The Pinwheel Incident

I'd been on my "detox" diet now for almost three weeks and all was going well. That is, until I was confronted with the dreaded "Office Potluck" party.

I tried to ignore the "Office Potluck" email for an entire week. Knowing that this event would most certainly throw me into a diet challenged tizzy, I choose to pretend I didn't get the email that suggested everyone make a salad, entree or dessert. However, two days before the event I was approached by the office manager who more or less assigned me a dish. "You should do 'Ham Pinwheels" she suggested. "They are soo easy to make." "Sure" I replied, and I knew I was f*cked.

Anyone who's ever worked at an office with more than 2 women is certainly familiar with the archaic tradition known as a "Potluck." In the past, a potluck would involve me heading to the Albertson's deli and ordering 6 lbs of their soggy Caesar salad (and then transferring it to my own handmade Viet Nam wooden salad bowl and claiming it as my own). But after agreeing to the pinwheels - I knew I would actually have to make my dish (while on a detox diet, no less).

I searched high and low for a great "Pinwheel" recipe (i.e, I Googled the word "Pinwheel" and read the first three recipes that popped up, and chose the easiest). After securing the proper accouterments (flour tortillas, honey ham, cream cheese, green chilies and ranch dressing mix), I was ready to roll those suckers up.

At the time, I didn't realize just how "hungry" I was. But 2 and 1/2 weeks of veggies, water, and milk with sugar-free, diabetic chocolate syrup (and only eating between the hours of 12 and 6) will do that to a person. As I rolled the first Pinwheel I decided it was necessary to try "just a small bite" (having never made a Pinwheel before, it was necessary to taste one, if only to make sure it wasn't so gross that I'd have an office full of spit-up Pinwheel soiled napkins rotting in the big trash can in the break room). Damn, as soon as that first bite hit my tongue, I was on those Pinwheels like Chris Farley on a pile of coke. The cream cheese might as well have been heroin in my veins. It was as though I was eating a 7-course meal at a Wolfgang Puck restaurant after being on a deserted island for 3 months.

I made it thru one entire rolled up tortilla before I came to my senses. The Pinwheel had literally sent me into a diet spiral (pun intended) - one which, a week later, I still have not really recovered from. I only have a week left on my "detox diet" but I have to be honest: after the "Pinwheel Incident" there have been several more similar incidents including the "Pizza and Merlot Incident" and last night the "I'm just tasting my BBQ beef Incident" and this morning's "I-haven't-had-a-real- Pepsi-in-almost-a-month-and-goddamn-it-I'm-having-one-for-breakfast Incident".

Ok, so after all the "Incidents" (most of them were just small bumps in the road) maybe I'm not completely "detoxed" after all. But let's face it, I'm no Gwenyth Paltrow. I'm pushing 40, starting to have night sweats and my frown lines are getting deeper by the second. Sometimes you just gotta cave in and go the way of the Pinwheel.

-val

Cellu-lot: One Girls Crusade Against Cottage Cheese Thighs (and Beyond)

Yesterday, as I sat outside in the bright sunlight reading a book (yet another of my favorite sedentary hobbies) I crossed my legs to be confronted by a horrifying realization. The cellulite, that  had once been confined to my butt-cheeks and upper thighs had spread faster than a Herpes outbreak at the Playboy Mansion and was now looking  back at me from atop my ankles (cankles). 

Don't get me wrong - I am no stranger to cellulite. Even at my Nicole Richie fighting weight of 97 lbs, I still had cellulite on my ass. But, considering that I was never going to be a Victoria's Secret model or a stripper at Scores, I let  it slide. After all, only a select few see my ass and they just were going to have to accept a little bumpage in my trunkage. But having cellulite on the lower legs is a whole new set of issues (not to mention the cauliflower-like crinkly upper backs of my arms that have been sprouting of late). I have come to the realization that 1) I am not in my 20's anymore and 2) It's time to get off my ass and exercise now and then (like every day for 3 hours). 

Gone are the days of my youth where I could subside on 2 Pepsi's a day and the occasional candy bar, then go out 3 nights a week and drink Seabreezes until dawn. After I got married, between working full-time and popping out two kids in 3 years, I was just too busy to eat and managed to stay slim. Somewhere after the age of say, 33 my body began to beg for an actual meal now and then and I  actually listened to it. Today I am paying the consequences. 

Getting old sucks, but I'm determined to fight it tooth and nail. If Madonna (who will be 50 in August) can have a body that looks like she could take on the High School wrestling team, than certainly I can conquer a little bit (lot) of thick bubble-fat in my thighs and calves. Sadly, this might mean giving up my Courtney-Love-like addiction to Pepsi and substituting lettuce for Lays and carrots for Cabernet. A trip to the gym more than twice a month might be in order as well.  I don't strive to be Giselle Bundchen or Heidi Klum (although that would be nice) but I'll be damned if a year from now I'm mistaken for Kirstie Alley while I sunbathe at the beach.  The fight is on! Right after I take a nap.

val