Fair warning: I lied about the exciting part. No no, I hear you protest, should I decide to regale you with tales of me boiling water, it would still carry the inimitable charisma of my narrative talent, and thusly by its very nature be hoppingly awesome. This is so, I cannot argue with your unimpeachable logic, and because you're lovely, let me challenge that presently.
As this is a blog chronicling my progress in losing weight, allow me to update you. Not much movement on the Trouserometer.
But then, I wasn't expecting miracles from the poor distressed thing just yet, so no harm done there.
HOWEVER! I exclaim animatedly, the scale she says otherwise. Just to summarize for some context here, when I started those health shakes, I weighed hmhmhmhm kilograms. Then, after three shotguntotheheadtastic weeks of two a day and gymming three times a week, I had managed to pick up 4 kgs. That, as you can imagine, sent me face first into a pile of cheesecake. Then, about two days after I stopped, I'd lost about 2 of those kaygees, and not long after had come down again to the weight I had started this whole thing with. Now, I'm a kilo below that. So in summation, I have lost a whole kilogram. I think I need to celebrate with some pie.
I am a reader. I have something like 650 books just in the west wing of my personal library (read: the TV wall in my room), and that's not an exaggeration. I counted them about a year ago and stopped at about 650, and have acquired a great deal more since then. The shitty thing is, in the last couple of years or so, I've been suffering horrible reader's block. For what ever reason, the gods are punishing me with the worst ADD ever, and even if I'm watching a video of The Excellent Gilmore Girls on my laptop (and who can honestly tear their eyes away from that kind of awesome?) I find myself constantly clicking the video pane smaller and opening a browser, having forgotten what it was I intended to do. It's compulsive. I just cannot concentrate long enough to make it through even my favourite books, and it's FREAKING ME OUT, MAN.
I bought myself two new- as opposed to second hand- books, and felt that if I was going to expend actual monies on them, I was for damn sure going to get those monies' worth out of them. They are book 1 & 2 of A Song of Ice and Fire, so I even have the visual aids from Game of Thrones to help me here. This must be no-fail. I idiot-proofed my room in anticipation of the reading frenzy.
I lit some calming coffee scented incense.
I gathered and battened down cat 1 and 2.
I switched off Dexter, my beauteous laptop, to avoid both temptation to check my mail yet again, and also to get rid of the murderous humming sound Dex makes when he's thinking.
I put on my prime reading glasses (that I'm actually meant to be wearing all the time, but screw astigmatism)...
...And off I went. The cats quickly found nooks upon my person that suited their needs, and we all went on a reading adventure together. It was lovely. I won't pretend my mind didn't wander like Kerouac, and that I missed paragraphs at times to my hyperactive child of a mind's eye, but it felt really nice. Very much like I had never left at all, sort of thing. At some point, a few chapters in, I decided to rest my eyes, just for a teensy moment, as I was starting to fade a little under the heady influence of incense that smelled pretty much of incense. Just to make sure I didn't fall under completely, I left the light on. It was a sound plan.
So, when I woke up this morning, (you fell asleep?!) I was greeted by a most welcome message- my very pregnant very best friend Brenda had asked me to come along for some baby shopping. She's been pregnant for a while now. I remember her being pregnant when we went to go see the last Harry Potter movie, and I'm definitely sure she was pregnant at some point when there was some non-fish sushi building going on in my kitchen. I think it's been at least 12 or 13 months now. She's close. It's a boy, which makes it very weird that they're naming it after me. *Shrug* Couldn't tell ya why. At least it's not going to be Phoebo. But she is awesomer even than my cats or chocolate in large quantities, and I haven't seen her since the fifth trimester, so I'm so very game. I'll make sure to post photos and/or ludicrous doodles of the pregnant bellies later.
And on a parting note, a word with you on celery:
An inoffensive vegetable, quite welcome in soups, stews, and any number of bloody maries.
Apparently, favoured by the gods of the diet, as it burns more calories to digest the thing than the thing has itself. Awesomesauce, no? My dad rather eccentrically bought some the other day, so I thought I'd help myself to a stalk last night when the munchies kicked in (that incense really packs a punch, lemmetellya.) I nibbled. I'd mostly forgotten what celery tastes like unadulterated. I was not disgusted or repelled, I admit, but neither was I salivating in greedy triumph. I have concluded thusly.
I don't think celery was ever reeeelly meant to be eaten. Sure, it's edible, but so are- I'm assuming here, shoot me if anyone is made an ass- plenty of random leaves easily picked from any still standing shrub or tree in the back yard. I'm fairly sure you can throw a stone and find a piece of greenery that will neither poison you, nor particularly edify you. I think the clue is in the fact that it literally has no nutritive qualities. Also, quite critically, it doesn't taste of anything else that is actually food. The tastes we are capable of picking up as humans are salt, sour, sweet, bitter and savoury (or umami. No really.) Celery is none of these things. It's not tasteless, but somehow it manages to taste really only of plant. I think this is a hint from the celery itself, and we should stick to keeping it sort of masked by stew or soup. Or some more bloody maries.
I think it goes without saying that the same applies to grapefruit, for different, yet obvious reasons.
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