I'm going through something over here in MaryMakesDinner-Land, something awful. As is probably obvious, most of my daily thoughts revolve around one thing, and one thing only. That thing being the next thing I am going to put in my mouth. Throughout the day I'll find myself drifting off into a world where sweet and savory delights dance in perfect balance across my dinner plate. Often, there is ice cream involved. As for my other thoughts, they are usually NSFW, so I just won't go there. Let's just say I would have made a good man, had my chromosones gone the other direction. My needs are simple. Give me some sweet lovin', a craft beer, a fully belly, and the promise of ice cream cones, and I'm happy as a clam.
So what could throw off an easily pleased individual such as myself? Apparently it takes only two measly little syllables to suck the joy right out of my life, "di" and "et". Most telling is the first bit, "di". As in, "die". As in, kill me, now.
Yes, my husband and I are embarking on a mind twisting, soul robbing journey of misery and torture in some sad attempt to whip our physical selves back into shape. Our concious selves, however, are suffering mightily. We aren't morbidly obese or anything, and as a rule, we don't eat that poorly. But as age catches up with us, and craft beers flows more steadily, we've both developed unsightly spare tires. It turns out that a semi-active lifestyle and mostly healthy eating doesn't equal supermodel bodies.
In our desperation we have declared war. The enemy? High glycemic foods. The South Beach Diet has become our chosen saviour and we are knee deep (7 days) into phase one. At first, two weeks on a restricted diet doesn't sound too bad. Lean meats, mostly green vegetables, with the occasional inclusion of nuts and cheeses. Of course, there is no fruit, nothing orange, no alcohol, obviously no rice, pasta, or starches, and very little, if any, sauce allowed. The problem is that after spending more than half of my life as a vegetarian, then the last few years being a carnivore, I've discovered that I don't really like vegtables all that much. I mean, I don't dislike them, but after 6 days with not so much as a noodle to even the score, I am really starting to hate the little green bastards. Meat of any kind is next on the chopping block. All I want is ramen.
But then all I ever want is ramen.
Or hero sandwiches.
Or pizza.
Bah.