that throwing in a little peer pressure for good measure might serve to increase my single-girl anxiety enough to go ahead and click “Buy Now” on that Russian Mail-Order Husband I was checking out last week. Joke’s on you, Facebook. I read the return policy on that one, and I’m practicing smart consumerism by waiting until I can buy a man that comes with a Money-Back Guarantee.

So, for the sake of my sanity… please… God… no more engagements in the month of January. Of course I’m ecstatic for all the happy couples who just can’t wait to pledge their undying love to one another for all the social media world to witness… but I’m conflicted. The hopeless romantic in me wants to congratulate everyone with virtual hugs, delightful sorority-girl squeals of “Eeeeeeeeeeee!!” and requests to hear the engagement story and see pictures of the ring…but the chronically-single-to-the-point-where-I-can’t-even-identify-an-eligible-bachelor-worth-dating-within-the-Austin-metro-area side of me just wants to click “Hide” on all of those gushy status updates in my Mini Feed, or worse yet, start a “Defriending People That Make You Feel Inferior” Fan Club. Yeah, yeah… I know. It’s not nice to be bitter. But it’s just so damn easy.

So, as my good friend Terry says, “If you can’t beat ’em… join ’em.” And to that end…

I’m pleased to announce my Facebook engagement to Terry Andrew Wendel. We’re registered at Bed Bath & Beyond, Target, Amazon, Marietta Home Brew, and any and all liquor stores. Feel free to send cash, too. In large amounts. We’ll send out Save the Date cards… sometime.

Hey, Soul Sister January 9, 2010

Ain’t that Mr. Mister on the radio?

I am so, so, so in love with Train’s new song, “Hey, Soul Sister” from their new album “Save Me San Francisco.” LOVE.

Go listen. Now. Do it!

‘Woman’ versus ‘Girl’ January 7, 2010

Yesterday, I elaborated on the some of the key differences between ‘men’ and ‘guys,’ and pointed out some of those specific differences to certain female readers (you know who you are!). But ladies, don’t think you got off that easy. There are some very distinct differences between ‘women’ and ‘girls’ as well… and as I approach my 30’s, I find myself consciously thinking about those little variations in taste and behavior quite often. So how do you tell the difference between a ‘woman’ and a ‘girl’? Here we go…

Appearance: Females often dress to impress… but the audience they are aiming to capture varies by  mentality. ‘Girls’ dress to impress the male gender as a whole. When ‘girls’ dress up, their short skirts or tight jeans, low cut tops, high heels and expertly applied makeup are donned with two distinct purposes in mind: attract the opposite sex, and look better than all other females in the vicinity. ‘Women’ dress to impress as well… but they dress to impress themselves and/or a certain special someone (as opposed to all heterosexual men with a pulse and working penis.) ‘Women’ understand that confidence is sexy, so they dress in a manner that makes them feel confident and attractive. Both ‘girls’ and ‘women’ in a club environment may be spotted wearing similar outfits, but the psychology behind those outfits is what separates the two. Differentiations are a bit easier when you spot a female in casual attire. ‘Women’ are just as comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt as they are in a black pinstripe suit or evening gown, because, again, ‘women’ dress to feel confident. But there are certain outfits you’ll never see a ‘woman’ wearing. Have you spotted an attractive female showing off her leggings under running shorts? Congratulations, you’ve found yourself a ‘girl.’ And she’s probably in college. Bonus points if the leggings-with-shorts combo extends to include a pair of Uggs and/or a t-shirt, sweatshirt or hoodie representing said girl’s college, sorority or boyfriend’s fraternity. (That, my friend, is what we call “following the wrong trends.”) Speaking of trends… ladies, listen up: leggings are not pants. I repeat, LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS. They are pants-tights-hybrids designed to keep your legs warm in cooler weather when you’re wearing skirts or dresses, or even long tunic tops. No one wants to see a female of any status wearing a short top with leggings. A good rule of thumb: if your top is short enough that we can see your vajajay region, put on a longer top, add a skirt, or switch to jeans. Leggings are not pants. Now, on to accessories. You may see some girlhood throwbacks in the form of accessories: ribbons or tiny bows clipped into styled hair; lots of jewelry or clothing overloaded with flowers, butterflies or bows; or an overabundance of Vera Bradley patterns carried at the same time. (A discrete wallet, wristlet, or sunglasses case is one thing; a purse with matching wallet, makeup bag, sunglasses case, scarf, umbrella, daily planner, and pens in Raspberry Fizz is quite another.) Accessories for the ‘woman’? Classically-styled leather bags (designer or not, they’re well-made and built to handle the daily abuse that comes along with a busy schedule); and carefully selected jewelry. A ‘woman’ follows the classic mantra of Coco Chanel: “Before you leave the house, stop, look in the mirror, and remove one accessory. “Both types of females usually like to smell feminine, but you’ll be able to distinguish the heavily sprayed sugary-sweet scent on a ‘girl’ from the lightly-spritzed complex perfumes on a ‘woman’ quite easily. And as for makeup… unless it’s New Year’s Eve, or she’s a figure skater, a ‘woman’ should never, ever wear glitter on her face.

Car: This one is pretty simple. Check the rearview mirror and rear windows. If you’re dealing with a ‘woman,’ you will see either a single car air freshener or nothing at all hanging from the rearview mirror. Graduation tassel, Hawaiian lei, some odd combination of Mardi Gras beads, or bar paraphernalia hanging out? That’s a ‘girl’s car. Rear window check: A ‘woman’ should have no more than 3, count ’em, 3 sticker-type things on her vehicle. These will usually consist of some sort of homage to her university, her political affiliation, her chosen faith, a favorite hobby, or how smart/athletic/religious her children or other family members are. A ‘woman’ should never, ever have the classic hibiscus flower or fairy sticker applied to her back window(s), nor should she have beanie babies hanging out on the rear dash.

Home: ‘Women’ take care of their homes. Period. After all, ‘women’ are the child-bearing gender, and if a female can’t care for herself or her home, she’s certainly not equipped to take care of children or a family. ‘Women’ know how to cook at least 5 well-rounded meals, and don’t consider 2 bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch with milk a complete breakfast. ‘Women’ are careful to sort their laundry by both color and fabric type, and know that their lingerie belongs in the delicate cycle inside a lingerie bag, or that it should be hand-washed. ‘Women’ decorate their homes with a specific personal taste, and store or discard unwanted items. ‘Girls’ are more fond of eating out and fast food than cooking, and probably don’t care if breakfast is an egg-white omelet or the leftover pizza from the party 2 nights ago. ‘Girls’ are likely to go out and buy more underwear rather than keep up with the laundry. And if you see a bedroom wall crowded with magazine collages and unframed snapshots, you’re definitely dealing with a ‘girl.’ In general, look around for signs of “nesting”: a comfortable, cozy home you could imagine a couple or family residing in, even if it belongs to a female who resides alone. That’s a good sign that you’ve encountered a ‘woman.’

Behavior: Regardless of maturity level, females will always crave the companionship of other females. And it’s quite likely that the sorority-girl screams of delight that resound when two females who haven’t seen each other in a while will always be an important part of both the ‘woman’ and ‘girl’ repertoire. But, female companionship also opens up the window to cattiness and bitchy behavior. ‘Women’ value their female friendships and engage in mutually respectful behavior with their friends. They listen to hear what their companion is saying (rather than just waiting for their own turn to talk), and give honest, selfless feedback. ‘Women’ show consideration for their friends’ feelings, encourage them in achieving their goals, and assist with the “little things” as a show of appreciation for the person they call their friend. ‘Girls’ still possess a catty, competitive nature. She often interrupts in the midst of conversations to draw the focus back to herself. You usually can’t trust a ‘girl’ to respect your romantic relationships or other friendships. A ‘girl’ will take advantage of any opportunity to “acquire” something of yours that she wants, whether it be a personality trait, a job, a friend, or a lover, without regard to how she affects other people in the process. Still possessing the mentality of a child, she behaves jealously, acts out to get attention, and rarely accepts responsibility for her actions if she is called out. Basically, a ‘girl’ is still focused on her own selfish motives, while a ‘woman’ has learned that showing genuine appreciation and putting others first (while still ensuring that her own needs don’t suffer) are the keys to lasting relationships.

I could seriously go on for days, but I’d love to hear from everyone else. What qualities do you distinguish as separate between a ‘woman’ and a ‘girl’?

‘Man’ versus ‘Guy’ January 6, 2010

There’s a reason I don’t date men under the age of 32. (Seems like a random number, but I figured any man with a solid 4 years on me would probably be at or above my own maturity level, making the whole communication thing a bit easier.) I also have some slightly misguided hopes that a man in his 30’s would behave a little bit better than a half-housebroken puppy, which is more than I can ask from any guy in his 20’s.

See what I did there? A ‘man’ in his 30’s versus a ‘guy’ in his 20’s. There is a difference, my friends. And while I often neglect to differentiate between the two in everyday conversation, that knowledge is always there in the back of my mind, as I listen to friends complain about their dating woes, and bang my own head against the wall in frustration at the ‘guys’ I encounter.

How can you tell a ‘man’ from a ‘guy’? I’m glad you asked. It’s not as easy as you might think, but it just so happens that I’ve devised a little field guide for your identification pleasure:

Appearance: A ‘man’ takes pride in his appearance in a subtle way. He may dress down in sweats, wear the classic blue-collar “jeans and work boots” attire, or sport some super-metrosexual couture. Unless he never gets out of his Nike basketball shorts and  LeBron James t-shirt, a male’s choice of clothing has little to do with his status as a ‘man’ or ‘guy.’ What you need to look for here are the details. Does he have recently shaved or trimmed facial hair? Are his nails neatly clipped or filed short? Can you detect only a light hint of cologne or masculine deodorant? Are his clothes, whatever style they may be, clean and presentable? Then you’re probably dealing with a ‘man.’ On the other hand, if the male in question hasn’t he showered in the last 48 hours, looks like his last haircut was sometime in the 20th century, and is sprayed down with 3 bottles of Axe, then you’re definitely dealing with a ‘guy.’ This one is tricky and should probably only be used in conjunction with other identifiers, because ‘guys’ on their way to becoming ‘men’ often develop a sense of pride in their appearance before they develop any other character trait indicative of manhood, especially if they’re on the prowl for a sweet little lady to keep them warm at night.

Car: There are no hard and fast rules on what kind of vehicle you should expect a ‘man’ to drive; only what he shouldn’t be driving. In no way, shape or form is it ever okay for a ‘man’ to use any of the following as his primary mode of transportation: a Mazda Miata; a Mini Cooper; a massive truck with a lift kit, dual exhaust, off-road tires, CB radio, and a silhouette of naked women on the mud flaps; a Ford Mustang; a tricked-out anything; a conversion van; an unmarked van with no windows… or any type of van at all, for that matter. Who cares whether you’re dealing with a ‘man’ or a ‘guy’… the word “van” just screams Chester the Molester.

Home: Whether you’re dealing with someone who crashes in a frat house on Greek Row, or an upper-class homeowner, a stealthy peek at the male’s domicile is the perfect way to establish a stronger theory on his status as a ‘man’ or ‘boy.’ Does your subject appear to pick up after himself, maintain a decently clean kitchen and bathroom, and stock more than Ramen noodles and Kool-Aid in the kitchen? Does his DVD collection extend beyond crude humored movies and hardcore action flicks? Hmm… you might have a ‘man’ on your hands. Does he own more video games than books and DVDs combined? Does he have a hard time deciding between the Pokemon and Spiderman sets when it’s time to change the sheets on his bed? Are all of his drinking glasses imprinted with a beer or liquor brand? Definitely a ‘guy.’

Behavior: There’s no question about it: ‘men’ are biologically predisposed to be providers and caretakers. This doesn’t mean they’re supposed to go to work every day so that you can live a life of luxury at home, eating bon-bons and having afternoon tea with the girls. (But that doesn’t matter anyways, because you’re an independent woman with a a career, goals and dreams of your own, right? Good.) All it means is that a ‘man’ will behave with a sense of chivalry and do little things to show you he cares. A ‘man’ notices something in your house is broken, and fixes it without a word.  He is polite and helpful toward your friends and family, just because he cares about you. He walks you to your car or your front door when it’s time to go home. He carries heavy bags for you, opens the door, and allows you to order your meal at a restaurant before he does. He asks you to go out on a date rather than suggesting you “hang out.” And when he makes plans with you, he doesn’t break them unless he absolutely has no choice. Did your date take to McDonald’s and ask you to go Dutch? Does your date frequently leave you alone while he talks to other people at the bar without including you? Does ‘doing something nice for you’ consist of him not getting so plastered that he vomits on your Jimmy Choos? Yep. You’ve got a ‘guy’ on your hands.

Porn: Yeah, there’s no difference here. They both like porn. A lot. And if you’re not cool with a little adult video action, both a ‘man’ and a ‘guy’ will watch it behind your back. Always.

Now, let’s be honest. Most ‘men’ still possess some ‘guy’ qualities, and probably always will. And a lot of ‘guys’ sometimes behave like ‘men,’ and ‘guys’ can be very charming and a lot of fun. I’m not saying one is better than the other… just that they’re different. Me, I’m still young, so I tend to prefer a ‘man’ with a few ‘guy’ qualities sprinkled in for good measure.

How do you separate the ‘men’ from the ‘guys’?

Miss Me Yet?

Jeebus, it’s been a long time since my last post. You’d think that someone who likes to talk about herself as much as I do would be a bit more disciplined about keeping up with her blog. (Hmmm. Keep up with blog. New Year’s Resolution #971.)

So, let’s see here. Since the last post, I’ve failed miserably at the Master Cleanse (I don’t really like lemonade anyway, but I may give it another shot in 2010.) I’ve made some fabulous new friends and had some great times, moved into a house in South Austin with Jo and Bryan, and had a little switch of career focus. On NYE, some shady character broke into our house and stole Jo’s Wii and my Macbook. I’m sure one of my future posts will involve me hunting the guy down with my expert detective skills, torturing the criminal with cruel and unusual techniques (such as making him run on a treadmill while watching Paula Deen on the Food Network), and recovering my precious Macbook from his grimy little paws. But I digress. Enough with the updates… on to the good stuff.

Master Cleanse: Day 2 June 23, 2009

Day 2… Damn, I’m exhausted. And tired. Oh so tired.

I wake up this morning and have the senna tea, as directed. I follow that with about 16 oz of water, and 8 oz of lemonade. While showering for work, the heat makes me dizzy and I almost fall. As I’m pondering how perfectly humiliating death my starvation and dizziness would be, and imagining the things that would be said as the paramedics pulled my unconscious, naked body from the steaming shower… the water temperature pulls a 180 on me, and I’m suddenly freezing. FML.

No longer dizzy, but quite certain that I may have some sort of rare disease that only surfaces when people like me are stupid enough to go on all-liquid fasts, then subject their bodies to rapid changes in temperature, I crawl back into bed and try not to focus on the pounding headache that is inching its way toward my frontal lobe. Ouch. I drink more water, but that only serves to increase the swimming feeling in my belly. So I take an hour long nap, then begrudgingly crawl back out of bed to dress myself for the mediation I’m conducting at 10 a.m. I prepare a 32 oz serving of lemonade in my pink Camelbak bottle, and head out to the office.

The mediation goes quickly, thank goodness. With a slight shift in communication methods, the parties easily agree on the bigger points of their case, and the smaller points fall in line rather smoothly. When hunger pangs attack, I sip my lemonade and the urges aren’t so powerful. But I think I hate lemonade now. Yep… I hate it.

Master Cleanse Summer 2009: Day 1 June 22, 2009

After weeks of excessive drinking, staying up too late, and not eating right, some friends and I decided to get back on track. We’ve been working out, eating clean (mostly) and now…

Call me crazy, but I’m taking another stab at the Master Cleanse (Lemonade Diet). I tried it last year without much success. Actually, no success at all. The second I did my first saltwater flush, I promptly threw up, and continued to do so all day long. Apparently, the body isn’t so fond of excessive salinity.

This time, with the love and support of my roomie Heather, who is also embarking on this wild and crazy liquid journey, I’m aiming for 7 days on the Cleanse… just enough time to ease off safely before Linda’s birthday on July 1st. And hopefully we won’t drink all that much. Because that would just be bad. Then, if all goes well, we’re going back on the Cleanse on July 6th, this time for the full 10 days.

So, this morning, I head to Central Market for the necessary ingredients:

Organic lemons: check… sort of. Heather and I are both busy and constantly mobile, so instead I opt for 4 16 oz. bottles of organic lemon juice, unadulterated and fresh-squeezed by the helpful folks in the produce section.At $3.99 a bottle, it’s a little pricier than the lemons, but much less work.

Cayenne pepper: check. 40,000 SHU organic red powder from the bulk section. I fill up an entire little baggie for the bargain price of 53 cents. I LOVE bulk spices!!

Grade B Maple Syrup: check, but this one is a little trickier. I try for the Grade B in the bulk section (at $12.99/lb) but the damn dispenser is empty. So instead, I’m forced to take the only bottle available in the syrup section. At $9.99 for a 16 oz. bottle, it’s less expensive, but doesn’t seem as fresh.

Water: check. 6 gallons distilled Ozarka water @ 99 cents each.

Tea: check. I grab “Smooth Move” Ogranic Senna tea (the recommended laxative tea) at $4.99/box, and Celestial Seasonings Tension Tamer tea (with chamomile, peppermint, ginger, catnip, etc… the recommended herbal teas for easing detox discomfort) at $2.25/box.

I manage to get out of Central Market for just under $40, and drive home with a hopeful, determined attitude. After unpacking my goodies, I pour a 16 oz. glass of water and mix my first lemonade drink. The recipe goes like this:

2 T organic Grade B maple syrup + 2 T fresh squeezed lemon juice + 1/8 t cayenne pepper + 8 oz. distilled water =  1 magical Master Cleanse drink

So here I am, with my water and my odd lemonade concoction, and I’m ready to start the Cleanse. Here goes nothing.

The lemonade tastes about like I remember it… pretty much regular lemonade with a spicy kick. I take about 15 minutes to drink the first glass, and my tummy feels a little grumbly… but nothing too extreme. I have to work at drinking the water slowly… I’m normally thirstier than a camel in the desert, so it takes a bit of effort to remember that I’m doing all of this on a virtually empty stomach.

The day passes, and I busy myself with work, and watch some downloaded television shows (DAMN, I got Smallville in Dutch again! Stupid torrents). I catch up with a few friends online, drink more lemonade, start reading a new novel, drink more water, sort some laundry, drink more lemonade… and then I realize I have a headache. Heather makes us some Smooth Move tea, and we sit and sip while watching the beginning of Zoolander. Before long, she’s passed out on the couch, and I’m more interested in the Master Cleanse discussion forums than I am in Derek Zoolander’s School for Kids Who Can’t Read Good and Want to Learn How to Do Other Stuff Good Too. Eventually, Heather wakes up and goes to bed, and I pop a Twilight DVD in to ease me into sleepiness. Before long, I am absolutely starving. It’s like the second my Cleanse partner leaves the immediate vicinity, I want food. Sadly, Heather had the forethought to completely empty the fridge before we started the cleanse. Eff my life. OOH! Butter lettuce! That looks delicious! I snap off two crisp, tender butter lettuce leaves and chew them like a ravenous bunny on crack. The first leaf is like heaven with chlorophyll… the second, not so much. I guess I don’t really need food that badly.

I sulk over the the couch and start watching Twilight, while sipping one last glass of lemonade. I can do this. I can do this.

6th Street Endurance Team: Monday Funday Kicked My Ass June 13, 2009

It’s been a while… quite a while… since my last blog, and after getting several requests for a new one, I decided to combine several of my most recent 6th Street adventures for your entertainment pleasure.

As we all know, Nuno’s is my absolute favorite hangout on 6th Street. The people are the best, the bands are incredible, and I just can’t get enough of live music… especially the blues. But believe it or not, I actually do hang out at other places on 6th. A while back, my girls and I started doing Monday Funday: a girls’ only night of drinking, bar-hopping, and more drinking. The crew usually consists of some combination of me, Johanna, Jessica, Veronica, and Linda. But one particular Monday Funday, Johanna had a date, and Jess and Veronica had to work early, so I was left to my very first Linda-only drinking experience. I wish someone had warned me beforehand.

Linda isn’t downtown yet when I get there, so I start the night at Nuno’s. Just as I am having my inaugural shot for the night, Linda texts me to let me know that she’s at Maggie Mae’s, and that I should hurry up. Cool. I’ll just grab my purse and… what the hell? Where did this vodka tonic come from? Dammit, Nuno. I’m not drinking here tonight! Well, I suppose it would be inconsiderate of me to waste a complimentary drink… Fine. So I suck the vodka tonic down as quickly as possible, then head out the door for Maggie Mae’s.

I arrive at Maggie Mae’s, and Linda is already drinking with her girl Jacqueline, who bartends at Friends. We have a few rounds of drinks and a few shots, then begin the most rapid-fire 6th Street bar crawl I’ve ever experienced.

Shots at Touche. Flaming Dr. Peppers at Touche. Then we leave.

Shots at Pure. Order, pay, drink, leave.

Shots at Treasure Island. The bartender pulls out a book to find the recipe for a kamikaze. Oh, dear. At this point, I request a brief reprieve for a glass of water. Apparently this request is too much to ask. Have to keep moving. No time for water. Only time for shots.

Shots at Cheers. Johanna reports on her lame date via text, and says she’ll meet up with us in a few. I tell her we’re bouncing around. Leave Cheers.

Shots at Chuggin’ Monkey. Verify location with Johanna via text. Then we leave again. Still no time for water.

Shots at Friends. Change location to Johanna via text. She seems annoyed. We actually get two rounds of shots at Friends. Then we leave.

Shots at Dizzy Rooster. Johanna is texting me in all caps, telling me to stay still. I tell her I can’t. Linda is a bossy drunk.We leave again.

Shots at The Library.This is starting to get out of control. Well, actually, it was out of control by the time we hit Treasure Island. But now it’s really out of control. Back to Maggie Mae’s.

Shots at Maggie Mae’s. By now, it’s about midnight. JOHANNA IS HERE!! YAY! She takes one look at me and says, “Oh, no. I should have warned you about Linda. You’re hammered, aren’t you?” Hammered? Me? Nah. I’ve only done shots at 87% of the bars on 6th Street tonight, with no time for sitting, H20 or blood transfusions. Of COURSE I’m hammered!

Johanna and I split off from Linda and Jacqueline and go back to Touche for more shots. Back to Nuno’s for more shots. To Treasure Island again. Then to The Lodge. We’re getting some fantastic pictures! I’m having such a great time, and I can’t wait to recall all of these wonderful memories when I upload the pics to Facebook. Then… nothing. I remember NOTHING. I seriously lose TWO HOURS of my life. Apparently, I ditch JoLlo and run across the street to get a chili dog… then decide I have to buy one for Nuno and Tank, too. By about 1:30, I’m back at Maggie’s, and I say I need to go to the bathroom. Then I leave and go to Nuno’s, alone, apparently in search of my elusive late night snack. When I don’t find it at Nuno’s, I begin asking everyone where my chili dog went. Johanna starts to worry about where I am, but Linda is just as drunk, and she’s telling Johanna I’m fine. But thankfully, JoLlo doesn’t listen. She calls me and I tell her I don’t know where my chili dog is. I only got the chili dog 30 minutes before, and Johanna is steadily telling me that she has my chili dog, and it’s at Maggie’s with her and Linda. But I still think I might find it somewhere at Nuno’s.

Johanna is not amused. She comes to get me at Nuno’s, where I enthusiastially order 3 more shots for me, Jo and Nuno. Nuno, sweet as can be, tells me the shots are on the house. And they’re absolutely delicious. I try to tip him $10. He refuses my tip. I’m confused until Jo explains that he just gave us 3 shots of cranberry juice. FML. Nuno just cut me off without telling me he was cutting me off. I no longer think he’s being sweet.

I also lose my camera. We have no idea where it went. Probably the same mysterious location as the last two hours of my life. I can’t remember any of the bars we visited, so Jo carefully explains where we went, who we saw, and where I might have left it. Fail. Someone has taken my camera and all of my lovely memories. 6th Street has taken my sobriety. Inebriation has taken my dignity. Monday Funday, you kicked my ass.

Then… nothing.

The Cleanse: Day 2 April 15, 2009

After finishing Day 1 of my whole-body cleanse with a less-than-stellar record, I entered into Day 2 with a little more determination. This was bolstered by the encouraging, helpful support of Liz, who manages Dr. Mulligan’s office, and a few Facebook comments from friends who’ve been in similar positions.

I started the morning with my fruit smoothie of champions, a handful of Standard Process pills (ick), and a ton of water. Had an entrainment at 11:00 a.m., and enjoyed a chat/pep talk from Liz and Dr. Mulligan afterward. Funnily enough, I wasn’t hungry at all after leaving, but I got back home and munched on some raw veggies, then had a whey protein shake with my next handful of supplements.

Now I know why people lose weight on cleanses. I didn’t want to eat any more damn vegetables. Which is a big deal for me, because I L-O-V-E fresh produce. So I just didn’t eat anything else. I drank quite a bit of water throughout the day as I was working, and did some light stretching to ease the soreness out of my muscles from Monday’s Krav Maga class. I wanted to hit another class, but frankly, just didn’t have the energy.

When I got a little twinge of hunger, I had another smoothie plus a Cocommune bar (this delicious combo of coconut and chocolate that is amazingly approved food for my cleanse) before finishing up work for the day.

Evening rolled around, and it was time for the premiere screening of Turk Pipkin’s “One Peace at a Time” at the Paramount Theater. Amy’s Ice Cream was there, offering up special concoctions created just for the premiere. And it looked delicious. Dr. Mulligan planned to join us right before the show started, and I seriously considered sneaking in a cup of silky sugary goodness before she arrived. But I didn’t. Yay me.

Side note: “One Peace at a Time” was an incredible documentary… life-changing for some, I believe. I’ll write more in a separate blog, but if you have a chance to see it, run, don’t walk.

Dinner after the show… we were all hungry. Dr. Mulligan suggested Thai Passion, around the corner from the Paramount, which sounded amazing. But when we got there, not so much. While everyone else was ordering Shrimp Panang, Chicken Pad Thai and Chicken Satay, I glowered at the only two things I could eat on the menu: Tom-Kha soup with no meat added (so basically coconut milk, cilantro and mushrooms), and a dish of sauteeed veggies, no spice, no meat, no rice. I’m not gonna lie; I was pretty much hating my life.

Getting home, I was immensely hungry but so pissed off about the cleanse itself that another smoothie/shake or handful of pills made me angry enough to go to bed without ingesting anything else. 2 days down… 19 more to go. Eff my life.