Diet Shame

Team! It's been forever! How are you? Awesome. Me? Oh I've been busy, you know. Ok - small talk aside, I've really been trying to identify what exactly it is about Calgary that saps my desire to post. I think I'm growing increasingly accustomed to a life of mediocrity - my nights have consisted of watching my parents' appalling television choices and tucking myself into bed with an audiobook by 10:30. Last night we ate chocolates and had a glass of wine, making it the most exciting night I've had in about two weeks. I am determined, however, to not be ok with this. While a cozy night in is, honestly, great most of the time, I would like to actually have plans. And I haven't. Or have, and bailed, because leaving my suburban cocoon just sometimes takes more effort that I feel willing to expend.

Project "Fun Calgary" will commence next week. Why next week? Because I start making money next week. Ye haw Calgary, ye haw.


Ok, so none of this has to do with diets, though shame of my premature middle age is hopefully apparent. Another reason I haven't been posting is because I've been really back and forth in my mind about whether I wanted to admit to the blogosphere what I am going to admit to you right now: I am on a diet. And I don't just mean casually watching my calories or trying to eat healthier - when I'm doing that, I say that. I'm on a honest to goodness, book-written-by-doctor type diet. I didn't buy this book, by the way, nor would the diet have been something I would have done on my own accord - it is a by-product of living with my mum, but I'm doing it, baby.

So, I'm not actually going to get into the diet - the 17 Day diet (a total misnomer, by the by) - at this particular junction. I am more curious about the fact that I debated even mentioning it. Intrigued by the fact that, when it comes up in conversation, which it somehow, inevitably and painfully always does, I always try to pass it off as something I'm doing in solidarity with my parents, rather than something I started before, and have continued to do more faithfully, than either.

It is exactly that difference between "watching what I eat" or "eating a bit more healthy" and being "on a diet." If you follow fitness blogs they will almost all abhor diets; their authors' insist that they just eat a healthy, balanced diet and, my least favourite phrase ever, "just listen to what their body needs." My body insists that it needs a sugar boost after every meal. It insists that sugar be in the form of chocolate. My mind-body connection is not so hot - my mind is a dictator who likes chocolates and dislikes my pathetic, complaining knees. I don't know that I'm all that unique in that regard though - how many people do you honestly know who can say "my body just really wanted something green" or "I just needed some protein," who aren't utterly full of bullshit? My mind tells my body those things using logic and research: "Yo body, you will get scurvy if you don't put spinach in you" or "You just worked out - protein builds muscle - eat it." Before my inner monologue totally derails me from my point here, I will make it; to admit that you are on a diet points to a flaw in your will power. You can't just intuitively do something good for you, it has to be dictated and formulaic. And this paints you as a weak person. But following a clear set of guidelines is what I need. And the same goes for a lot of people. Because, guess what, a lot of people are overweight. Most people, in fact. I'm not even overweight, but my impulse control is negligible unless I can give myself a very concrete reason why refusing one more chocolate or a glass of wine will make a difference. And a diet does just that.

Despite the fact that most people have a hard time making the right choices when it comes to nutrition, and particularly weight loss, there is some very bad vibes that get directed at those who take the route of a prescribed diet. Yeah, it is a consumerist thing, making doctors richer for writing books full of things that should be mostly common sense, blah, blah, communism, blah. I get that. But why do people always give you a look like, "Oh...?" as though your diet is actually a second head growing out of your armpit? I like to tell myself that it makes them re-evaluate their own dietary choices and feel insecure, but I really don't think that's it. That's just what people on diets tell themselves: "they're just jealous because I'm doing something about my weight." Uh, no - they're eating cake and ribs. They are not jealous of your baked chicken breast, wilted spinach and soda water. It's because they've suddenly realized that your are vain and insecure and don't have a) the strength to change things for yourself without a book or support system holding your hand or b) you aren't imaginative enough to come up with an excuse that doesn't open you up to such scrutiny. "Oh, yeah, I'm not drinking beer right now because I've been casking my own Irish whisky all day and I'm basically drunk already," or "you know, I heard that they found a human heart at the Lilydale factory in Glenridge" would be responses that would certainly debunk judgment much more effectively than "oh, I'm on this diet."
 
But guess what else - diets can work! Most diets today come with weening phases where they admit "yeah, we've changed what foods you can and can't eat, but by doing so we've also changed the foods you crave and the way you approach your meals." Which is really just a long road to getting to the "I just eat a healthy, balanced diet," phase which elicits no societal sneer. I have been on this bad boy diet for 20 days, and I have lost an inch and half from my waist and weigh less than I ever have in my adult life. So when I tell you I'm on a diet, it is not an invitation for you to comment on my weight or evaluate my body perception. If I tell you I'm not having a beer because I'm on a diet, I don't want to hear "You don't need to be on a diet! You're crazy!" Shut up. I'm on a diet because I have goals, man! And those goal include looking really sexy while I still am at an age where that is relatively easy to accomplish.

So viva the diet - haters, go hate elsewhere. With fries if you like. They look tasty.

Long Time No See

Sorry internet compadres - it was, believe it or not, pointed out to me that I had gone a negligently long time without posting anything on my beloved blog. People were without procrastination material and that, frankly, is inexcusable.

I had been without the internet while my mum and I drove from Southern California back up to my sweet home in Calgary, and upon our return I reverted to being a 14-year-old.

Seriously.

Ok, well, not seriously, but hyperbolically to prove a point.

Whenever I return to my childhood home, despite any impressive advancements I've made in behaviour, routine or responsibility, I revert back into a child. I stopped living full time in that house when I was 14 and started attending boarding school (not because my parents hated me, for the record - for some reason that is the first question that arises from any mention of "boarding school"...which is awkward, because, what if that was why, asshole?). So throughout highschool and my undergrad, home was the place I went for vacation, to relax and be coddled. And that is apparently psychologically ingrained in me. I would stay up until 3 am watching videos online, sleep in until 11:00, eat all kinds of indulgent garbage, and cease any possible productivity. I didn't even blog, so imagine what the state of my thesis is.

Is this an isolate phenomenon, or do other people experience this? And is it as absolutely harrowing for others as I find it? It scares the sweet God out of me that location and environment may be entirely responsible for my maturity. Truly a frightening proposition if you are acquainted with the heights of my maturity [read: Law & Order].

Well, worry not, for now. I am back in Montreal, and I have already gone out with friends to watch a hockey game, unpacked, stored my winter clothes, gone grocery shopping, swept and mopped and am heading to yoga. Thesis work pending.

Some progress made on the Snakes & Ladders to Adulthood? While in Calgary I was able to go through and cull some of my clothing. I am an awful packrat and, as readers are well acquainted with, an ardent materialist so parting with possessions, particularly clothing which I have worn and loved too long is hard for me. But, realizing their implicity bro-douchebaggery and their status as strong lesbian indicator, I parted with my Lacoste polos.

But not without a proper send off...





And yes, I am aware that "poster" style on my new camera makes me look like I either have an unfortunate sebum problem of the T-zone or am made of plastic. But it's so edgy.

Power Flops and Coffee Shops

I decided to avoid the arctic wasteland that is the McGill Arts Library - thanks McGill, for renovating the heating and cooling system during the last weeks of the semester and exams - and have set up shop in a coffee shop. A masochistic measure, given that today marks the beginning of my coffee cleanse. I have been having some stomach problems lately, in the form of painful cramps whenever I eat anything, and so I figured that cutting coffee out (again - I had been abstaining since New Year, but my resolve collapsed after vacationing with my parents) could prove to be the solution.

In a true nod to an ironic God, I spilled boiling tea on my stomach this morning. It's blistered. So much for avoiding stomach pain...

After signing in at Moksha this morning, the instructor, Jason, informed me that tomorrow will be the last day for my 30-day pass. Which means that tomorrow marks the end of my 30-day challenge! So brace yourself for a post full of reflections. But not now. Instead I will regail you with my first Power Flow class. It was not as abysmal as I had expected. That said, some cruel fate had my mind and body crushed by some inexplicable hangover. I think I'm going to have to wade back into the world of alcohol a bit more slowly - two pints and I felt like death all morning! It's truly unfair. I think that, compounded with all the yoga sweating, my body is just really dehydrated. Anyhow, my hungover self was not a very impressive contributor to the PowerFlow class. That said, I would definitely be up for it in the future. It wasn't necessarily harder than any 90 minute Moksha class - just more flows and a more varied series of postures, which I love. Got to try my hand at crow pose. Which I can't do. Yet. I think the more challenging class will be a good addition though. Unlike a lot of people I know, particularly those who can only appreciate yoga when it is a challenging cardio and strength work out, I like a variety of classes, and find the long-hold Yin classes as satisfying as the more active Moksha classes. I kind of disdain the yoga snobbery of "I get too bored in those long holds!" That. Is. The. Point. Settle your mind and try to cultivate calm.

Ok, this has been a very indulgent break from marking. I am only half-way through my first essay of grading for the day - I am feeling the hurt of no coffee after a 7am yoga class, for sure. Best get my ass back at it though - I'm tired of this little brats e-mailing me asking when they will get their papers back.

Racist Pastry Addiction

Ok. So I may have a problem.

I have found the font of the most amazing croissants.

I'm not too concerned with the anti-Islamic connotations - I would eat crucifix cookies if they were this delicious - I am more concerned that I am becoming alarmingly dependent on my morning pastry.

This is truly not like me.

This morning, after yoga, I stopped in at La Vielle Europe, where I've been grabbing my cappuccino and croissant for the past two and a half weeks, but lo and behold - no croissants! I looked at the other pastries, covered in pistachios or carmalized apples, and thought that a plain butter croissant was a big enough indulgence as is, so I left with my lonely cappuccino and a determination for finding some delicious sustenance for my post-yoga snack.

I actually started to get kind of worried about what I was going to eat! I have food in my apartment, but nothing really snack-worthy (deliberately so, because I am the WORST for subconscious boredom eating). And I remembered "Hey...I am pretty sure there is an actual bakery near my apartment. I will have to walk a half block out of my way, but it's nice out and they will probably have croissants..."

I will take you all home with me

I am actually walking out of my way for my completely superfluous pastry indulgence. Bad. Sign.

Worse sign? There was a line up at La Pain Dore of people wanting pastry. Read: They are damned god pastries.

And they don't even look like crescent moons, so my anti-Islamic indulgences aren't even remotely racist in shape!

And they are so good that, where I had been previously been considering kicking the habit, I am now convinced that I will be having daily croissants. I had been holding off on the weekends - there are other amazing decadent things to indulge in then. No more. Croissants every day-ay-ay, croissants every day.

I actually walked out of my house today, having just polished off my croissant-and-coffee-while-reading-a-fashion-magazine post yoga ritual, yellow patent leather ballet flats, rolled up cigarette jeans and aviators on, listening to Adele's new album, thinking "Who the fuck am I?"

Who indeed...

Vanquished Red Head - Impolite Library Patron

So after just over a year as a spicy red head, I have returned literally and figuratively to my roots. Courtesy of the Funky Toque, the outrageously francophone salon I go to (in 2 trips I have had 3 people deal with me who "don't really speak good English"), I am once again a brunette. This decision was made initially on a strictly pragmatic basis - it is too time consuming and costly to maintain the fire engine shade of rouge that I liked best, and my inexplicable inability to book a hair appointment before my style has irritated me to the brink of a sanatorium trip left me often times looking like a ragged carrot. Ragged. Carrot. Let the image wash over you. I am a poet.

However, I am taking the opportunity to cue in a more metaphysical change. Because, with no philosophy in my life, I miss metaphysics.

Perhaps I will post a picture of this revolution inspiring hair-do when I am not sitting in the McLellan library not working on my 6'000 word paper. I have one week to write this paper which is, in case I have not already wined about this, based on a 947 page novel which I am 440 pages into. My previous hope that I would be able to write my paper without completing the mammoth tome has been quashed by reviews remarking at the incredible turn the novel takes at its mid-point. Great news.

It would have been far more appropriate if I had posted this prior to  procrastinating in the library, but here is my comprehensive list of bad habits which I hope to expunge alongside my ginger coif:

A propensity to avoid yoga

My tolerance for dishevelled living arrangements

An inability to reply promptly to a facebook message or wallpost, e-mail, or phone call

Putting off necessary chores - grocery shopping, filling prescriptions, getting laundry appropriate coinage from HSBC...

Binge drinking 

Binge eating

Leaving school work to the last minute

Procrastinating

Not answering on Skype

Leaving my cupboards open

Using my cat to kill spiders with which I have made inconvenient peace treatie

Talking myself out of working at the library

Bringing my laptop to bed with me - in the non sexy, playing sporcle to 2 am way

Playing sporcle until 2 am

the Biggest Loser