DAY SEVEN: Down three

Okay, it's more of stomach virus three than an honest to goodness, look at me, Ma, I'm a Grapenuts eating, exercizing fool.

Really haven't eaten much the last three days because my stomach went haywire. So here's my week. First two days -- eat like a champ. Day three, Monday get stressed and eat, then get great news and eat more. Wednesday still celebrating and eating crap. Thursday, Fri and now Saturday -- stomach virus.

Down three pounds. Voila!
Grant it, it's not a traditional diet but isn't that what being a stupid man is all about. We don't do things the "traditional" way. I mean, if people can believe in The Secret, why can't my, Two good days, Two bad days, Three stomach virus days work for everyone!
I gotta write a book.
What will happen this week? If my stomach gets better, and I'm sensing since I felt hunger today for the first time that it just might, that's going to screw up my whole diet plan.

YOU CAN'T COUNT ON THE VIRUS. That'll be a chapter in the book. As far as what to do now, my guess is as good as anyones. (Actually, it's probably not as good as anyones.)

Crazy Day 6

I know Howard's been MIA for a bit, but he's got a good excuse. He's a smidge under the weather and has a cold or allergies or virus or some unknown yet-to-be-classified disease where his stomach goes on the fritz and he feels generally crappy. Not to say I'm jealous of his stomach virus, but let's just say I think by the fact that he's eating next to nothing he has done far better than myself in this first week. I tried to have him breathe on me in the off chance I could catch said virus...

Today, I did the approach where I ate very little for most of the day, ate one heinously terrible massive meal and then haven't eaten since. I've never claimed to be one of those well balanced types.... and I barely ate anything because I had a doctor's appointment at 2:45 and I knew the nurse would make me get on the scale. (And since the scale was basically out in this hallway I could really only take off my sweatshirt and my shoes...as opposed to basically trying to remove all possible clothing... the nurse was nice, she took off two pounds for clothes and the fact that I told her I probably had at least a half pound of pee in me.)

The scale news was pretty much the same as I expected. Same as last year, but a good 20 freakin' pounds up from when I moved out here to sunny CA in 2006... you would think with this warm weather it would make me skinnier (since you can't really hide everything in bulky winter sweaters and cute coats)...but I think coming from NYC where I walked all the time to the driving culture of LA (and the fact that the rest of time my butt is planted in a chair in front of the computer--or the tv) it has negatively affected my weight... I'm sure it didn't help that once I got out here Howard pressured me to quit smoking... so there we have it. Those are my juicy (and somewhat bitter) rationalizations on why I'm up past my normal "skinny" weight. I'm in the medium weight range for me. I'm not skinny me. I'm not the super heavy me. I'm the somewhere in the middle-vaguely-dissatisfied me range...

Wow, I'm boring myself here... I think I'll go check on Howard...

CRAZY DAY 5: Do You Really Want to Know?

Okay, so I was MIA for two full days... which is never a good sign. As you heard from Howard on Monday night we had cake from our dog's boyfriend's bday party...and it just seemed rude not to eat a piece of cake (and crazy not to eat a second piece of cake...it was a good cake!). But that day wasn't so bad...and I totally made up for it yesterday as I dutifully went to pilates and then I ate really well... well, well for me is 2 zone bars, a chicken broth soup, and then I was starving and I ate a bunch of random stuff for dinner...but nothing too too terrible... (blue cornbread with butter still can't be as bad as cake, right?).

But today...today, was... well, bad. Before we take a walk down that road of guilt and regret let's talk about the fact that Howard and I received some really good news on Monday night. We have sold a tv sitcom show based on the book to ABC. So this was really really amazing news... and we are so thrilled and fortunate (especially in this crappy economy) to now be gainfully employed again and working on a project that we both love.

But what's tough is suddenly we're back in the high stress atmosphere of having to work together with a very intensive deadline. I really wish I was one of those people who when they get stressed out don't eat... but instead when the tough get going, I get going to the pantry to look for a snack. I get very intense about work and always think of it as the highest priority...so going to the gym or to pilates or eating sensibly always get put on the back burner (and on the front burner is making pancakes to help me think more creatively... which helps for a bit and then helps make me sleepy and in need of a nap.)

And I promised to be honest in this blog, and here it is. I didn't want to write and admit all this stuff. There's something about not being able to control your eating that makes you feel weak...and it's a terrible feeling. Obviously, I know I'm not alone in this (hey Oprah, we know the whole world loves you most of all because you too are a yo-yo dieter like the rest of us!!) But still it's such a struggle. I just find it so weird that on some days it's so easy to eat well, and on other days you slam an entire bag of white cheddar on the couch in record time. (Howard was there to witness this, but he was smart enough to pretend not to notice. It's good to see Howard did learn something from writing our book together. I was being crazy about food and he did not act stupidly and tell me I needed to stop eating popcorn. )

It was also Howard who told me I needed to go upstairs (that's where my office/desk/laptop is in our house) and face the music... he said the world would understand... he said it'd feel good to confess. So here goes. One zone bar, one large bag of white cheddar popcorn, a bowl of Life cereal, a Bay City Deli Godmother sandwich (crazy good but hellaciously bad for you), and 2 and half italian rainbow cookies...you know those weird mutli colored cakey cookies that they have in italian bakeries that are dipped in chocolate and have that weird fruity jam in between...yeah, i ate those too... (i discovered them in Little Italy when I was a college student at NYU...they are so not the typical sweet treat I like... because i actually find them a little gross... but in a weirdly good way.)

Phew. Hmmm...not sure if I feel better, or just kind of embarassed....

Thank god it's late and tomorrow is a new day...

jenny

DAY 4: Oy.

Okay, full disclosure:

Yesterday and today were not good diet days. I'm thinking tomorrow is going to be better.

First I was stressed because of my whole WAIT = WEIGHT equation. But then we got
good news! Yay! Good news! And we hadn't had lots of good news in a while and well...

Good news turned into good chicken parmigian and even better pasta. Oh, and there was
the cake from the our dog's best friend's birthday party.

Yes, a dog's birthday. And yes, people cake. Take the matter up with Jenny! She's the one who inspires normal people to have dog birthday parties -- like it's a normal thing! (But she does have an incredibly cute picture of the two dog buds with their chins on the table staring at the cake. I bet she'll share it with you. No need to ask.

But here's the thing: I made the crucial error of going from stress eating to celebratory eating.

I was on an emotional roller coaster, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

More discipline I suppose. And that chocolate chip scone this morning didn't help. Or the club sandwich. YES, I'VE LOST MY WAY. I've let my emotions rule the day. Up, down, happy, sad. But I'm coming back.

You don't know how tough I can be. Tomorrow it's protein all day. Just protein. Yes, there is the scent of the yo yo dieter in all this. The binger, the purger. But I'm finding my dieting rythem. If there were no ups and downs in life, eating in a very clear, dull, but healthy and perfectly satisfactorily way would be a snap.

But the rest of life would suck and be boring.

Rather the food boring than the life! (Listen to me, Mr. Fancy Philosopher!)

Okay, here's the guy take for today: Am I going to let myself be BULLIED by food? Pushed around by sugar? Taken to the cleaners by Honey Nut Cheerios. I don't think so! Because that's what the food does. It bullies you. You have to show it who's boss.

I'm going to go yell at my fridge right now. Then I'm give that stuff in the pantry a peice of my mind!

DAY THREE: IS FRENCH TOAST A DIET FOOD?

Okay, not starting out to be a banner diet day. See Jenny and I had this big meeting and we'll not know the outcome for a day or two and so, which is actually more stressful than the meeting itself because now we're just waiting for word. And we can't do anything about it.

Over the weekend we could practice our Pitch. We could still somehow control our fate.

And amazingly, I could control my eating. But at eleven fifteen the pitch was over and the wait was on and have you ever thought of the word "Wait" and "WEIGHT" being the same word?

Just occured to me. Which I guess is a reason to blog. WAIT = WEIGHT = FRENCH TOAST.

Now if Einstein had come up with something like that, he might have had something. But Mr. Smarty Relativity pants never saw the connection between WAIT and WEIGHT.

Now here's the thing. As a guy, I will not lie about what my actions are -- regarding food. I'm not proud of French Toast, oh, and did I mention the fried potatoes I got with them? ANYWAY,
Guys don't lie about food. It's unmanly. Embarrassing perhaps but unmanly. I also, if you noticed published my weight in my first entry. No, "Oh my pants are feeling looser" type analysis for me. That's kind of a girl thing. But for me, it's the numbers that do the trick. If a week from when I started I'm lower, I'm doing something right. If not, I've got to eat less.

The numbers talk. (Just like my equation up top.) Now I'm also wondering... since I've had fried potatoes and french toast do I just blow off the whole day and just dive into a big bowl of ice cream and not come out until tomorrow? This is the dieters constant dilemna. Then there's the excuses about waiting around to hear about something that's important to me. A woman, perhaps even or especially, MY WOMAN would understand, especially since she's waiting too.

But no excuses. Or maybe just a little candy bar....

CRAZY'S DAY 2: I, MEDIUM.

I just read Howard's posting...and now I'm all caught up. When he was dreaming of chips and a good football game...I was out on Montana Avenue looking for a new top for our meeting that we have tomorrow. So far my day 2 isn't so bad. I too had a turkey burger with no bun for lunch, but I'm never really hungry when I know I'm going to go try on clothes. (Nothing kills an appetite like having to ask for a size up.) So I stop by the store on the corner of our street, Planet Blue. (they have lots of cute things and they change their windows every day which I think is very smart considering I walk our dog Doozy every day by their window displays.)

Anyway, here's the deal with Planet Blue. They have a lot of cute stuff, mainly for tall skinny California girls...but every now and again I can find a nice flowy thing that will fit me (i'm so not a tall skinny California girl). Here's the downside of Planet Blue. They are one of those stores that really just caters to their own particular audience, so much so, that they never have a size larger than a medium. Seriously. They have XXSmall, XSmall, Small and Medium. That's it. So basically I can only pick from the Mediums that are cut on the larger roomier size.

The first medium I can't even button, like at all. I am now regretting that I even ate a turkey burger. The next shirt fit me around the waist, but if I moved my arms at all it was a bit dicey. And if say, I actually tried to hug someone, this shirt would surely split wide open... and I'd be left looking like the Hulk in tattered clothes...GRRRR! WHY CAN'T ME FIT IN A MEDIUM!! (I'm not sure if the hulk can talk, but let's just say he can... that's sort of the sentiment he'd express I'm sure.)

In the next dressing room I hear someone ask the saleslady for a smaller size. Wow, I wonder what that feels like? I close my eyes and imagine myself as itty bitty skinny teeny tiny, basically a slip of a thing (that's always been one my dreams...to be a girl who could be described as a mere "slip of a thing"...not that I even know what exactly that even is, but yet it sounds good to me.) My only consolation is that I'm pretty sure that me as the Hulk could probably trounce a tiny slip of a thing in a back alley fight.

Finally I find a nice blue silk top. It's roomy around the middle, it's cut wide in the arms...VICTORY. In fact it's cut so wide that I'm wondering whether I could actually be that girl who asks for one size down? I'm afraid my voice will crack if I actually say the words out loud, so instead I go and look for myself. I find the same shirt in a size SMALL. I scurry back into the dressing room with it, eyes darting furtively, licking my lips I'm convinced I must look like a shoplifter who is just trying to steal the dream of being the girl who can wear a size small.

It fits. Kinda. I mean, it's passable, but who am I kidding? The MEDIUM looked better... the medium felt better because it fit better. I am a MEDIUM (in this particular top...usually I'm a large, so hey, it could be worse.)

Maybe half the battle of dieting and working on all my body hang-ups (if only I had longer legs, if only my calves were skinnier, if only I did have a soft pillsbury belly, if only I had a bigger bust which would even out all the other parts of me that are bigger...) is acceptance. I, Jenny Lee, am a medium in this particular top and if I may so myself, it looks good on me. (Would it really make any difference in the grand scheme of things if it were a size SMALL? Probably not. Well, it might, but I guess I won't know... for a while... I mean, what can you expect from Day #2 of a diet?)

STUPID HOWARD: Day two

Okay, now it's real. And I'm in that slightly irritated space. I mean lunch was fine. A turkey burger, no bun, and strawberries and watermelon (lame out of season watermelon) for dessert.
But there's something about the lack of, say, chips, that makes Sunday football seem less appealing.

Yes, after watching the exciting end to the Ravens/Vikings game, I turned on the Patriots. My Patriots mind you, and I just couldn't get into it. Grant it, it's snowing in October there and it looks like a high holy mess. The kind of day that really brings out the hot chocolate and warm cookies in one's memory.... (I'm from New England, land of hot chocolate and warm cookies on a sunday afternoon. I'm probably just making that part of my childhood up, but still...)

I turned off the game. I'm actually thinking about... uh, you know... reading or something.

GOOD GOD IS THIS WHAT LACK OF CARBS DOES TO A MAN?

Hell, my nine year old son, was so not into watching the Pats without chips, he's upstairs PRACTICING HIS piano!

This diet is already having a weird effect. There's something weirdly emasculating about a diet. It's all about what YOU CAN'T HAVE and what you CAN'T DO. While there's always been something distinctly manly about tailgating and eating poorly and yes, having heart burn.
Last night I caught myself looking at the calories and fat content of my yogurt.

WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?

Surely this is just day two -- had egg whites for breakfast -- freak out.

Or is it something worse?

Did I mention that slightly irritated feeling I'm having? I mean, a boring game is always less boring with chips. Especially when they're in my Patriot's helmet dish which Jenny got me which is now sitting lonely and sad on a shelf to the left of the big screen.

And what the hell is the kid playing up there? He's no Van Cliburn.

Now I'm ranking on my kid who's upstairs doing what he's suppose to be doing. That's low of me.

In short: Day Two harder than day one.