Keep in mind these were from three years ago when I was working in a restaurant.
Love and such,
Eugene
Detox or Faux-tox?
There's been so much talk about "detox diets" that one can't help but be slightly curious. Beyonce Knowles lost 20 pounds on the Master Cleanse detox diet for her role in "Dreamgirls," the sisters Duff (Hilary and Hailey) swear by it. But the idea of willingly ingesting nothing but lemon juice and water flavored with cayenne pepper for a week just doesn't seem that appealing...or healthy. People talk about the incredible results you get from this wonder diet. Well, you're starving yourself for a week, if not longer, so I would be floored if you didn't lose any weight at all. What they don't talk about is how this is NOT, I repeat NOT, a diet. It is a detox. So when you come off the detox and start eating food again, you gain at least half of the weight back. And if you're a binge-eating defeatist, chances are you'll gain all of it back and be right back where you started from.
Having vented to my mother about my dissatisfaction with my weight and appearance, and then, mistakingly, bringing up the aforementioned detox wonder diet, she hopped into fretting mother mode and made me swear never to try it because it was ridiculously unhealthy. I had to laugh and walk away because, as I'm sure you are already aware, you can't really talk with moms when they're in "the zone." A few minutes later she apologized for getting so "uppity" as she called it, and then told me about this new juice detox diet. It's the same basic concept as the Master Cleanse except for one key factor: you're not starving yourself to see the results of a clean system. You're getting the vitamins, proteins, and nutrients your body needs to not only survive, but more importantly, what your body needs to thrive. It's called the Martha's Vineyard Detox Diet, and it promises 21 pounds in 21 days. Well, we'll see, I guess.
My mother and I are going to be starting it soon, and while, yes I'm not the typical person who goes on these sorts of diet (I'm 24, five foot nothing, and only about 7-10 pounds over what I would like to be), and while I get a lot of grief from people (my mother, my boyfriend, my friends who weigh a bit more than I do) when I say that I need to lose weight, it's something that I'm not happy with. And since I'm not about to go under the knife for some lipo anytime soon, this seems to be the happy alternative. I'm not looking for a quick fix. I want to be healthy and eat what I should be eating. Now, that being said, I do go to the gym 5-6 days a week. I do at least 30 minutes on the treadmill, reaching about 2-4 miles each time, burning anywhere from 200-500 calories. I do a series of ab workouts every other day. I don't eat fast food, I love vegetables, and we only eat organic foods. So my frustration comes from the fact that no matter what I do, I can't seem to lose these 10 pounds and it's driving me insane. I've had issues with eating disorders before and I'm trying to get over that. I'm hoping that if I document this diet, unsightly pictures and all, that the proof will be in the pudding and I can really see the progress I'm making.
So, with all that said, let's start preparing and see what this baby can do!
MONDAY, JULY 21, 2008
Growing Up Doesn't Have to Mean Growing Apart
It's been over two years since we've been in college, and almost a year since my last visit to said college, and suffice it to say that a lot has happened in the time between then and now. There have been births, deaths, weddings, road trips, drunken stupors, job changes, relocations, and just about everything else. And while some may say that I've been avoiding the 'real world,' I'd like to think that I've just been following my own path to happiness. I've been criticized by just about everyone for not facing reality and trying to maintain some air of irresponsibility. But, while they've been criticizing, I've been building my life. I've found the one person I want to be with for the rest of my life, I've been making new friends that I can rely on and depend on, and I've finally found a job that makes me happy (both professionally and personally). So when the time came to celebrate this new chapter in my life, I thought those who have encouraged me for the past six years would be the first ones to congratulate me. I was wrong. The very same people who chastised me for not "acting my age" were the ones who isolated themselves because they didn't approve of my new friends. While you were off getting drunk, yet again, and delaying the inevitable first 'real' job, I was making a life for myself. I have a real life and you don't. For the first time in our friendship, I was seriously disappointed in you. And for the first time in our friendship, I've reached a point of maturity you have yet to discover. I'm trying not to hold it against you, I'm trying not to revert to "how dare you" and "i can't talk to you" and I'm trying to rise above. But you did not make it easy.
These people may not fit your mould of what my friend should be like, but I enjoy their company. They make me laugh, they include me in their jokes, and I can call on them in almost the same way that I used to be able to call on you. This is my life and I like it. Just because you don't get it, doesn't mean it isn't right for me. And how dare you make me think otherwise.
The Bucket List
I'm sure that everyone at some point or another has made a list of things they want to do in their life. Backpack through Europe, learn another language, go skydiving, etc. I made my first list when I was 15, then another one at 18, right before I left for college. The lists were usually made in journals, or in notebooks that should have been dedicated solely towards literature class notes. In the midst of some spring cleaning, I came across these lists, sadly noting that I had not accomplished as much of them as I would have hoped. So, as my therapist says, making yourself accountable for your actions requires a little help sometimes. And with that in mind, I feel that if I put my goals out into the world, I'm somewhat forced to take some action, otherwise, I'll be all talk, which is something I fear I'm becoming. That said....here we go.
1. Learn to play the guitar
2. Learn Italian
3. Learn Spanish
4. Go skydiving
5. Act in a full-length play
6. Learn to drive a standard
7. Read at least two books a month
8. Volunteer at an animal shelter
9. Learn to play the piano
10. Learn to play the violin
11. Get married in my backyard
12. Go to pastry school
13. Go to culinary school
14. Travel through Europe
15. Travel through Asia
16. Travel through Australia
17. Travel through South America
18. Travel through Canada
19. Drive cross country
20. Watch AFI's Top 100 Films
21. Start my own business
22. Sing Karaoke
22. Watch the entire series of Sex & the City
23. Live on my own
24. Run a marathon
25. Throw a New Years Eve party
The rest to be determined at a later time...
TUESDAY, JUNE 17, 2008
You'll Sit There and You'll Like It
Is it me, or have people just started to suck a lot lately? Maybe I'm just upset because, as previously blogged, my post-collegiate life isn't everything I hoped it would be. Or maybe I'm projecting my fear of reaching the mid-20s onto unsuspecting people who have no connection to my life whatsoever. Or maybe I'm just bitter because they get to enjoy fine, quality seafood and I get to stand around for ten hours, covered in ketchup and clam juice, sweating like Rosie O'Donnell when she wakes up in the middle of the night and realizes she's just a big, scary lesbian with little to no fame at all. Whatever the reason, I've noticed an influx of baby-boomers and the slightly younger yuppie generation who really just, honest to blog, suck at life.
When you go out to eat, you're basically saying to the world, "I don't feel like cooking tonight. I want to treat myself to a nice meal and just enjoy my evening." Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that imply you should be in a good mood? Shouldn't you be projecting an air of happiness out into the world? I don't expect rainbows to miraculously start shining out of your ass, but I would think, at the very least, a smile would be visible. So why is it that every other person or couple who comes into the restaurant I work in seem to have the worst case of hemorrhoids ever. They walk in like their anus is bleeding and I have the magic cream and some latex gloves. Oh here, let me rub that on there for you. How's that feel? Better? Oh nay nay, my little maggots, that is NOT my job.
I have the lucky task of showing these muff-chomping ingrates to their table, and then, the real fun begins. It starts out like any normal relationship--with a pleasant greeting, a smile, and usually, a slight tilt of the head. "Hi, how are you?" If they respond and then ask how I am, it's usually a good sign. Of course, working in the heart of a tourist town, getting any sort of acknowledgement of my humanity is slim, at best. People are too wrapped up in their own pathetic, dreary lives to even realize that when you go out to eat, you're actually going to someone else's office. Once we've established how many are in their party, and they've debated a good twenty minutes on whether or not they want to eat outside, and then another ten to thirteen minutes on sitting in the sun versus sitting in the shade, I offer them the actual table they're going to be sitting at.
Then comes the first fight in our relationship. It's awkward and weird, and you're not really sure how far to push the boundaries. You try to keep it civil and polite because you're really not trying to be mean, you're just trying to explain that you're doing all you can and you really do care about them and their well-being. But do they acknowledge that? Of course not. Apparently, the whole world revolves around them and their crunchy hair (hi, yeah, the 80s are gone and they were ridiculous while they were here, that's why Vh1 made a nine hour special dedicated solely to mocking the stupidity of their fashion trends and hairstyles). The table I bring them to isn't the one they picked out during their three second stroll to the hostess podium. Explaining why I don't have that particular table available when it's empty and all set up is a tricky thing. Basically, when I'm telling you it's not available, it means I just sat three tables in that server's section and I'm trying to give them a break. Hey genius, there's a reason I didn't put you at that table in the first place. Think about it. I know it hurts and you can't really juggle walking AND thinking at the same time, god forbid we throw in a little gum chewing and a hair flip. Sit in the stupid chair, take the damn menu, and leave me alone.
Once they've finally settled in and I've explained, slowly and using small words, that the specials are on their table and the wine list is in the back of their menus, my job should be done. I should just head back to my podium, mark down which table they finally ended up at, and then wait for the next group of teet-suckling jerkoffs to show up. But no. Oh no. After waiting all of about twenty-seven seconds, they decide it's too cold to sit outside, they'd like to move inside, but not near the windows because it will be too sunny, and not near the door because it will be too breezy. But not around the corner away from the breeze and the door because there's no view. Ok. Look around, dillweed. Although we make incredible use of the space by cramming in as many tables as we can, it's not a very large restaurant. You tell me, given your criteria, where you think you should sit, because no matter where I put you, you're going to point out at least four other tables that you think would be better, and then we're just going to have to repeat the first fight all over again. And then, for the nine millionth time, I'm going to have to explain to the intellectually incapable that they can't give me their drink orders because I'm not their server. I'm the hostess. I'm the chick who tries to tell you where to sit. Your server is the one wearing all black and carrying a tray of waters towards your table. Talk to them about getting a Box O' Wine on over to your table right quick.
I roll my eyes as I walk away, apologizing to the waitstaff for giving you to them, and mutter something about you probably being from Connecticut.
TUESDAY, APRIL 1, 2008
Don't fill up on idealism, kids, leave room for dessert.
From the very beginning of our academic career, we're given necessary goals to achieve. In the younger grades, we learn to color in the lines, then to read and write. As we progress through middle school, our main goal is to get to high school with as little embarrassment as humanly possible. Then, we struggle through the next four years just to graduate and make it to college. We're told that without a college degree, the likelihood of succeeding in today's world is minimal at best. The four years of college (give or take a few semesters) prepare us for.....what exactly? A return to the thankless minimum wage jobs we held in summers between school?
My college years were spent pursuing a degree, I was told, would help me "change the world." I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't my generation the one who's going to solve all the problems the baby boomers created and GenX ignored? But how, may I ask, are we to do that if we're not getting hired? After the joy of graduation and a completed education had subsided, the harsh reality set in. Hundreds of resumes were sent out, each receiving the same response, "We appreciate your interest in our company, however at this time, you do not possess the necessary experience to fill [insert desired position here]." Ok, let me ask the obvious. How can I gain the necessary experience if no one will hire me?
The post-collegiate idealism has all but faded into oblivion and we succumb to the nauseating realization that we must return to the retail and food service businesses we thought we triumphantly left behind. We smile grimly and say, "Hi, how're you doing today," knowing full well the answer we receive will be nothing more than a "Fine," without even the courtesy of making eye contact. But what's the alternative? Sitting in an over-air conditioned office, wearing less than comfortable 'business casual' attire, referring fellow employees to the latest memo on inter-office fraternization? Clearly, the fervent encouragement of our responsibilities as 'young adults' was misleading. We admit defeat, hang our heads in shame, and file in line at the copier, debating whether or not onyx is the appropriate shade of black for our resume.
"Thanks for coming. Have a great day."
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