A study in human behavior on The Master Cleanse

This weekend, three of my friends decided to commit themselves to the world famous Master Cleanse, a fast consisting of absolutely zero food and drinking a mixture of water, maple syrup, lemon juice and cayenne pepper. Since they are all residing under one roof, they could easily be each other's support system if any one of them began to have any doubts about their deliberate choice to starve themselves for 10 days straight.

Concoctions were mixed, lemons were juiced, charts were made to log their progress. There were even stars that came in the form of stickers to be displayed proudly under one's name on the log; motivation by public recognition and praise if you drank your sea salt breakfast, some ridiculous number of ounces of your maple syrup punch and took a few healthy poops (or peed out of your butt, whichever came first). This commitment was ON.

As a food-consuming spectator to this fasting folly, I have never in my life witnessed so much hilarity revolving around things that could be eaten. Edible or not. As they rounded the corner of only their sixth hour on the fast, the participants were already daring themselves to imagine what kind of desperation they might face in the days to come and what exactly would constitute 'cheating'. "A pencil…does a pencil count? What if I ate a pencil?" One contender went so far as to stomp on a perfectly good avocado because he knew that if he didn't, he surely would have eaten it.

I spent time with each of the participants throughout the weekend; sometimes one-on-one, sometimes in pairs, sometimes all three of them together. This proved to be positively enlightening in the ways of human behavior. The group conversation, quite predictably and without fail, became about food. Someone could be talking about roof shingles and three seconds later it turned into how awesome it would be to eat a burrito. In the one-on-one conversations, I learned about their favorite foods and the particular cravings they were having at that specific moment. However, the undisputed highlight of my surveillance of these fine creatures, was when I chatted with them in pairs. Any combination of two of them (it didn't matter which two), would result in their immediate suspicion of the 3rd teammate - and soon they would be absolutely convinced that he was somewhere…EATING. Every. single. time.

As it turns out I'm not very good at being supportive, at least not when it comes to starving oneself. When the hunger pangs kicked in and the sincere longing for the ritual and comfort of food was realized, a motherly instinct kicked in and I wanted nothing more than to help my starving friends. When one would teeter on the edge of a breakdown, I wouldn't even try to cheerlead them into sticking to it. I immediately offered up my services as: Accomplice. I offered up spoonfuls of peanut butter when no one was looking. I'd present my arguments on why eating an apple couldn't possibly be considered cheating, it was organic for God's sake! While I was away for a few hours and found that some were resorting to sending me text messages about the unspeakable hunger, I made sure to bring my leftovers back in hopes that I could slip 'em a french fry on the DL. Funny as all of this is, it's pretty intense to see how quickly the body experiences the effects, both physical and habitual, of the absence of food. Their feet dragged with the saddest sound across the floor, one considered locking himself into solitary confinement in his room just to make it through 8 more days, another took to cleaning the kitchen counters…with a toothbrush. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

I left yesterday, I can only imagine the antics that are taking place right now as the saga continues. I'm not getting any text messages, maybe that's a good sign. Or maybe it's just because I'm too far away to be of any help.

I've heard much about this diet over the years though I've never had the motivation to try it myself. But I have seen a few friends try, only to give it up after a day or two. So I sincerely commend them for their effort and pledge to this fast. My only wish is that someone had thought to make a video journal, the raw emotion that comes from three grown men denying themselves even a morsel of food is truly priceless. That and watching how fast they run to the bathroom after drinking their daily 32-ounce dose of salt water. Truly something worth commemorating with moving pictures.

The last 10 minutes...

...of my thought process.

I've decided:

That of all the varieties of apples, I like Fuji ones the best.

That I am positively moving away from LA. It's been great, but I'm done here.

That I love aloe vera juice. At first I thought it had the flavor of what a mild poison might taste like, but now I love it and find myself craving it.

If guacamole isn't spicy, it almost isn't worth eating. I said ALMOST.

If in 6 months, I'm as happy as I am right now in my yoga classes, I'm going into teacher training.

That in 6 months, if it's possible, I want to be as bendy as this one chick in my class. She is un-freaking-believable.

That I have the world's best couch. And my friend that's been crashing on it thinks so too.

That if I really miss rollerskating as much as I say, I need to go very soon.

That I am so happy to no longer be in my twenties. Without a doubt.

That I love this poignant, well executed line from the movie All the Real Girls.
Paul: "I just want to be sure that a million years from now, I can still see you up close and still have things to say."

That true love isn't just about pretty and perfect, it's about ugly and flawed.

It's about old and feeble and gray and wrinkled.

It's knowing that there's no such thing as perfect and that's what makes him perfect.

It's about helping her to the bathroom when she's 80 and still thinking of her as your girlfriend.

It's having the desire and the courage and the devotion to surrender to the entire experience, not just the storybook stuff.

That I am a big chicken shit and I have one thing I really want to say, but I just don't have the guts.

Blood, Sweat and Tears

First and foremost, high fives and a slap on the ass to all the guys in my yoga class. I probably shouldn't be, but I am genuinely surprised to see just how many men practice yoga. There were just as many men in my class tonight as women. I don't know what you do with your junk in some of the poses, but God bless you and I hope you don't hurt yourself.

Speaking of hurting oneself, I kicked my nightstand the other night while I was attempting to climb into my bed. My bed sits unusually high off the ground, making it difficult for one of my cats to jump up on the bed and apparently difficult for me too. I have placed a trunk at the end of my bed for kitty to use as a launch pad, I might need to look into some steps or something for myself. Anyway, it happened so fast I couldn't even process what exactly I had done, although I do know I laughed out loud at how it must have looked. It didn't begin to hurt until like 2 minutes after the fact. And it didn't bleed until my yoga class. Who bleeds in yoga? Me.

The sweat is pretty self explanatory. It's hot in the room, it's hard as f*** doing these poses..there's sweat. And it burns like a mother when it gets in your eyes, kinda makes you look like you might be crying.

Unless you actually are, crying that is. Who cries in yoga? Me. In all my years of on and off yoga binging, this has never happened to me. Tonight was the second time it's happened in just one week and I gotta admit, aside from feeling slightly exposed, I kinda liked it. The therapeutic effects of crying in general cannot even be argued, but this is not like sitting down to watch the movie that never fails to start your waterworks. Or grabbing a box of tissues and some candles for chick night with your favorite heart break, sob CD. After laying down for Savasana, the tears that streamed down my face were unstoppable. There was no mistaking it, I was crying. I have no idea what the hell I was crying about, but man it felt good. So good that oddly enough, I actually look forward to it happening again.

I played sports competitively from the time I was in sixth grade. I have had coaches that were like drill sergeants. I cannot count how many sprints, lunges, laps, push-ups and sit-ups I've done; this is harder to me than all of those combined. Well, I was a lot younger then. Never in my life though, did I think that I would actually pay someone to enthusiastically surrender my blood, my sweat and my tears and love every damn second of it.

Round Two of The Naked Truth

(Ding!)

I found myself in a curious but familiar place recently, which curiously led to getting even more familiar with the anatomy of one stimulating young gentleman. And coincidentally, it was here that round two took place.

(I have to take a moment to clarify the 'how many times' thought process of mine from an earlier blog. It occurred to me that three 'times' was not the most accurate terminology to use, considering that I had made a comment to a trusted confidant a short time ago that certain activities had taken place in the evening as well as in the morning. This, of course, would add up to 2 of the 3 times I had suggested for this extremely precise research I was attempting to conduct. And frankly, I just don't like the way that works out, therefore I amend my terminology to be considered in 'rounds'. A round equaling any consecutive, yet unspecified, amount of time spent under one roof...what happens and how many times it happens in that duration...God bless you. And it still counts as one. I'm allowed to change the rules, it's my experiment.)

And so the observations and interpretations have been logged, in journals that will remain undisclosed. I may talk big sometimes, but when it comes down to it, me and my pajama bottoms are incredibly shy and fiercely private. I know what happened and I'm pretty sure he knows what happened, so there's really no need to expand on the exploits. Well, all right, in technical, laboratory analysis speak - he rocked my world.

As I'm sure it goes without saying, I look forward to a round three, and perhaps by the time it happens, I'll have found a way to justify another modification, maybe just a simple...uh, extension in the parameters of my study in unclothed activities.