Day Five:

Wednesday
June 23, 2010

Ever notice how many novels begin with the “winds of change?” Hot winds of change, cold winds of change. Well here in my bedroom, those same winds are circling the skies. The weather in Chicago is making me feel a mighty, “consistant, mediocre wind of change” is a-brewin. It’s blown through my window before, and can blow back out again just as soon as it comes in. Like Leonardo DiCaprio in "Catch Me if You Can."

Today, in the heart of Chicago, there was an almost tornado. Lots of trees were uprooted, the skies were the color of the medulla oblongata on a toy skull (murky- grayish green), and stupid women around town were talking about soup. I armed myself with a broken umbrella, and Judy Garland impressions directed at no one but the wind.

But as those winds of change, those hot, humid, and mean winds, were causing sweat marks all across the magnificent mile, I found them chilling me to the bone. Change. When will I change? Will I ever change? I look at my list of things I consumed today. I felt, all day, that I was doing the diet I set out to do perfectly. That I was keeping my spirits raised, bringing fad diet based information to my people! Sure, I didn’t have time to go to the gym today, because I am but a babysitter, and when a butt needs to be wiped somewhere, I will be there to wipe it. But other than no gym, it was a succefful day! Then I look at my list.
No it wasn’t? There are things I was not supposed to do. Yet I did them anyway. I sit here, congradulating myself for not having ONE drink this week, and cheers myself with a small glass of vodka. It helps me write! I'm like Don Draper. If I don’t drink, I don’t write. If I don’t write, I don’t create art, if I don’t create art… well lets just stop there. Just imagining what could happen next might kill a few readers. I am but a servant to Dyonisis. I am but a human, incapable of change, it seems.

Let’s get real, though. I am trying desperately to follow Paltrow’s diet. And I’m doing a good job (Fuck you very much). But sometimes, when it’s fucking hot outside, and you haven’t been hungry in days, you want something cold on your tongue. You want some alchohol (liquid love) in your fat belly. You need something to tell you “the day is over. You didn’t die. You might die tomorrow. Don’t choke on anything embarrassing in your sleep.” And is that so much to ask from a person?
Who is all this for, anyway? My wife and children? Doubtless. My ripped boyfriend who owns lots of horses? No… he loves me for who I am.

This is for my readers. I owe it to them, to not be fat. So they can worship (pardon me) praise me, for whom I will become- beautiful. So that they, in turn, might read about my days, and become, themselves, beautiful. My stomach is very large. No one will worship a woman with a large mid section. Unless she has been impregnatated (divinely, or normally).

So my question today is… when will any of this change? I should not beat myself up ( a la Michael Keaton in "Multiplicity"), for this is the start of my jouney. If my Blog were Star Wars, I would just have been leaving Tatooine. And I’d have a dick. But I have yet to get into a car crash, so I am scar-less. I know no pain. But I also posess no wisdom. The hot sands of Tatooine have sheltered me all these years, and now, it’s time to follow those winds and lose some weight. And not just the weight of a left hand. Cuz that's only like, 10 ounces.

Day Four:

(This is a picture of Gwyneth giving up on me.)

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

In the gym classes (one muscle definition class, one ZOOMBA class), I sweat, jump up and down, and am faced with thinking about nothing but what I see directly in front of me. My reflection. Usually, this makes me light headed with disgust, and I try to find a woman who’s taller than me (say, this 90 year old gentle lady) to stand in front of me so I don’t have to face myself. But today… it was different.
No no, don’t worry, I haven’t changed at all. I still posses little to no beauty nor confidence. But as I was staring at myself doing flattering squats, I saw the woman in the mirror staring back at me… and that woman was Gwyneth Paltrow.
She didn’t come like a Christmas Carol spirit here to encourage or instruct. In real life, visions rarely have that power. (I’ve always been jealous of movie/TV characters whose visions talk to them. I always try to force my imagination to do that, but then it gets scared, and the image is quickly replaced from say, Whoopie Goldberg giving me life advice to like, a giant spatula drinking a smoothie. Eh, something to work on).
Anyway, Gwenth didn’t change me in any way. She just mimicked my movements in the mirror, looking clean, glowing and perfect as usual. But it wasn’t depressing. It was exciting. My collarbones perked up, trying to jut out more, imagining what they think they look like naked, or defined. Hopefully they are more creative than I, for I can’t even imagine.

Day Three:

Monday, June 21, 2010
Yes, it is Monday. Sunday, yesterday, was a big mess. That's why I'm starting over.

DAY THREE. (BUT REALLY DAY ONE):

Sometimes… you have to see how high the wagon is from the ground before it really counts that you fall off it.
So I got drunk? So I ate trout covered in butter? So a sensitive theatre director offered me grilled peaches a la mode? I’ve been dieting for WEEKS. (not true).
Let’s just start over. Shall we? Besides, Gweneth is all about positive living. She went to Spain and tried fried stuff. Someone needs to give this woman an award. And what do I get for living? Waking up with a popsicle stuck to my forehead The French Lieutenant’s Woman playing on repeate… must have bought that On Demand… strange drunken 4am choice… but I’ll think about that later.
I know by now, none of you believe in me. I’ve probably lost my (thousands) of followers. But I am not fooling when I say today was GLORIOUS. Slept till noon. Did not hate myself (weird). Went to gym. Found my bike! Got caught in gorgeous, multicolored mid western rainstorm. Chased the wind on my shirt-tails or something …and did it all without sugar, alcohol, or shame. Instead of ½ a bottle of wine and ½ a truck of ice cream… I read allowed…I read a play (that’s theatre, for you stupid folk) to an ailing friend. We nibbled on mushrooms and pictured our lives how they will be… when we are beautiful. We can go on those websites for pretty people… walk down the streets turning heads… and dance without falling down. Ahh… se la vie. Sarah Ruhl’s lilac language overlaps our vivid daydreaming… it reminds me of those summers I spent teaching the Costa Rican locals who live in trees and under volcanoes about Art. Upon arriving in their village, I recall a tall man (probably their leader) saying,” Que es teatro?” I nodded, “Soy el teatro.” And art in a third world country began.

I’m sure you’re asking what my past travels have to do with my diet today. Well, life’s a travel experience. And your suitcase… your suitcase can sometimes be your big, fat ass. But it doesn’t have to be. Your suitcase can be your expanding brain, or adventuring feet, or rampant STD you picked up there. So in conclusion, I do not feel badly about starting over, and failing at my first attempt on this journey. It’s the first day of summer! It’s more fitting than starting on a Friday… my body knew.
So I drift off to sleep in peace. Going over my upcoming patience and diligence… the sounds of the Costa Rican shore filling my memory. The earthy smells of the fried yucca plant and rich coco beans. The memories of the giant insects… wait those are real. Shit there are bugs all over my room. WHO LEFT THIS DISGUSTING FUCKING POPSICLE STICK IN MY BED!!?!? Oh wait….
Onward.

Day Two:

Saturday, June 19, 2010


So here’s a bit about me: I work at a breakfast place called Orange. Yes. I work. Hard to believe because I seem so upper class? Yes, sometimes it fools me, too.
You’ve probably been picturing me sitting all day at a lace counter topped, mahogany desk at the highest room of some castle/tower. Drinking tea and jotting down pithy witticisms, that, no doubt, will align intelligently with our country’s social momentum of the moment? No, I sell pancakes.

And I tried them today. Big Whoop… It’s my JOB. I don’t think of this as “cheating” because I. don’t. cheat. I’m just trying to live, God damn it! Make my way in this cruel world! How can I sell these delicious cakes if I don’t know how the colorful, whipped-creamed morsels assemble on my pallet! I swear! I am only living!! I am but a vessel!!! For the people… Ah! My delicate fingers! They’re full of frosting!!! FROSTING!!!!!!!!!!

Day One:

Friday, June 18, 2010

I failed.
Maybe starting on a Friday was a bad idea. Or odd. But sometimes, when you find yourself huddled on the hard-wood floor, with dark purple frosting buried deep beneath each fingernail, you think, “ Maybe life will get better tomorrow.” So tomorrow is today. And what a beautiful day it is. Actually, is disgusting; storming and hailing with tornado warnings. But I’m at the top of a (wealthy-only) glass-encased gym. I’m doing yoga and haven’t eaten much today… I feel worthy. My frosting-drenched self is but a mere shadow of the down-ward-dogging, stylishly famished me of Today. There is power in this feeling. I can start to love this. And once I get rid of all this fat… I’ll be King.
Now, the real battle of today: not to drink alcohol. This has proven to be more difficult on the mind than I anticipated (seeing as I’ve thought about it every ten minutes). Every add, social gathering, and successful TV show heroin makes me want the sauce even more…..mmm…. I want to be like Mary Louis Parker… gaunt and crazy-eyed, raven haired, drinking her Chardonnay. (No, I bet Pinot, that predictable bitch). But this doesn’t mean I’m an alcoholic. It just means I’m popular.

WEEK ONE: IRON MAN 2 DIET

WEEK ONE:
Info can be found at:

http://goop.com/newsletter/82/en/

On Gwyeneth's site, she has an introduction to the diet. I read it once and will transcribe it here from my memory. Because I learned in Acting College, that you can't cut and paste with the internet because that's plagiarism. So I'll paraphrase what she said and it will be very accurate:
Introduction to IronMan 2 Diet:

(I'll do this tonight)

PREP-DAY

June 17, 2001


Well, tomorrow starts my life as an incredibly good-looking person. This road, I know, will not be easy. It will be tough, hard, and difficult to complete. And so will my poop. But enough talk of poop, there’s plenty of that, I fear, lying ahead. (Master Cleanse, anyone?)
With the birth of this blog, You, Me, and Everyone Me Knows will know what it feels like, first hand, to live the Fad Diet Life. One a week. Until I’m gorgeous. No, really. I have perfect features. And nicely proportioned bones. I’m gonna be so hot, I might just be cast as a rape victim someday! (I hope). Mmm… I wish I had a Hot Tub Time Machine to see my future self. And fuck it. Then tell it is worthless. Then see it get even more hotter. And more rapeable.
So without further ado, here is my day by day, play by play, of me going from okay to very sexy.
(play by play…oh! Reminds me! U.S. is playing in World Cup tomorrow! Im’a go to a bar and get drunk at noon huzah! Wait. I’m starting the very strict-and very cool- Tracy Anderson diet. I keep wanting to say Tracy Ullman… who is that? WAIT. DON’T. ASK. GOOGLE. He’s being a little cunt recently. Ya know, one day, our children’s children will be asking, “Mommy… is Google a Man or a Woman?” And we’ll have to writhe in our seats, “well, sweety… there’s a lot of different thought about that. I mean he’s not a man with a beard…” ect. Where was I? Ah, yes. ONWARD!!!)
Readers… this is your only task. Make sure I hit upon the points (listed below) somewhere along the way of this blog journey. I need to hit these regularly, Readers. Readers?... Nah, that’s too Russian… Minions? Followers? North Koreans? Whoa. Whoa. Too Far. Don’t worry, I’m kind of a Buddhist, so that was a joke. A not-count-towards-Karma joke. List:

Things to Not Forget to Mention Along the Way:
How I’m more evolved
Gayness in general
All the women who’ve already done this (but don’t have street cred like me, so their blogs are basically worthless)
Typewriters
Puppets
Carrie Fish and/or Star Wars
Barak Obama and/or Health Care Reform
How depressed Lincoln was
The perfect outfit when “getting things done”
Albert Einstein and my myriad similarities ( We are like JFK and Lincoln…sad, sad Lincoln)
The burden of making sure your co-workers know you are very, very cool
Shakespeare

So now, as the great woman who played Toby McGuire’s grandmother but I’m pretty sure was cut out of the movie (eh, didn’t see it), said, “You can’t do everything, you’re not Superman.” Well suck on this, Grandma.

Fat-formation (information on fat)

Height: 5’ Almost 1”
Weight: 121.9 (according to the United States Government, I’m 20 pounds overweight. But I bet they’d all still fuck me. Or at least let me give them a very mediocre B.J.)
Inches: I’ll get to measuring this at some point. Need to buy a tape measure. Or bendy yard sticks...

GAME PLAN:

Week 1: IRON MAN TWO DIET
With an introduction by Gweneth Paltrow
Week 2: WEIGHT WATCHERS
http://www.weightwatchers.com/index.aspx
Week 3: URBAN SKINNY DIET
This is the week I will be wearing heels, and getting very drunk... and sexy.
Week 4: SONOMA DIET
An oldie, but a goodie.
Week 5: RAW FOOD DIET
www.thebestofrawfood.com
Week 6: TRACY ANDERSON'S BABY FOOD DIET
Exactly what it sounds like... jealous bitches. Yep. I'm gonna smell like a warm, soft baby.
www.dietsinreview.com/diets/Baby_Food_Diet/
Week 7: JUICE DIET
Week 8: ANOREXIA NERVOSA
Look forward to very offensive posts.
Week 9: FRENCH WOMEN DON'T GET FAT DIET
Wi.
Week 10: TBA
I'll probably already be a movie star by the time this one shows up. So... no promises.
Ya know?
I think that will be my catch phrase in this blog..."No Promises."
This has been Mackenzie Jager... and I begin!
(picture me jumping off a building wearing a cape)
(no really, picture it.)