alexis in the city

Primal

Since roughly the beginning of the year, I’ve roughly been eating a primal diet. It’s not quite as extreme as Tim Ferriss’ Four Hour Body, but as a long-term lifestyle for me it’s much more manageable in that it allows me to still eat fruit (the Four Hour Body forbits all sugar, including fruit, which would be a slow death for me). I basically cut out anything processed - as I like to say, it’s like a raw food diet, except for the meat. That means no bread, grains, dairy (ok, sometimes I have Greek yogurt), or sugar, and instead tons of produce, nuts and protein.

It’s not a huge departure from how I used to eat, except for the bread. And oh, the bread; I was a raging bitch while I detoxed from all things carb-y, bread-y and otherwise delicious.  That by far was the worst part, but here’s the thing - now that I’m on the other side of it I can’t go back.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t partly looking to this change for its weightloss benefits and I’ve been relatively disappointed, at least in comparison to the rave reviews I hear from everyone else who’s doing something similar. I’ve lost a few inches but no pounds and while I know that I don’t have much weight to lose, and realize it’s entirely possible that to get that change I’ll have to tweak something further, I was still hoping with such deprivation the scale would budge a little.

But in reality primal is a lifestyle, not a diet, so this is something I plan on continuing indefinitely. The one thing I did take from Ferriss’ book was the idea of a cheat day. It’s a lot easier to tell yourself not to have that croissant or not to inhale an entire chocolate bar when you know you can just postpone your foodie debauchery till a pre-determined day. On those days, I eat things like this:

But over the months I’ve noticed my tolerance for these types of foods go way, way down. Eating one meal like this is enough to make me feel like sh*t for the whole day. Of course I still indulge but I no means binge on all the foods I’m missing out on. It’s kind of shocking to think I haven’t had sushi, pasta, a slice of bread or a sandwich in weeks if not months!

And that’s how I know this is a lifestyle change that’s here to stay. Knowing how bad I feel when I do put those things in my body makes me want to avoid getting to the point again where they don’t affect me.

Plus, detoxing bread was a bitch, and I don’t want all that effort to go to waste. And if I have to do it again, Ryan might not survive it the second time around.

Vey-cay

(For the record, I HATE it when people call vacations “vaycays” … or when they spell it “vaca.” Vaca is “cow” in Spanish, ok? Personal pet peeve. Nevertheless, here I am, naming my post as a spin-off of the term. Le sigh.)

I’ve often said that Mexico is the ghetto person’s Europe (I’m not hatin, I still go, I’m just sayin) … well Vegas is the overgrown frat bro’s Mexico. That’s right, Vegas, you are so far down on the list of classy getaway places, you rank below Mexico with adults who are trying to relive their glory days. Or something.

But again, I’m not hatin. Stepping off the plane, you know you’ve just got to embrace it all - the ghetto, the fake, the kitschy. The warm, warm sun, yard-long margaritas and portable drinks make that much easier to do. I have to admit, I care a lot less that I’m walking at a snail’s pace behind a crowd of barely-dressed, Jersey Shore wannabes, when I’ve got a vodka tonic in a to-go cup. We could probably all learn a li’l something from Vegas’ open container laws.

I had to - or at least attempt to - hit the pause button on the dialogue of my inner 50-year-old WASP and just get down with the dirty grittyness of it. And I think I did a pretty good job. We did, however, come away with two rules, which are really all you need to know to guide a Vegas journey:

* Never, ever bring your kids to Vegas (yes, mom in line at Wendys with FIVE KIDS under the age of ten, I’m looking directly at you)

* If you have kids at all, it’s a good bet you’re too old (or should, theoretically, be too mature) for Vegas. It’s like Neverneverland - sometimes you just can’t go back.