Can I smell that? Please?

Things I learned from two weeks on the South Beach Diet:

- You'd think that being on Master Cleanser will make this one like a breeze in the park, right? But sadly: Whiny McWhine-Whine, the comeback. 

- Also: Mr. Can-I-please-smell-your-food, Part Deux

- If you go by how the amount of food I can't eat being offered to me has tripled, you ca conclude that someone somewhere out there is mocking me.

- Being next to Food and Foodie magazines, and their constant barrage of freebies is quite the pain in the ass. 

- A microwave—both the lack of and too close of an affinity to—is enough of a spark for corporate divisional tension.

- What doesn't help: watching that show with that woman who kinda looks like Natalie Portman on the Food Network.

- Speaking of lacking a microwave: you know what isn't fun? Eating cold adobong pusit.

- Saving will only be possible if you friggin' don't ride taxis all the time just because you're feeling sluggish.

- You can get sick of the following quite easily: peanuts, cashew nuts, omelets, sugar-free jello and pudding, lentils, curry and coffee with asperthame. 

- I should've had a sign that said, "I can't eat that (le sob)." Emphasis on the "le sob."

- What doesn't help: squealing like a girl at the sight of cookies. 

- You know what else is sad: event buffets. There's like a Chanandeler Bing-Lesbian wedding metaphor in there somewhere.

- You know you're a tennis addict when you're barely able to make it through the day upright, and you suddenly find yourself playing three rounds of doubles on a Saturday morning. 

- When you start mentally listing (and at times actually listing on paper) down the things you are going gorge on after this diet, the future doesn't look too bright for you. (Red velvet cake in da haws!)

- What doesn't help: effing smelling other people's food at random. 

- What was all that anguish and abuse worth in the end? About 13 pounds. And an aggressive form of nut phobia.

*Reposted from Belligerent Bliss