It may take a sunny day, a rooftop, a kombucha, some self acceptance, and maybe just maybe a Bethenny book to realize all in all, life is pretty good.
I spent most of Sunday cooking (been so long!) and made the following awesome things:
1) Salsa dona (boil 8 jalapenos for 15 minutes and drain; puree with a few garlic cloves and salt) - spicy, fresh and delicious
2) “Mock French Toast” or what I’ll lovingly refer to as “Ricotta Faux Pancakes”. The Internet told me to combine 1c skim ricotta, 2 eggs, Splenda and vanilla extract. I added cinnamon, lemon zest and a little agave (in place of Splenda), food processored those bad boys, and then cooked them like pancakes. I got sick of eggs during week 1 of SBD and needed a new breakfast, this works! I recommend them regardless of carb status, especially if you’re like me and love white pizza with ricotta.
On that note, I may experiment with a savory blend of these including basil. Nom.
3) Mushroom pizza caps. Homegirl says these took 15 minutes? She clearly didn’t listen to Rachel Ray’s rule about not washing mushrooms (they absorb water) but cleaning them with a paper towel. I expected a lot more. I didn’t come near saying “who needs pizza when I have these?!” Maybe it was my bad for using torn-up light string cheese.
I guess that was it…? But dang, it took a lot of work and dishes.
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I had the scariest experience of my life on Friday’s late commute home from work and Trader Joe’s (read more about what I witnessed on the Bedford Ave L platform here). I stopped at TJ’s on my way home to get some groceries because I was super hungry and still South Beaching. By the time I got home around 11, after the incident, I was in shock and such anguish, I couldn’t even think of eating. I stayed glued to Twitter for information and to commiserate with other witnesses until about 1am and then tried to settle myself down with some New Girl and mashed cauliflower.
I finally fixed my scale on Saturday morning. However, after pretty consistently gaining weight for the past several months (and knowing full well why), the scale was not something I looked forward to, but still checked. After 6 days of disciplined South Beach Phase 1ing, I was hoping for a loss but terrified my efforts hadn’t paid off at all. Low and behold, I went from 2x7 to 2y7… where Y is 10 pounds less than X!!! This seems like *a lot* in 6 days/not right, so I’m guessing my body freaked out from going to one side of the spectrum to the other, so maybe next week’s loss will be much more moderate, but this still felt awesome. After the emotional trauma I was feeling, the steady weight gain I’d had for awhile and the often-hard week of dieting, it was a wonderful incentive to see a big push in the right direction.
It was also the perfect predecessor to eating at Carmine’s for my dad’s birthday. I followed through with not touching any bread or pasta, although I indulged a bit by having a bit of veal cutlet and eggplant parm (both lightly breaded). I managed to serve this bad boy to 10 people without even having a bite :D
Dear coworker who just creeped up on my snack, saying “I want one!”
Also: what’s the magic word?
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I fell off the weight-loss wagon. My summer in Hoboken was stressful, leading to me eating pints of feelings. And then I moved to Brooklyn, which was wonderful, except I ate it.
So, today, that’s all there is, right? Today was day 2 of attempting South Beach phase 1 and I’m pretty damn proud of myself. I’m ignoring their caffeine limitation (Dear any diet, you can not take caffeine and fruit and alcohol away from me) but otherwise doing well.
I went to dinner with my parents tonight to celebrate my dad’s birthday. I cringed at their descriptions of how wonderful the fresh-baked bread was but made it. When I almost lost it was when they ordered red velvet cake for dessert (one of my faves) and the waitress also brought a cannoli (another one of my faves… sensing my carb issue here?). This actually happened:
Dad: Have some!
Dad: Just a bite!
<2 minutes later>
Dad: Come on, just a bite, it’s my birthday!
NSV say whaaaat.
I am strong. You should know this. You and I have had this discussion before. Anyhow if ‘this’ is what you are trying to break me with, you will be sorry. I am not going to break. That is all.
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cute profile.. although according to [redacted] we are more likely to just be friends.
Wait, there are Muppets in this movie? Not going to lie, I’d probably see this Muppets or not.
Also, Kermit is hidden somewhere in this poster.
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I spent the weekend in New Orleans visiting my best friend, mainly because she’s moving next Tuesday. She’d been living there for 4 years, but she despises it and I thought I would despise it. I was fortunately wrong due to beautiful places like Audubon Park.
I definitely ate like I hadn’t been weighed in for my workplace’s Weight Loss Challenge yet (in theory, the higher, the better). While the food was delicious and I’m happy I got to try so much of it, I wish I’d applied Bethenny’s principle of tasting a lot but not eating a lot (of unhealthy food) and not feeling compelled to leave your plate anywhere near clean.
However, I’m tired. The past week has ranged from painful to excruciating with the x factor, and my best friend and I nearly got in a screaming match publicly over it because apparently there’s a rule that 7 months post-break-up means you should be over your 5.5 year relationship, especially when your ex has moved on. Sorry, my brain doesn’t work that way. “Rules” like those just put on further expectations that I’m not meeting. Her whole thing is that I choose to not be over it, whereas I try to tell her that I feel like I can’t stop thinking about it, it’s involuntary. In the past few days I’ve considered: anti-depressants (won’t), moving (maybe), and deleting any mutual friends on Facebook.
A “normal” Monday morning at work - coffee and being a day behind on work included - feels nice. And New York’s dreary weather is complementing my mood in a nice and not depressing way.
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