Tag Archives: fitness

The Nectar Diet — Just Don’t Swallow

We’re getting close to that time of the year when people make New Year’s Resolutions, and a common resolution deals with the reduction of the circumference of one’s waist line.  In celebration of the annual tradition of making promises we cannot keep to ourselves, I’d like to offer a solution that may actually extend the resolution attempts beyond January 31.

We’ve all heard of the Atkins diet, the South Beach diet, the grapefruit diet, the liquid diet, the salad diet, and the Amy Winehouse cocaine diet.  I submit to you a new diet that will reduce your waist line without depriving you of your indulgences.  It’s simple, really.  My proposed diet has merely one rule, with, of course, some minor caveats.  The Nectar Diet’s golden rule:

Chew, but don’t swallow.

Now, I’m not saying that you should simply refrain from eating.  That would be awful and would lead to a host of medical complications along with bodily deformities.  I’m simply saying that, when you are faced with a situation in which you seek to ingest something that offers negative nutritional value (e.g. cookies, cake, candy bars, pork rinds, buffalo wings, bbq spare ribs, in n out), consider actually eating the amount that would fall within the parameters of your caloric restrictions, but then don’t swallow the rest.  So say you’re at a burger joint and you really want a double bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon and extra sauce — eat half of that burger, and then only chew the remainder along with the fries (you gotta have fries with your burger!).  By simply chewing the portion that should not be ingested, you have successfully quenched your desire for the burger taste, but there simply is no concomitant desire for actually swallowing said burger/fries, so you don’t lose anything by failing to swallow.

Now, I suppose the one downfall to the Nectar Diet is the unsightly vision of you spitting out partially-masticated food.  I submit, however, that once the Nectar Diet becomes a nationwide phenomenon, everyone will reconsider whether spitting out said food is actually nasty and rude.  For now, feel free to employ the “I can’t drink that much” technique from college.  For those unfamiliar, this technique simply requires a beverage container for the expulsion of alcohol.  If your buddies in college continue to buy you shots, and you already felt as though one more shot might push you over the edge, but there’s a hot guy who hands you yet another nasty tequila shot, the “I can’t drink that much” technique simply requires that you pretend to take the shot and chase it with, for example, a beer.  During the “chase,” you actually expel the entire shot into the beer container, thereby maintaining your image as a drunken fool, while also preventing a trip to the ER or the nearest toilet.

So do that with your food.  Chew chew chew.  And then, “take a drink.”  You’ll be the Biggest Loser in no time!


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Post-Game Briefing on the Debate Can Wait

Before I impart my thoughts on last night’s debate, I have to let out a big world wide web sigh of happiness.  I returned to California last night to a screaming mess of glorious cars and smog.  Ahhh!  When I saw that California license plate, I damn near cried.  Seriously.  The cab driver said to me, “Where are you going?”  And when I replied, in sobs, “I’m already here!” I did not give a damn that the cab driver thought I was crazy. 

On the way to AM’s awesome new house, I passed by old stomping grounds.  There was the gelato shop, the new Whole Food’s Shopping Center, Manhattan Village Mall.  As we passed by Target, I screamed in glee, while my cabbie (who already thought I was nuts) stared at me in the rear-view mirror.  I reminisced about times spent at Round Table Pizza and Mr. Pockets.  I opened the window and inhaled the warm ocean breeze.  Ahhh!

This morning, I woke up to not a cloud in the sky and power-walked to the beach.  I stared at the water crashing onto the sand and began a jog along the Pacific Ocean.  As I passed other beach-joggers, I waved “hello!” and they all waved back.  I saw children and puppies playing in the sand, right next to a duo of beach volleyball players practicing for the next AVP tournament.  I went down to the water and touched the sparkling (dirty ass) water; splashing it on my face.  Like an extra in a commercial for southern California tourism, I was in bliss. 

Next up?  A Coffee Bean Vanilla Soy Ice Blended!  That will be the perfect drink to partake during my bitchfest of last night’s debate!

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Congratulations Kerri Walsh!

Kerri Walsh and Misty May-Treanor have done it again!  The duo capped off another perfect run at the Olympics, handedly defeating the host country in the gold medal match, 2-0.  Allow me to have an Al Bundy moment.  In my sophomore year of high school, our Varsity Volleyball team pulled off the incredible feat of making regionals.  After nearly a perfect season (I don’t want to talk about the “nearly” portion of that statement), we were headed to regionals to take on other volleyball powerhouses in Northern California.  Vegas odd makers believed that we would be taking on Mitty, which at the time featured a lanky phenom named Kerri Walsh.  We were completely psyched up, ready to take on Kerri and whatever she could unleash upon us.  We made obscene jokes to degrade our potential Mitty opponent.  We didn’t care that every major college wanted to recruit Kerri Walsh.  People had counted us out before, mostly because we were vertically challenged, but we didn’t care.  Bring it on, bitches.  That’s what we thought.  Thank god we never saw pictures of Kerri in action:

Dayum.  That girl is a beast!  Anyways, we never got to play Mitty.  We ended up playing another team and getting our asses whooped.  My selective memory tells me that we were cheated.

In any event, congrats Kerri and Misty!  You’ve made us proud.  Hopefully, I’ll see you guys cruising around the South Bay in October for my New Kids tour!!!

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Yesterday, I went to my first day of rehab. Not that kind of rehab, you jerk. Rehab for my ailing knee. And my wish was granted. Within 10 minutes of beginning the session, electrotherapy pads were placed on my muscle and electric shocks were sent through my muscle, causing my quad muscle to quiver with joy and happiness (you have a dirty dirty mind). My PT left the room as I played with my new electric muscle stimulator — I turned up the juice, feeling the pins and needles ripple through my leg and up into my hip.

I am no longer permitted to engage in any lower body exercise. In particular, my PT has told me that I am not allowed to drop it like it’s hot (he might of said squats, but my memory is a little fuzzy). I suppose I need to withdraw my name from the tryouts for American Gladiator and So You Think You Can Dance. Damn. My entire routine was dropping it like it’s hot combined with shadow boxing. I was going to coin a new trademark dance called Popping it Like It’s Hot.

Today is also a bad allergy day. My nose is running like a faucet and my eyes are watering like I just watched the Notebook. The only thing getting me through this week is the anticipation of waiting for my Jonathan to perform on Friday on the Today Show. Step Five — don’t you know that the time is right! Ugh! Yes Jon, the time is right. You may be pushing 40, but in my heart, you will always be a new kid.

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ESPN can make me cry

Check out this video.  Sara Tucholsky, a softball player for Western Oregon University, was never a power hitter.  On a fateful day, Tucholsky hit a pitch on its sweet spot, sending it over the fences.  Elated by the first homerun of her career, Tucholsky missed first base.  As she turned to correct her mistake, Tucholsky felt a pop and crashed to the ground.  The rest, you have to see the video, and take out your tissues, because this video reveals that female athletes rock!

I remember when I popped my ACL.  The moment was not quite as touching as the story of Sara Tucholsky.  Instead of being carried by opposing players or even teammates, my teammates were scared shitless of the chick on the ground screaming obscenities of every kind and proclaiming that death would be a better option than the pain that befell the soon-to-be volleyball-sized knee that would continue to be a pain in the ass even until today.  But I’m not bitter.

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Random Friday thoughts

It’s Friday! TGIF!

May everyone have a fabulous weekend filled with scrumptious food, abundant sunshine, and hopefully, total boredom.

In my old age, I have realized that sometimes, the best weekends are those weekends where, for at least a couple of hours, you are bored out of your freaking mind. If you are utterly and hopelessly bored, it means that you have otherwise fully enjoyed life’s weekend pleasures. My bet is that if you’re bored this weekend, you will have done most, if not all, of the following:

(a) cleared your DVR/Tivo of all shows worth watching, and even watched that awful episode of Shot at Love with Tila Tequila from last year (and watched live TV for the first time in 3 years);

(b) read all the books you’ve been meaning to read, including the poorly written one by a certain adoptee who became famous for living with a billionaire in France (but you remain stunned as to why anyone in their right mind would give this awful book any good reviews because the writing is just so horrendous that you wonder how she got rich and then you realize you’ve made her rich by buying the god-awful book);

(c) ate yourself silly and then threw up because you had 1 tub of ice cream too many;

(d) ran, boxed, cycled, hiked — whatever it is, you did it to excess (which allowed you to do (c));

(e) met up with friends new and old to hang out and pretend that you’re 21 again, until the next morning when you realize that you’re not 21 because you have a splitting hangover and GASP! . . . you woke up at the late hour of 9:30 a.m.;

(f) played Rock Band or Guitar Hero (or the like) until your carpal tunnel flared up again;

(g) watched Campbell’s Stars on Ice.

So, my wish for everyone is to have a great weekend. And most of all, I wish you boredom this weekend.

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