Well…here’s my report…
The CHEF’S DIET thing is pretty cool. It’s been so easy that if it weren’t outrageously expensive I’d do it on a regular basis. They deliver your fresh food in the middle of the night right on your doorstep, in my case it’s been coming at 10 pm. It arrives in a lovely icepacked container which holds breakfast, lunch, snack 1, dinner, and snack 2, all neatly packaged and labeled. It’s delightful to look at and the food is good.
The only issue is that except for breakfast the portions are small, ergo the pesky DIET part of the whole thing. And of course there aren’t a lot of carbs. God, I love carbs. So you’re slowly starving at a low-level hum and begin obsessing over your next meal by about 1pm in the afternoon. Lunch and afternoon snack are do-able, then dinner leaves you feeling like you’re being toyed with and the tiny dessert you’re instructed to eat an hour before going to bed sits on the counter laughing at your pain until you break down and tear it open frantically and eat it in two bites. Which isn’t difficult considering its miniscule size.
And then the obsession extends into wondering what you’re going to eat the next day. The food delivery is like Christmas every night, I’ve been opening the door immediately at 10 and excitedly pawing through the container to see what tomorrow holds, listing each item out loud to Drew and/or the pets, depending upon who’s willing to listen. And then I lay them out carefully in order in the fridge like a fetishist. Good times.
The upside is I have all kinds of energy at night from being hungry, and my apartment is looking much cleaner. I call Drew and chatter like a squirrel while scrubbing the tub. He says he feels like he’s living in slightly less clever version of “His Girl Friday” and had no idea that those mounds of pasta were what held me together: I went to Sephora and researched sunblock like a chemist. I have already made a list of what I’m bringing on vacation even though we’re not leaving until the middle of February. I keep sitting up in the middle of the night with new vacation visions of myself – a deep-v one-piece swimsuit with a large hat. Yes! Turbans, I’m going to need turbans, and faux flowers for the beachy updos I’ll be wearing to dinner. And which shoes to bring? Should I rack up my credit card even further and get new gold wedgie sandals to go with my non-existent chiffon floral maxi dresses? Damn it, why don’t I own any flowy halter jumpsuits? I peruse the resort collections in Bazaar like I’m going to to the South of France for a month with Lagerfeld, rather than on a week long cruise with my boyfriend and a slew of complete maniacs, including THESE ONES and THIS ONE and THIS ONE, just to photo ID a few. Let’s be real, by day two I’ll be lucky if I’m sober enough to put my hair in a ponytail and pull on a pair of clean shorts.
And as for the liquor abstinence, my dear pal and co-founder of the Classy (Sometimes Crazy) Old Hags Club, Miss ANKI Supreme, took me out to Brooklyn to a hardcore show last night and I had some fun and managed it pretty well. Yes, Dano, you heard me: BROOKLYN AND HARDCORE. My two favorite things…NOT, although Anki’s enthusiasm is slowly winning me over. She did pick me up in a cab, and I’ve talked her into watching the herd while I’m gone, so it was a trade-off. But if you promise me that brie and wine which we discussed, I may take a train out to you one day, especially if I’m still on this damn diet.
So upon arrival to said Brooklyn hardcore show I was handed a huge pile of drink tickets by BOB, the promoter and all around lovely person. Apparently my friends are used to assuming I’m going to need a lot of alcohol. Hmm…tempting…But I dutifully sipped on my seltzer and cranberry and handed the tickets to Anki one by one so she could happily enjoy her vodka. I stood next to her all smug sober Sally with my lips pursed like Meryl Streep in Doubt. Yes, yes, I’m always this saintly and ladylike, its enough for me just to enjoy watching my friends have fun. My beauty shines unearthly, you say? Oh, no, silly, that’s just the reflection off my halo…
At first I had a mild panic attack, could I do this? I am so accustomed to using alcohol to assuage my social anxiety that it has been years since I have entered a venue and not gone directly to the bar before watching a show or socializing. But it actually turned out to be pretty interesting. I was able to follow conversations much more consciously and I didn’t take it personally when giant hardcore dudes lumbered into me on their way to the bar. I was definitely stiffer, but Anki assures me that I wasn’t completely boring.
AND, when I was ready to leave (which of course was much earlier than everyone else because I was frigging sober), I marveled at how easy it was to navigate down the stairs of Europa without banging into the walls back and forth the whole time. I didn’t freak out about having to call a cab and conversed easily with the cab company and the driver who eventually picked me up. I proudly got out of the cab without dropping anything (bag, keys, cash, etc…) and walked in a straight line to my door.
Ooohh, so that’s how you keep your dignity…
AND THEN I got up this morning and went to the gym. Truly, a miracle of sorts. So I’m looking forward to a few more sober nights out. You know, and then standing on the balcony of my stateroom, looking slender and elegant in a floaty white halter jumpsuit while THIS GUY leans around from the balcony next door and shouts, “What the hell are you wearing? You want an appletini or straight vodka??”
ADDENDUM 1/11/09: It just dawned on me that I could be sounding like a smug asshole right now considering the current economy. Just to set things straight – Drew and I are both freaking out a little that we decided to do a big trip right when things are so financially dire. It’s especially rough for him at the moment as his job fluctuates and lately he’s making half of what he usually does. But it’s our six year anniversary on Feb 14 and we’ve never gone anywhere except Michigan together, so we’re doing without in other areas to make it happen. And for the record I would never want to make light of the financial situation that many of my friends are in right now.
So how about this look? You know, for casual nights in the casino…
MISS ANTHROPE'S HOUSE OF HIGH DRAMA 