TMI about my cleanse. Sorry. Sort of. Not really.

Today is Day 2 of the 10 day juice fast/cleanse. All told we are two weeks into this gig and so far it's not bad at all.  The food elimination was fine, well until we had to give up dairy which means no cheese. I love cheese like I love few other substances in this world. It doesn't matter if it's Velveeta or fine brie, I want to snuggle up to it and make it mine for life. My indulgent relationship with cheese is one of the reasons I find myself currently mourning its absence.  The fast is fairly good for the most part, my energies aren't super-high but then I'm not a real go-getter under regular circumstance so an extra dose of slothdom isn't shocking.

A few things I've observed with the fast:

• Beets aren't lovely. No. Almost any way you serve them up, raw being my case, they taste like dirt. They also make your pee and solids purple which when you're an edge past 40 can make bathroom time slightly unnerving.
• Radishes are beets' sassy sisters. When juiced they have a slight kick to them, like a Catholic school girl gone naughty under the high school bleachers. I like radishes and will continue to host them in my juice.
• Detox isn't so pretty. This morning I woke up with white goo covering my tongue. Smelly white goo. Of course I quickly brushed my teeth but now I'm not sure I can ever use that toothbrush again. I'm seriously grossed out.
• I get seriously bitchy when I run out of food. This is nothing new, but when I've been downing liquid carrots and cucumbers all day and it's 4:30 and Devon wants a snack and Cass is wanting something -likely everything in her case- please leave me the fuck alone until I can inhale more juice.

Good things about the fast:

• My underwear is totally fitting again! Oh yeah, baby! No more upper thigh fat poking out of the bottom of my panties, thank you very much.
• I'm so exhausted at the end of the day that I'm actually sleeping well. Yes, I wake up in the same position in which I fell asleep, but sleep is sleep and not something I can always achieve.
• My skin is supple and soft and looks 38 rather than 49. At least that's my opinion.
• Did I mention my diminishing  size? Every morning the number on the scale is less than the night before.
• My worms are eating like kings in their worm bin!

Bad things:

• The above mentioned tongue issue. I still have the willies from that.
• Beets. Don't know if I can make that work.
• Variety. I can see how I might hate carrots after this.
• Turns out Cassidy also loves fresh juice multiple times per day. This just doubled my expense on this project.
• What if I lose all this weight and then am petrified to ever put solid food in my mouth again? How will I cozy up to cheese then?

Hot wives, race cars and holy men

I know that theoretically there is supposed to be a separation between church and state. What I didn't know is  when it comes to Nascar Jesus totally rides shotgun. This one caught me offguard this morning as I was driving to work. I love the "smoking hot wife" blessing.

A buck fitty

Back in the day I used to be a ballet dancer. Notice I didn't say ballerina, to me that means I was in a paid company and made my entire life be about dance. I was in a high school company and then a college company, I made no money and ballet was about 97% of my life. I loved it. I loved the daily ritual of warm-up at the barre, then centre work. I loved being totally in sync with my body and I looooooved being in wicked amazing shape. And although I probably could have eaten to my heart's content during those years, I didn't. Dancing eight hours a day and then skipping a couple of meals made me look all that more hot. God, I hope my 14 year-old daughter never reads that last sentence.

Fast forward to my early twenties when I got knocked up by a tall drink of cool water. Although my dancing days had tapered down to just a few classes per week, I still ate sparingly and kept in good shape. But sometime in the early part of my second trimester I got hungry. Hungry in a way that made me bitchy because I didn't know what to do. Yes, I was that out of tune with reality. I can't recall the exact sequence of events, only that Matt took me out to the Olive Garden and for the first time in my 22 years I discovered the joy of consuming food. Oh. My. Fucking. God. It was so good! It was beautiful! There were tastes. Textures. And the variety? Pastas with sauces! Breads with butter! And desert?????? It was truly a religious experience. So I kept eating. and eating. I ate in a way that had the OB team alarmed at my next visits. They thought I should maybe slow down. Could they not see I was eating for two? That food was good, dammit?

After I had Loren it took me about a year to lose most of the weight. The eating thing was still so amazing to me. Then I had Cass, nursed her and the weight came off again. Then seven years later Devon rolled on to the scene, I got post-partum depression, took Prozac and gained the equivalent of a baby. I hit the weight I was when I gave birth to Loren, 150 pounds. Then my dad died, I went on the cake and wine diet for a few months and maintained that awful number for a couple of years.

Two years ago I stopped eating wheat and luckily had the summer off from work. It enabled me to go for daily swims, long bike rides and I got down to nearly my pre-Devon weight. I felt good. I bought clothes and I vowed to never again get up over a buck fifty. This year has been a bitch in a half and apparently my way of dealing with it has been to stuff all the problems in my mouth and hide them in my belly where they'll never bother a soul. I have been harboring so much stress in my stomach that I got back up to 150. Fucker. It had gotten to the point where I had stopped wearing underwear and I could only where two pairs of my pants, both drawstring style. And although I totally rocked the drawstring, I suck at laundry and two pairs of pants simply doesn't cut it for me. But nor could I bring myself to buy more big girl pants.

As luck would have it, Matt intervened and suggested a juice fast. Then, since he has this summer off from work, he combined several plans and made it into a four week long effort. We are just finishing the first phase, food elimination. It started a week ago by cutting out one major thing per day. Friday was caffeine, Saturday, alcohol, And so on. Today is the last day of that, we cut out oils and vinegar today. Then it's on to three days of raw veggies, fruits, seeds and nuts. Then follows three days of smoothies, though they won't be a tasty without vanilla ice cream in them. Then it's 10 days of fruit and veggie juices, followed by a 5 day re-entry to regular foods.

So far I'm loving this. Maybe it's because when I cut out wheat two years ago, I learned how to make a big dietary change. Maybe I'm psychologically ready for next phase of life. Or maybe my body is just so damn tired of carrying around 25 extra pounds of me. In the last week I've lost nearly three pounds and I'm up to three pairs of pants in the rotation, one of them even has snaps.

I'm pretty sure that empty spot in hell is reserved for me

I've never made any bones over the fact that I am a fair weather Catholic. I grew up with devoted Catholic parents who were, thankfully, liberal in most ways. I was baptized, sent to Cathechism, took First Communion. Short of going not through Confirmation and then marrying an ex-Mormon and  having his babies in and out of wedlock, I'm a fairly upstanding church girl. At least that's what I tell myself.

A few years ago our parish got a new priest who I, and it turns out a majority of the congregation, despise. I'm not sure what his true name is because I alternate between calling him Father Higgins and Father Ass Hat. Higgins is the name of a friend's enormously dim Labradoodle, he's a waste of dog cells, quite possible the dumbest animal I've ever met. The Ass Hat name, well that's just plain bitchiness on my part. Anyway, this priest gives sermons that reference television shows. Every week he does this. I imagine him sitting about his priest pad, watching Thursday night prime time when it hits him, kapow, he must stick some religious words together for Sunday worshipers. Suffice it to say, his presentations are shallow and with very little spriritual fiber.

For most of the winter I skipped Mass. Partly I was working two jobs, partly I would rather stay home and clean than go hear Father A.H. spew his lack of knowledge to the congregation. But this past Sunday I was feeling jaunty and pure so I decided to accompany my mom and endure the fool on the pulpit. Luck would have it, or maybe God was smiling upon us, Father Higgins was out of town and we had a guest priest who actually had some lovely words of wisdom.

So we listened, sang, kneeled and then it was time for Communion. I lined up behind my mom and approached the alter with pure heart when the realization hit me: there's gluten in them there hosts and due to a food elimination thing Matt and I had started the night before, booze was no longer on my lists of can do's. Shitter. I couldn't just turn around, I was out of the pew with three more rows lining up behind me. I couldn't walk by and snub the offerings, that would be a faux pas. Before I knew it I was up and had no choice but to extend my palms and accept the body of JC.

Now, my reaction to gluten is pretty harsh. There are the red rash/hives that appear around my neck and face. There's the swelling of my throat, not breathing is no fun. Then there's the bloat and gas, perhaps the worst of all the effects for people around me. I couldn't eat the damn thing. Couldn't give it back. Couldn't turn to the person behind me and say, "Oops, I got an extra. Fancy a body wafer?" No. So I did what I had to and pocketed it. I know that like Superman, The Holy Trinity have X-Ray vision and totally saw the glowing wafer in my pocket. I also know they gathered in a huddle and made notes next to my name in their gaint Who's Who books.

After Mass my mother asked why I went to Communion and again I choked, I confessed my sin. She was all in a bind that between us in the car a bit of Jesus was riding shot gun in my pocket. Her instinct was to turn around and tell the priest. Mine, of course, was to cover it up. I assured I'd take care of it respectfully. And I did. After careful thought I buried it the planter of my hibiscus plant. That poor thing deserves to be in the tropics of Hawaii and is instead stuck on the confines of Matt's hot, dry deck. My thinking is that the plant could use a boost o' Sweet Baby J.

The next day my mother inquired about the host, apparently she'd been fretting over it. I told her not to worry, I'd taken care of things but that it was between Jesus and me. That didn't go over so well. But deep down I feared that if I told her the actual location of the waifer, she'd sneak down in the night and dig it up and take back to the church. But then again, maybe I lack faith.

Sky Beam, I think I hate you

Dear People at Sky Beam,


If there was something the opposite of a sponsored post this would be it. Simply put, you suck.

You suck in the way that stepping barefoot in dog shit sucks. You suck in the way that bouncing a check sucks. You suck like a harsh hangover and thoughtlessly placed hickey suck. You suck like losing your only set of keys in the snow sucks. I think you see where I'm going here.

Your bandwidth is fully insufficient in the Western Colorado region. You know this because nearly everybody over here who is forced to use your slack-ass company calls on a monthly basis and tells you about this issue. You will usually give us $5 off our monthly bill and promise things will get better, perhaps some sort of tower will go up over here....

You have yet to deliver on any of your poorly expressed intentions of improving our service. Is it that you believe we here in the mountains are used to slowness and can be set aside? Or maybe you think if you keep ignoring us we'll just go away? Or maybe you assume we are all out hunting prairie dogs? None of the above are the case. We are pissed. Pissed in a way that makes us want to trudge over the Divide, find your offices and leave bodily fluids upon your desks to soak into your keyboards. then your computers won't work and you'll be screwed. Sort of like us on a daily basis.

Sky beam, if I were a super hero my Super Twin powers would be all about covering you in an icy waterfall cast. Were I a comet I'd be sure to land my flame kissed ass upon your buildings. If I could be a predatory animal, I'd be the lion and you a baby gazelle separated from your herd. Me a super virus? You an old lady with a weak immune system. And lastly, if I happened to be a big, ole gross booger? You'd totally be my wiping spot. Yup. That's just how much I am unhappy with your sloppy service and lack of caring.

Love and kisses,

Heather

Cherish

Over the weekend Matt, the children and I are made the trek to Provo for his father's funeral service. The drive was long, as always, and hot. The visit was hectic and tense with all the issues surrounding a death.

There is so much that could be said, but I won't because there isn't really any point. But I will say this, if you've got something of meaning to say to the people you love, fucking-A just do it. Don't wait around and have people do it for you after you're gone. Life is short, the after time an unknown. What we have here and now is tangible and real. Not telling those close to you how you feel is a pussy ass way out of things. It does them no favors to yearn for affirmation, only to hear it from other people after the fact.

I'm going to take this to heart for myself as well. I'm going to let the people I love know how I feel and never have to question it.

The text bump

About 10 days ago one of my most favoritest people in the whole wide world got married to her long time man love. Kelly Lynne and The Bird have been together for about ten years. They have an adorable four year-old boy, John-Kelly. They are devoted to each other and so sometime last winter-ish, he popped the question, presented the ring and she accepted. The pair happens to reside in the Deep South of Mississippi where remaining unmarried and living next door to one another becomes a bit odd once you've bred a wee child, but a Southern to-do can quickly become a TO-DO so they traveled to the Colorado mountains to escape the heat and get hitched.

Somewhere around Christmas, Kelly Lynne asked me to be her maid of honor. She said it was to be a simple affair, as she is a gal of few needs and streamlined tastes. In my head I wondered why she would ask me of all people to do this job, I suck at weddings, they make me itch. She might have sensed my fear over the phone because she said something along the lines, "It's my wedding, I need you." Can't turn down that sort of thing so I said I'd be honored and then promptly forgot about my duties. I am really cool like that.

Every now and then the subject would arise, we'd chat about why the term simple wedding is an oxy-moron and then I would again put it all out of my mind. It's not that I was ignoring the gloriousness of these two people committing to one another for life, I totally dig it for them. The winter was a crazy busy one and wedding details don't lodge themselves in my brain.

A couple of weeks ago Kelly and her crew arrived in town to prepare for the big weekend. I was to have corsages ready, accompany Kelly for her nails and hair, help her get dressed, just generally be there for her and support her on her big day. While I was getting a spray tan, a coincidence not a preparation for the nuptials, I got a text:  Hey, I know you're dealing Matt's dad (he had passed away the morning before her arrival) so you can be off the hook for this weekend. I think we are good  and we don't need to add stress to your week.

I read the message over a couple of times before it hit me. I was being bumped. By text. Really? Who does that? So I wrote back: You're totally bumping me.

She replied: I totally am. But honestly it is fine.

Me: You're bumping me. In a text. I'm totally gonna blog about this, you know.

The next day Devon and I made it to the reception. I had a hard time getting out of my bathroom and to the party. Devon had a hard time transitioning from the sidewalk to the actual party. We both calmed down, tried to act like normal, well adjusted humans and then we spent a couple of hours blending. It was a lovely affair, Kelly and Jay were radiant.

Later Kelly texted me: You know no matter what, no matter the circumstance, you will always be my BFF. You were here in spirit.

And that's one of the reasons we have remained friends through 24 years. When you can realize your maid of honor is going to drop the ball and then you accept it and text her all in one? And in turn she can get the text and be at peace with it? That's what it's all about.