Yeah I’m late to the game this morning. I get it. But I had important work to do.
Something that has been unsettling to me since I’ve started this challenge is this new jacket I bought in Paris. We walked by a Nike Lab and Alexis said that we should go in. Little did she know we had walked by it three times already on our trip and I looked past the signage the same way someone dedicated to recovery would look past the neon lights of the Coors sign outside the local dive.
“I know what’s in there,” I said to her.
Great things. Expensive things. Things I will need to own after I learn they exist.
“Come on, you love Nike,” she insisted.
Yes, and Whitney loved crack.
We went in the store. I went through my five word French arsenal quickly, noticing for any accent detection. I saw combat boot sneakers that I needed. A pair of space boots that were going on my Christmas list. Sweatpants with the perfect tapering at the ankle (not too tight because these drumsticks don’t look good in leggings). Nothing shy of $250. That’s good, I thought. I won’t be tempted. Then my eyes landed on a jacket the same way John Cusack’s landed on Kate Beckinsale in the 2001 hit comedy Serendipity. It was a long, black, and sleek with this penguin-tipped back that said, “I live in Brooklyn and I’ve already made my fortune.” The collar was up and there was a hood. It was an article of clothing that I knew was made personally for me by people I had never met. Serendipity.
“I’m not going to try that on,” I told her.
“Because I know what will happen. And it’s $400.”
“Just try it on. It’s going to look great.”
“That’s the problem. Then what? Then how do I live without it?”
I tried it on. It fit perfectly. The people at the store were so complimentary. I took it off dramatically.
“I don’t need it, Alexis,” I said pacing.
She just smiled.
“We never spend our money on stuff like this,” she said.
And for a second I thought, She will think I’m an uptight bitch if I don’t buy this jacket right now.
“Guys, does it do well in the rain?” I asked, looking for a flaw.
“Monsieur, it’s waterproof.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
I bought it.
And oddly enough it rained for most of our trip and the jacket was a smashing success.
But back to my point – we live in San Diego. The nicest anyone dresses here is their North Face fleece that doesn’t have all the dog hair on it along with their Merrell soled shoes.
Every morning I put this jacket on to walk the dog because it has been in the 40s here. And each time I wear it it’s like taking a dollar off the total. And every morning I look around hoping to find one other person that cares how they look. But it’s nothing other than college hoodies and Aasics.
I know they are all looking at my penguin tail wondering what the hell is wrong with me. But I’m not giving up on style just because I’ve left the European fashion mecca and returned to Brotown, USA.
“I’ve got the diarrheas,” she yelled as she came out of the bathroom.
So I pose this question – would you rather be constipated or have diarrhea?
For me, it’s diarrhea all day. Nothing feels better than blowing out a toilet bowl and then checking your abs in the mirror.
Breakfast was a hit.
I had two scrambled eggs, over easy with avocado, turkey, and blueberries. Alexis opted for the chia pudding with blueberries, banana, strawberries, unsweetened coconut flakes, and cinnamon.
I woke up with a bit of a headache. We stayed up too late last night – after midnight – so there was a mountain of hunger building while we slept.
I also didn’t sleep well because Woody woke me up around 4 a.m. quietly whimpering in his crate. I turned on the light and he was sitting straight up like he had just seen a dog ghost. I got up and opened the crate door, thinking he needed to go to the bathroom, and he sprinted straight across the floor and jumped onto the bed. By the time I turned around, he was curled up next to Alexis in the spot I had made warm. It’s these critical parenting moments when you have to decide if you are proud or terrified of your dogkids for their subtle and easy use of manipulation.
When she isn’t cooking, Alexis is scouring blogs for new devices that will make her cooking easier.
“Can we go to Bed, Bath, & Beyond?”
“I need a spiralizer.”
Now, while she is making lunch I hear her mumble, “I really need a garlic mincer.”
Apparently, she made a whole list on Amazon. There’s a whisk, the mincer, immersion blender, new measuring spoons, a small sauce pan, and several more. This is all so we can become healthier and happier individuals. And that when we are in peak physical health, without a single hormonal defect, we will have watched the Repo Man come and take away all of our furniture, car, scooter, cameras, and my Nike jacket.
Now, we need a small basket that attaches to the end of the cutting board to easily slide garbage into.
After some light research, they are called detachable waste containers and there are several thousands articles on how to DIY it.
I’ve ordered several things off the list for her. She doesn’t know yet but she will when she reads this. There are no surprises anymore.
We are discussing the viability of a lifestyle blog, if done together. People love that couples shit.
Alexis just asked, “Do you feel proud of me?”
And I had to pause whatever I was doing on the computer and go over and hug her and tell her how awesome she was doing. She says this feels very natural to her and that she is very happy. That’s when I look inward and smile. I’m allowing er to cook me all of these meals.
Lunch bell ringing somewhere off in the distance.
I don’t know what’s going on. I’m starting to feel like I should be a bull fighter. Or an assassin. But I’d only use my bear hands. That would be my trademark. The Unarmed Assassin they’d call me. Anyway, I’d fight anyone right now and win.
We had roasted veggies – Brussel Crowes, sweet potatoes, and red onions. With pan-fried chicken breast.
You’d think, at this point, that we have convos like, “Oh put Woody under the plate so it looks cute like we’re a super cute blogging couple and our life is perfect.” But we don’t. It’s a simple fact that when there is food, there’s Woody.
Alexis takes a moment after the meal, as she does, to record her notes on what she cooked. This journey is likely to also include logs of emotional fatigue. I will let you know when I read it tonight when she is sleeping.
I think I am experiencing Whole 30 roid-rage.
Went to Greg’s to get some work done on our new website. Watched Baby Boston jump up and down in his jumper. Should have snapped a pic. Greg has been kind regarding my diet. Today he ate tortilla chips with Bitchin’ Sauce as low key as possible while I listened to the ancient tribal calls of my stomach.
Dinner went off without a hitch. Spicy garlic chicken with Moroccan-style cauliflower rice. Until the plate was delivered and there was just one tiny piece of chicken.
“Is there more chicken?”
“No,” she said almost smiley, anticipating the impending rage.
“That was all the recipe allowed for,” she continued.
“Yeah, I don’t give a shit about their portion guidelines, I’m 200 pounds and this is a chicken finger.”
Dinner number two went off without a hitch as well. Leftover cauli-rice, leftover mixed greens, a scrambled egg, and homemade ranch dressing. I made this one. Which is why it was not carefully thought out or visually appealing. They did call me One Pan Stan in college though because of the efficiency I exhibited while cooking.
The farts have returned.
Not sure if they smell.
“Hey babe, can you come here for a second?”
I held out my arms waiting for an embrace.
Before she entered the hug, “Does it smell over here.”
She pulled back, paused for a second, and sniffed around.
“No. You’ve turned a corner.”
They do not smell.
We have friends coming over now, Ashley and Chris. We are going to play CATAN because it’s addicting at first, until all your friends turn on you and withhold resources then it just becomes high school all over again and you are the fat kid.
It shouldn’t be too much trouble entertaining this particular bunch as they are accustomed to regular fasting and a mostly vegetarian diet. Ashley was even a raw foods chef for a while. They are what we’ll call “safe friends” during this Whole 30 experience.
Okay, the farts are really back.
Okay, the abs are back in town.
We are still playing the game and I’m thinking there is another hour left. There are no snacks while we are playing which seems less fun but there are some advantages to this – there is no additional clutter on the table in the form of chip bags and dip bowls, our fingers are clean so the cards aren’t getting oily, and we are focused.
I’ve drank so much tea in the last few days. I live on the toilet, donning the bladder of a first-time pregnant lady.
My head feels very dizzy and five of my teeth hurt when I run up and down the stairs to our apartment.
Tomorrow morning I have my first workout since the diet and since the cold. 9 a.m. boxing lesson down the street. I’m hoping to get back to my old fighting weight one of these days. It should be noted that I weighed around 204 when this started. Once upon a time (10 years ago) I used to fight at 170lbs. Definitely not healthy. But I’m hoping to get back to a beefy and respectable 190.
Goodnight folks and good luck with all of your resolutions.
Read Day 4 HERE.