Diet Coke Detox (The Final Chapter)

Thank you Streptococcus A. I couldn’t have done it without you.

I have to give credit where credit is due, and I have to thank the abusive bacteria for doing what I couldn’t do on my own, kick the Diet Coke addiction.

I wasn’t proud of my 4+ can a day habit or the fact I maintained a ready supply of Diet Coke in the trunk of my car at all times. Heaven knows I tried everything I could think of to quit (going cold turkey, using a reward system, taking caffeine pills, beating my head with a rock, etc.), but nothing worked.

My “problem” did not go unnoticed by those around me. Coworkers provided me with not so subtle hints like:

Even borderline alcoholics were taking me aside to express their concern about my Diet Coke problem, but still I continued to drink copious amounts of the caffeinated, artificial everything, bubbly cola. 

Just as I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever be able to stop, I got strep.

So me and strep, we have a bit of history. I had it once when I was a kid, and it nearly killed me, no really, it tried to kill me. While I knew strep would someday return in an attempt to finish the job, I had forgotten the signs. For future reference, it starts with just a hint of a headache, a little soreness, and a bit of queasiness. The symptoms slowly increase in intensity until a fever sets in, at which point my head feels like it’s locked in the claws of a giant lobster, my stomach is its very own yo-yo tilt-a-whirl, every muscle in my body aches, and death would be a welcome relief. Oh and eventually my throat feels a little sore.

My standard treatment for headaches and/or an upset stomach is was Diet Coke, so when my first symptoms appeared, I drank a Diet Coke. When the symptoms intensified, I drank more Diet Coke, and so on and so forth, up until my stomach threatened to go Mount Vesuvius on me.

Fast forward a few days.  After going to the doctor, taking antibiotics, and sleeping for 2.5 days straight, I was on the mend and feeling pretty good; however, I couldn’t stomach the thought of drinking a Diet Coke. I just couldn’t bring myself to even open a can, since my body and mind now associate Diet Coke with developing horrible headaches and vomiting, all thanks to some good ol’ fashioned pavlovian conditioning. So thank you Streptococcus A for taking care of my Diet Coke habit, and here’s hoping I don’t need your help for anything ever again.

Post-Thanksgiving Thanks

I know that Thanksgiving was only a few day ago, but I wanted to mention a few new things to be thankful for, such as:

• Seaworld for being awesome and having snow fun, roller coasters, and beluga whales. 

• Old friends who fed me dinner, and provided unexpected amusement of a 3-year-old runnings up and biting me in the butt. :)
• A dear sweet soul who spent the day with me and then drove and cared for me all the way home from San Deigo as I was overwhelmed with a burning fever.   
• UCLA Urgent Care for being open on Saturdays. 
• The nurse who started the quick strep test before the doctor came in. 
• The doctor who provided entertainment in the form of really, really, really wanting to diagnose me with the flu and/or pregnancy (as if there is no other explanation of nausea), until the strep test came back positive.  
• Whatever that shot was that I was given at the doctor's office.
• Antibiotics and codeine cough syrup. 
• Vanilla wafers and apple sauce, the only things I could stomach.  
• Roommates who drove me to and from the doctor and bought me lots and lots of Gatorade.
• That super-human feeling you get after having antibiotics and codeine in your system for 24 hours. 

Zingers Last Stand

The internet is a buzz about Hostess going out of business.  Amid dropping sales, labor disputes, and accusations of mismanagement, the powers that be announced last week that they were hanging up their oven mitts and liquidating all their assets. 

                                        

The news hit me with a queasy sort of unease, the kind you might feel watching your parents sell your old toys at a yard sale.  Logically, you know it makes sense. I mean you can't hold on to those things forever, but a part of you is worried.  What if, when that toy is no longer in your life, there will be nothing left to trigger memories involving that toy, and then, SNAP, in an instant a whole section of your childhood will be swept clean from your mind.  It would simply be gone F-O-R-E-V-E-R.  

That's how I felt about the Hostess announcement.  As a health conscious "grown up" who tries to maintain a waist that is narrower than my shoulders, I do not often indulge in the Hostess delights.  However, in another time, when I had the metabolism of a gerbil and no concept of calories or fat intake, Hostess was my favorite sidekick. 

During that time, my grandma lived near The Bread Store (a Hostess Brand establishment).  If I was very well-behaved when I visited, we'd take a walk to the store where I would get a chocolately blissful treat for me and grandma would get a box of pink Zingers for herself. Over the years, I sampled everything the store had to offer from cream filled chocolate cupcakes to the chocolate pudding pie (Don't try this one as a grownup. The pudding tastes like chocolate flavored Elmer's glue.) But those varied and yummy treats are not the Hostess items I’m going to miss.  No, the one item that made me verklempt when I heard about the Hostess liquidation, was the one thing I NEVER wanted at the The Bread Store, and that was the pink Zingers. 

As a child,  I could sum up pink Zingers with the following facts:

1. The stuff on the outside of a pink Zinger is coconut. 
2. Coconut is evil.
3. If by chance coconut proves itself to not be evil, coconut still shouldn't be pink.   

My grandma tried for years to get me to try one.  She explained that it was raspberry flavored, but I scoffed.  If it was raspberry, shouldn’t it be decked out in raspberry flakes, not coconut flakes?  She told me the coconut was just a decoration, and you can’t taste it.  I demanded to know why anyone would use something as vile and disgusting a coconut as a decoration on a food item.  This might be a good time to point out I was the most argumentative child in the known world, and I really don’t know why my parents didn’t sell me to gypsies. In the end grandma would always dine on a pink Zinger, while I chomped away on the chocately item of day.

Years passed, and my visits with my grandma changed.  As her eyesight and body failed her, our walks ceased, and I’d simply run her grocery errands for her. We still had stubborn arguments, but they were somber discussions of why she didn't need a ride home when she was already sitting in her favorite chair in her living room.  Then all too soon she was gone. 

Years later when I was far away from home, I noticed some pink Zingers on the grocery store shelf, and thought I owed it to Grandma to finally give it a try. Turns out Grandma was was right all along; they are raspberry, you can’t taste the coconut, and they are pretty good.  While they still aren’t my favorite treat, I buy them once in a while, and think about my afternoons with Grandma.  And then the pink Zingers simply tasted like home.  

So with Hostess closing its doors forever, I simply consider the fate of pink Zingers and memories of Grandma. 

Bullies Beware

There are many ways a person can convince me to do something.  These include guilt, asking nicely, guilt, logic, guilt, pleading, and a double dose of guilt.  However, there is one thing that will almost never work and that is bullying.

Allow me to share with you a story. I'm a swimmer.  My standard workout is an hour or 2,000 yards, whichever comes first. I am fully aware that my workout is substantially longer than your standard gym-goer who hops into the pool for just a short 10-20 minutes "workout" (a warm-up in my book). Because of this I try to be considerate of others and avoid the gym during the busy hours so I'm not hogging the pool.  However, when I do go to the gym, I have every intention of completing my full workout.

Tonight was one such night.  The pool was a little busier than normal for 9:30 p.m., so I had to stand in line for a bit until a lane to open up. As luck would have it, I got the much sought after solo lane which has room for only one swimmer (the other lanes are wider so two swimmer split the lane down the middle). About 800 yards/20 minutes into my workout this body builder in speedo barks at me, demanding to know how much longer I'm going to be. I told him my workout was only half complete.  He got in my face and told me that the rule is if the pool is busy you can only swim for 20 minutes.  I had never heard of that rule, and told him so.  He suggested I go ask management.  My response?  I kept swimming.  Yeah, like I'm going to give up my spot in the pool to question management about a rule that I know doesn't exist.   He was not happy, but he also didn't get management (because the 20 minute rule does not exist).  Instead he paced up and down the pool attempting to look threatening.  He was just one good chest pounding and poo flinging away from looking like a hairless silverback guerilla.

I was really annoyed for a few reasons:
1) He was rude, and had not asked nicely.
2) He was making up rules.
3) He was trying to use his physical size to enforce his made up rules.
4) The girl in the lane next to me had been the pool 5-7 minutes longer than me, but he was hassling me, not her, because he wanted the single person lane in which I was swimming (obviously because he's clinically sharing-challenged).

I paid my dues to the club like anyone else. I had every right to do my workout. My day had already been piss poor. I didn't care how big and threatening he looked, I'd be damned if I was going to let him have his way. He stopped me 10 minutes later and told me he was getting into the pool in 2 minutes.  I told him I was swimming, and pushed off the wall.

About 10 minutes later I heard him hassling the girl next to me.  She was nicer than me, and was saying things like, "I'm not trying to be disrespectful."  Fortunately he wasn't talking to me because at that point my vocabulary would have been less multi-syllabic and more of the 4-letter variety.

So how did it end?  Well the girl next to me got out and the 'roid raging fecal-faced guerilla man took her spot.  A short time later I finished my workout and got out.  End of story.

Was my behavior foolish? Perhaps, but first consider these facts.
1) I was in a very public place that has working video camera.
2) Due to my nerdy swimming attire, there was no way he'd be able to identify me outside of the pool.
3) He was wearing a speedo, which leaves him clearly vulnerable to an extremely painful counter-attack if he took a swing at me.

That being said if you ever hear that they found my dead body floating in a pool, you'll know what happened.

Big Bang Blossom Theory

Me with Mayim Bialik

(Please ignore the fact that I look like a maniacal fool in this picture.  

Apparently that is how I smile whenever I'm in pictures with famous people). 

If you watched TV in the 80's, you may know Mayim Bialik as Blossom, and if you watch TV these days, you might know her as Amy Farrah Fowler from Big Bang Theory.  What you may not know is that between these two gigs she got herself a PhD in Neuroscience.   So when I found out she was doing a lecture, I figured it was worth a listen.

She didn't talk much about the advertised topic which was nerd and pop culture.  Instead she spoke a lot about her choices and how they shaped her life.  The message seemed to be that if you make your life choices based upon your personal values, your life will take some unexpected twists and turns, but you'll be at peace.  And even if you end up back where you started, you'll find ways to use and apply everything you learned along the way.....at least that's what I took from the lecture.  Oh and you should never read the book "Eating Animals" unless you want to become a vegan. 

It was also interesting to me that her life choices never seemed to be based on fear or anxiety. She did what she did because it was important to her.  

• She went into acting because she enjoyed it, even though her parents were anything but excited about that choice.  
• Although she had a promising career in acting, she left it to get a degree because that was important to her.  
• She received a PhD in neuroscience because she found it fascinating, even though the sciences didn't come easily to her.  
• She and her husband chose to start a family while in grad school, because they didn't want to postpone real life.  
• She is an actively observant conservative Jew because she believes in it, even though that lifestyle can be difficult in today's world.  
• When a career in academia didn't mesh with the parenting style she felt was best for her and her family, she walked away from that career path.   
• She is a vegan because of her how she feels about animals, even with the difficulties that lifestyle presents.  

I'm sure her choices must have caused her some anxiety and discomfort from time to time, particularly when they were in direct opposition to what was expected of her by her family, peers, professors, and society.  But it's like she didn't give "fear" voting rights in her life.  She embodied the saying, "Feel the fear and do it anyway."

So Mayim, I'd just like to say thank you for living your life the way you have.  You've given me a lot to think about.  

Lean Into the Turn

Piece of advise:  If you find yourself on an object that is moving forward with a significant velocity and that object goes into to a curve to make a turn, you should lean into the turn as opposed to fighting it.  I first learned this concept when riding a banana boat.

After about the third crash, one of my fellow riders kindly explained to me that it was my fault we kept wiping out because I was attempting to stay upright when the boat curved toward the water during a turn.  My actions interfered with the centripetal force the boat was creating, thus sending everyone flying.  Once I embraced the concept of leaning into the turn we all enjoyed the boat ride a whole lot more, and experienced a lot less dunking.  

I don't often find myself on banana boats or motorcycles so opportunities to physically practice this concept have been sparse, but I find it's applicable to other aspects of life.  For instance, for every element of my life for which I feel I have complete control, there's about 25 other twists, turns, and corkscrews that are far beyond my control. When faced which such unexpected uncertainties of life my choices are these: fight the turns or lean into them.  

Don't go with the flow, that's completely passive. "Only dead fish swim with the stream," or so I've been told.  Leaning into a turn is an active experience.  You first choose to fight the natural desire to pull out of the turn, and then you train yourself to align yourself with the centripetal force and move yourself into position to maximize the effect which is to reduce friction, excelerate your journey, and and feel the rush of adrenaline as you go.  And you may find that once the turn is complete you may actually be in a better position than you were going into the turn.  

So why do I bring this up now?  Well, like I said my life is taking a lot of turns I hadn't expected, and I'm finding that I'm being thrown from my ride over and over and over and over and over again. I think it's time I took a page from the banana boat experience, lean into the turn, and see if I might fair a little better.  

Messy Messy Messy Me

Once upon a time mid-life crises occurred once and only once in a person's life, roughly about the time one reached, wait for it, the middle of an expected lifespan.  Times change however and it seems that life crises occur much more frequently these days.  Some of my friends experience them annually, bi-monthly, weekly, or even daily. I dare say that having a regularly schedule life crisis has replaced all your standard benchmarks for having reached adulthood.
 
And that is where I currently reside, right smack dab in the middle of such a crisis. My life has become a bit of a mess.  Not so much in a physical way. After all I'm currently sitting in my apartment where all the dirty clothes are in the hamper, all the clean clothes are neatly put away. I have a full-time job that treats me well.  I'm showered and dressed, and I have accomplished most of everything on my to-do list.  So when I say I'm a mess, I mean it in a more in a metaphysical way.

I feel as if I am sitting upon a small raft in the middle of a vast ocean without any sign of land or rescue within my view.  I have food, water, and shelter to last for awhile. But the facts are these, I can't stay on this raft forever and sitting here isn't getting me any closer to a destination.   And that my friends is the crisis.  I know that I need to jump off this raft and start swimming, but my doubts and fears are like invisible circling sharks, and so here I sit waiting for the opportune moment to drive in.  

Disneyland at Midnight

(Just realized I had this sitting in my draft box so I thought I'd post it......even a month late.)

Forgive me, I'm a little discombobulated today. Afterall I was at Disneyland until 4 a.m., had only 3 hours of sleep, and am making every effort to be completely functional. Apparently that requires occasionally humming Ode to Joy, quoting random kid's shows, and drinking a tower of Diet Cokes (I am currently trying to recreate the Disneyland castle using only cans of diet coke I've consumed today).

So back on topic. Disneyland.......at midnight. On very special occasions Disneyland will open it's doors for a full 24 hour time period, and February 29th (leap year day) was one of those (Actually, I don't know for sure that Disneyland has ever done this before, which would make it a very special occasion, yes?). Living in LA, I've discovered many of my friends have invested in Disney annual passes so the can drop in on the mouse anytime they randomly feel like risking the 5 Freeway otherwise known as the 5 Parking Lot to get there. Sadly, I do not have an annual pass, but bit the bullet and went anyway. Afterall, when else am I going to have the opportunity to be at Disneyland at 100% capacity on a Wednesday at midnight while hanging out with a friend and her legal professionals friends one of whom randomly went to high school with a friend of mine who was supposed to show up later (sadly due to the 2 hour traffic jam to get in the parking garage he arrived at the same time I was leaving), and snarfing down chicken nuggets while sitting on the streets in Frontier Land because there was no room to sit inside for the Hill Billy Show.

If I had not gone, I may never have discovered that:

• Riding the Big Thunder rollercoaster and watching Fantasmic just as you are hitting that level of exhaustion where the room is on the verge of spinning is really, really awesome.
• You should never trust kind strangers who offer to guard the men's restroom door when you are sure you will soil yourself if you have to wait in line for the ladies room.
• Goths like Disneyland too.
• Mixing black licorice and pina colada jelly beans is simply a bad idea.
• Disneyland staff do not appreciate people setting up social experiments on the sidewalk of Disneyland.
• Giving some people a name tag and a glow stick is like handing him them a superiority complex.
• Those furry animal hat/mitten combinations look silly on any grownup, especially when coupled with matching furry boots and a mini skirt/bloomer/shorts (I'm not actually sure what they were).
• Sometimes Mainstreet USA smells like urine.
• At 2 a.m., most people don't look so good.
• There is a direct correlation between your exhaustion level and how good fast food tastes.

Where Art Thou Good Samaritan?

It should have been the perfect morning when I came strolling out of my apartment that day. From my hair and make-up to the short skirt and heels, I was destined for a great day in the office followed by a wonderful evening at an after-work function to follow. I'm not sure at what point Fate decided I needed to be taught a lesson, perhaps it was when I gave myself a snug nod for my amazing parallel parking job, but as I started to ease my way onto to the road, Fate backhanded me. I hadn't even pulled completely out of my parking spot when I heard the dreaded thud, thud, thud.

You have got to be kidding I told myself, as I got out of my car to stare at a very flat tire. I considered my options. Here I was alone on a quiet residential street, without a passerby to be seen. I could have called AAA, but wait, I don't have AAA. So my options were to wait for some nice person to stop and help me, or I could dig the spare out of my trunk and fix it myself. I'm not terribly patient, particularly when I'm waiting for a miracle to come walking down the street, so I got to work........all the while wearing a short skirt and heels.

The first passerby was actually a car the slowed down to the speed of a legless turtle in tar as it turned the corner. Perhaps they feared I was going to suddenly throw myself in front of their wheels, but after a few brief moments of slow-motion gawking, they stepped on the gas and vanished.

The second person was a business man dressed in a crisply ironed white dress shirt. He was walking a fluffy thing that appeared to be a rat in sheep's clothing, but it may actually have been a miniature version of a dog. The man glanced down at me, then my grease smeared hands, then his very white shirt, then his so-called dog, and then back to me. Without a word the man continued on his way.

The third person to pass by was a semi-professional speed walker, who didn't seem to notice me the first or second times she passed me by as I struggled to crank the jack up the car up high enough to get the tire off the ground.

The fourth and fifth people to pass by were two walkers who said, "We just had to tell you how impressed we are with you. You go girl." They continued on their way without breaking pace, and I barely had a chance to say, "Thanks" before they were beyond earshot.

Just as I was tightening the last lug nut on the spare, a nice man came over and asked me in broken English if I needed any assistance. I smiled and thanked him for his offer, but what I really wanted to say was, "You must not be from around here. Any chance you are from Samaria?"