Mission Aborted

Meet my friend:

I'm more than just a hot piece, ladies and gents.

This is Dr. Schulze. Most people probably aren't aren't familiar with Dr. Shulze, but he's sort of the Tony Robbins of herbal products. Passionate, moving, just this side of a cult leader. As a connoisseur of natural remedies, I can attest that his concoctions are simply the best, and I'm a huge fan of his one man mission to topple to the FDA with his radical approach to herbal healing. I am perhaps simply jealous of anyone so purposeful.

Every spring I do his liver cleanse. It involves three days of juice fasting, book-ended by two days of raw fruits and veggies. You start your day with a delicious ginger, garlic and olive oil drink and pepper the day with several foul tasting formulas for detoxing. It's truly nasty stuff. It's damn hard, but I always look forward to how fresh and alive I feel at the end of the week. Of course within a week, I'm hittin' cupcakes and all types of processed foods again, but at the end of those five days, I actually contemplate not breaking the fast. So unencumbered by dense matter! So unattached to the earth plane! Unfortunately, this is sort of my thing in general and this week is not the week to indulge my natural desire to disengage from the world.

I knew my plate was full this week (figuratively!), but was still ready to plow ahead, so committed to a thorough spring purge was I. So yesterday Ex and I started the cleanse and by the end of the morning I knew I was in trouble. I assisted him shopping at the Promenade, while he hunted for all the white clothing he could possibly find. (White is the color of summer this year.) I already felt weak and distant but diligently followed him from store to store. I was already avoiding responsibility after one missed meal. If I don't have my morning baked goods to tether me, what reason do I have to participate in this charade we call life?

So, particularly unbearable on this jaunt: Abercrombie and Fitch and Diesel. A&F was so loud, it sounded like a discotheque from across third street. I rarely think of the plight of others, but I actually spent a moment feeling for the employees and wondering how they could hear each other over the throbbing house music. How could one not go insane during an eight hour shift of that? Diesel, okay I was cranky, but I'm so over the gay Euro vibe, the clothes hurt my eyes and I wanted to kick the Freddie Mercury wannabe, Williamsburg hispter dude working there in the shins. What are you doing in Santa Monica anyway? I did pull it together to recommend hitting up Zara, which turned out to be dynamite in the white department. But I felt exhausted being in charge of pulling different sizes and wrangling assistance. And I'm usually totally good for that kind of thing.

By five pm, I had not done returned one phone call, nor responded to a single email, because I couldn't think clearly and couldn't muster the motivation. So instead I ditched traffic and went to the Century City mall and spent thirty bucks on designer teas, because that's the only place you can get this one brand of tea in LA. I know: Eat, bitch. Eat.

Finally after a very confusing back-and-forth internal struggle in my mind, (I really do love the cleanse and it has served me well over the years) I busted out some Trader Joe's. And within twenty minutes, I was back on the program and reuniting with my to-do list. There really are some big changes afoot in Sensationland and I have to be here to make them. Alas.

So I am sad, but hopefully sometime this year I will be able to get on some liver detoxification. And, I still love you, Dr. S. I just need my diet of chocolate croissants and meaty pizza right now, because, unfortunately, it seems to be the key to my success.