So, when did this dating site become a blog about diets? Well, to borrow a note from the anos, at least it’s something I can control. I shouldn’t have said that because anorexia is a hideous disease. But you get the point.

So today is Day 4 of the South Beach Diet Meal Delivery Plan.

I’m not sure if I should tell you what I’ve learned so far first or describe the dieting shit- show that was yesterday. I’ll start with the latter, because it’s so sad that I just have to release the pain.

Yesterday I went with my mom, Step-dad and Rabbi Shelley to hear my son perform Mahler’s 6th . That it was named “Tragedy” should have given me a little pause. Owen is in school an hour away, at University of the Pacific, and my mom and Colin decided that we should drive there, have lunch, listen to the performance and then take Owen to dinner. This meant I was going to have to feed myself real food, in a restaurant, twice in one day.

I wanted to stop by and get pig food on the way to my mom’s, since Alamo Hay and Grain is around the corner from her house,  but it was raining cats and dogs and with all the pounding rain there were at least three accidents littering the 24. Traffic was grizzly. So, the pig was going to have to eat graham crackers and peanut butter for one more day.

When I arrived at my mom’s they’d all just had a little breakfast so at least I didn’t have to navigate that on my own. Rabbi Shelley started to get clammy which I’d never seen him do before. He’s in his eighties now, so I was looking for signs of an MI or stroke – which is a little tough to detect when you’ve been a pediatrician for twenty-something years – but I figured I’d know one if I saw one. And I still know how to call 911 from my days as a lay person.

I got Shelley’s head down, legs up and took his pulse. The taking of the pulse was just to reassure him that he was being attended to by a real doctor. I got him all comfy and went upstairs to make a cup of coffee and my mom and I tried to hang ourselves over the Wall Street Journal that was spread out on her farm table without finding a way to argue heatedly about anything Trump. We have strict standing orders not to talk politics but my mom and I always find a way to hiss out a few digs before my step-father insists we change the subject. For a woman who claims to not want to talk about it she is as loaded and ready to fire as I am, so I refuse to take all the blame.

Rabbi Shelley’s color returned to his face, but by that time we were running about an hour “late” which means we had just enough time to get there and eat if we hit it. In the car first we argued about whether Shelley’s near-syncope was caused by eating too much sugar at breakfast (a tablespoon of jam). It wasn’t, but Shelley thought that it was. Then we argued about whether there was time left for lunch. At this point I’d only had that one coffee and I didn’t think I could wait until 4pm for dinner. My mom voted for the school cafeteria but a) I didn’t think it was open and b) had she not heard of the freshman 15? I really didn’t want to blow the past few days of sticking to this diet with shitty cafeteria food.

It was hard to find any place decent (we were in Stockton!) but Shelley saw a Subway and almost jumped out the car. Who knew he liked Subway so much? I went to the Taqueria next door and got shrimp over a salad (ensalada de camarones). It was more of a con than a de, but whatever. I thought I’d practice Pimsleur Spanish Lessons 1-8 on the man behind the counter but I got a little shy and only managed one Hola.

Then I regretted not at least trying to order in Spanish so after I ordered I said, “Quiero ensalada avec Como se dice SHRIMP.” Anyone spot the twelve years of French in that sentence? He was very nice about me taking up his time ordering the same thing twice – he never said “I heard you the first time, in English.”  and I decided to keep going and said “Muchas Gracias” and “Adios” on the way out. After I left I regretted not asking him “Donde esta el bano.” Not because I had to go, but because I knew how to ask him that. I wanted to say, “Do you believe that a teaspoon of jam can cause a grown man to nearly faint, yeah me neither” but that’s gonna take a few more lessons.

We made it to the campus on time and when I say on time I mean 45 minutes early which was the absolute last moment we could arrive if we wanted a decent seat according to my mother.  Two people had already claimed two front row seats and there were only about thirty seats left in the front row by the time we got there, so she had a point. About 15 minutes before showtime she raised her eyebrows and said, “Good thing we got here when we did.” To be fair, by then it had filled up.

It had filled up so much that people were standing in the back.

And that’s when the next messed up thing happened. The first two, remember, were 1) running too late to buy pig food – accidents and traffic from the heavy rain   – even though Alamo Hay and Grain is right around the corner from my mom’s and 2) Rabbi Shelley tried to faint over too many carbs which lead us to run even later than if I had gotten pig food in the first place.

Did I mention that Mahler 6 is called Tragedy? I did, right?

OK so one of the ladies running around with the walkie talkies told us to raise our hand if there was an empty seat next to us. Then she crinkled up her face and said, “I think we’re going to have to bring in more chairs”. That’s when the clucking really started because the only place to fit more chairs was right in front of us. And if she did that, we would no longer be in the front row. Are you following me here?

My mom said she was going to tell the woman that she couldn’t do that. Colin said that it wasn’t fair. My reaction was that she actually could do that and when the chairs started showing up it turns out I was right. But you can’t get the best of my mom that easily. She gathered up her purse and program (She’d already found Owen’s name in the program which is the first thing she always does at a concert of his because one time at the Oakland Symphony Youth Orchestra they forgot to add his name to the program and she isn’t going to let that slap in-the-face happen again.)

So she gathered up her things and hurried into the new front row seats as they were being unfolded. Shelley and Colin followed in suit but no chair was placed in front of my chair. I had not gathered my things but I had stood up. And when I went to sit back down I hit the ground – really effin hard.

What the?

Turns out the guy behind me had pulled the chair out from under me on accident because he thought I was about to move. Perdon?! I never get mad at people about accidents but I was a little terse on account of the spasms that were shooting up my back and neck. I think I teared up because I could feel the spasms and ripping muscle feeling and I knew that if my friend Marc could throw his back out reaching for a potato chip that I was potentially screwed.

I couldn’t sit comfortably so I stood throughout the performance. I know, ironic. Also,  I couldn’t raise my right arm past shoulder-height. Not great when you’ve defined your current worth as an overthehillemptynester by how much banjo, violin and ballet you can pull off while running a full-time pediatrics practice.  Oh and by the way, I really can’t miss work unless I’m vomiting  or too dizzy to stand which I was earlier this year.  I really can’t miss more work unless I want to almost lose my house again.  I thought to myself that if my port de bras suffers because of this moronic act of a stranger who thinks it’s perfectly OK to pull a chair out from under someone who is about to sit back down – well, that would be just great.

The concert was beautiful and Owen did amazing even though he always comes out saying how awful he was and how many mistakes they made….mistakes that none of us could hear….because we know nothing about music. Then he blows us off because he has a headache and his lips hurt and we don’t even KNOW what it’s like to have lips that feel like they might go gangrenous at any moment.  Then he texts his orchestra mates and within a few minutes he’s laughing and saying ok, let’s do dinner. It never varies, and we always run up and tell him how great he was knowing that if we had any kind of musical ear we’d have detected what a true disaster the whole thing was. (It was marvelous.)

Meantime, my back and right side were really freezing up and I was getting more and more concerned….

As an adult, I’ve broken a knee and an elbow and had a really bad ankle sprain and each injury has really messed with my mojo for months. Two years is how long it’s taken me to come back from the breaks, and my elbow can still tell the weather. So the fact that my neck was starting to stiffen and my arm was a bit frozen…..well that lead me to the next sad thing and that is – How I Blew My DIY Meal Day – –the South Beach Diet peeps call non-South Beach Diet Delivery meals DIY meals BTW, I’m not making that up.

I already said that I thought DIY meals were a really shitty idea. And here’s why. Because, life.

I knew I needed alcohol, quick. I decided I was going to have two glasses of Pinot at dinner after the first one took the edge off the neck, shoulder and back spasms so nicely. I haven’t been drinking at all. And these were heavy pours (finally, I caught a break). I also decided to have a few bites of avocado tempura (!) and I ordered a brussel sprout salad and ahi poke. I need to wrap this up but basically I only ate a little bit of each thing, then I scarfed about 15 of Owen’s fries with hella ketchup. The food was salty and heavy. Meh.

I came home with tons of leftovers (I thought I had held back) and soon developed the indigestion of a rock star. You know those rock stars that demand their dressing room be stocked with slim-jams, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and Hennessey? Well that’s how I imagine they might feel the next morning. Only I felt that way almost immediately.

Aside – this is a dating aside, so it’s actually relevant to this blog….someone in their dating profile on OkC referred to Flamin’ Hot Cheetos as “the devil’s ass.”  I don’t believe I’ve ever admired a man more. Turns out he was dreadful but I stole his line.

Ok so at this point I knew I had lost the DIY Meal challenge. I found some tums and dealt with acid waves of nasty heartburn all night anyway because tums do diddly, and I also got hives because wine makes me itch. You heard me right – as of a few months ago, wine and welts go together for me. Just another perk of growing old.

Now, I am not a quitter. I’m a cheater, but not a quitter and those things are not the same. So I am going to tell you about what I have learned from this atrocious turn of events but I first I need to have  the Salmon with Dill South Beach Diet Delivery Meal for lunch….

Oh, to be back in the arms of portion control!