The only thing this juice diet has cleansed me of is my will to live.

Ever have one of those days when you go crazy and lose your mind?  I did.  Last night.  One word:  Juicing.

I’ve decided to embark on what has become my twice yearly cleanse.  It’s a difficult thing for someone who enjoys, treasures and appreciates proper food to turn to juicing.  It’s like Luke turning to the dark side.  Everything bad is so damn tempting.

Maybe juicing will take away the pain of the Star Wars Prequels.

So why do it?  Because after I break through all the toxic septic sludge that has built up inside of me from months of having a carefree (and fun) summer, I look and feel better.

Hooray! It’s like a Masengil ad!

I have laid caution to all those (especially my boyfriend) around me that I’m juicing and the first week, I. AM. CRAZY.  I explained to my unsuspecting boyfriend that the first week is a real challenge for me and I  don’t go out to restaurants because of the food temptation.

Hiding in the depths of my house, for I cannot be trusted or accountable for my emotions.

I’m possessed by the juice.

I call this week:  the Juicing Effect.

This is not entirely true. I don’t own a forever lazy.

According the several sources about the side effects of juicing including eHow:


  • Irritability is one common side effect from a juice cleanse. As the body detoxifies and food cravings intensify, mood swings can occur.

Yea….no shit.

Days 1-6: Started great. Maybe this will be different.  Maybe I’ll make it through.

Day 7: WHOAAAA….Hold your horses there kiddo…. It ended where I wanted to burn down the restaurant.  Let me back up.

I woke up at 4:30 to get in a run before teaching spin class.  Waking up at 4:30, not pretty.  That has nothing to do with the cleanse and all about me feeling like Sloth when waking up. I digress.  Fabulous workout.

What a great movie, right?

Picture it.  Boston.  A glorious fall day.  It’s sunny and warm.  A slight breeze.  It’s a perfect day.  I’ve just begun adding an hour walk at lunchtime with some other girls in the office.  We are walking fast by the seaport and aquarium, overlooking the water and yachts.  The sight of outdoor bar after bar overlooking this fabulous city, the Boston harbor and sunny day makes me squeal with delight and adds a spring to my step.  Although, honestly, I would have loved to sat, gotten a martini and enjoyed this perfect day.  Coming back to work drunk, probably not a good idea.  I press on.

Yea, that’s nice…

Not so bad right? Not at all.  Ideal.    What’s with all the bitching and complaining at the start of the blog?  Well, calm down.  So impatient.  I’m trying to set a scene here.  I may not be Hemingway, but I’m also not throwing out trash like the damn author of 50 Shades of Grey.  Yea, that’s right.  I said it.

Gene makes everything better!

My next adventure begins with me walking to a new commuter rail station and taking a new line.  Exciting.  I feel great.  I’ve burned off a ton of calories and I’m a cleansing machine.  Nothing can stop me.  I feel like Melanie Griffith from Working Girl, except better hair.  Pink sneakers on and ready to power walk!  It’s a 30 minute walk and I’m hoofing it through the financial district to my train.

OK, Sometimes my hair looks like this

Sunny, gorgeous, feeling great and on my way out to dinner and music with my boyfriend.  I’m thrilled.  A martini and FOOD wait for me.  Glorious food and booze.  I’ve planned for this.   PLANNED FOR THIS. I’ve looked at the menu in advance, planned my calories and I’m ready to eat out and eat well.

Do I get to eat now?

I arrive in the beautiful town of Concord.  Truly a lovely town.  My boyfriend is running late to pick me up.  No worries.  I’m the juice and cleanse master.  Life is good.  I’ll browse the shops across the street with all my juice pride.  ooh, a book store.  An ACTUAL book store.  Didn’t they all go out of business?  In the age of Kindle, isn’t this like finding a unicorn? The angels are singing and shining down.  Perfect.

Don’t judge me

I stroll across.  It’s closed.  Hmmm, it’s only 6pm.  Now I KNOW why bookstores are the dinosaurs of the world.  Your damn stores close at 5!

Ok, no worries, I’ll check out the next store.  Closed.  The next?  Closed.  WTF!!!

No problem.  There is something open.  A French market.  Lovely. Refined.  I walk in and pursue the shelves.  Find they have Bauhaus there (you should all be bowing down to this chocolate MASTER).  I pick up a few items for checkout and head to the counter to look at the Pate.  Oh, sweet jesus.  Pate.  Ok, I can’t have it, but it’s lovely and it’s calling me like a soft pillowy clouds on a lovely day.

I’m smiling like a fool and the woman asks:

“What can I get you?”

“Hmmm, oh nothing, I’m still looking” I reply with a smile.  I mean, it’s French pate, how could you NOT smile and dance with delight?

“Fine then” she says in a NASTY tone, gives me a bad look and dismisses me.  Um, hello.  What just happened?

Ever wonder when things just started to go wrong on a particularly bad day?  I don’t need to wonder.  Here is where it all started.  Enjoy!

“Really?” I say and place my items onto her counter “I don’t need this”.  Ok, maybe I didn’t place, but slightly threw down and walked out.

I walk outside and see my boyfriend.  The poor guy has no idea (nor do I) how awkward this night is going to turn.  Nor does he deserve it.  I’m looking forward to seeing him all day and he pulls up and BAM:  The juicing effect.

Ok, Lori.  Not so bad.  Nothing wrong.  Just someone having a bad day.  Brush it off.  I see my boyfriend and so happy to see him, yet I’m annoyed.   Ok.  No problem.

We walk over to a gorgeous restaurant.  Pretty bar.  All sustainable organic and local foods.  Wonderful.  We sit down, I order a martini.  I love martini’s.  LOVE THEM.  I love the elegance of the long stem glass, the yummy vodka and olives.  YAY for martini’s.

if only…

A glass arrives.  It’s a short glass, thick stem and there are 3 olives (that take up most of the glass) that are laying at the bottom.  No pimento.  I really dislike a hallow olive.  Ok.  Ok.  No problem.  Not everyone shares my love of tall martini stemware.  I take a sip.  Ugh.  Maybe it’s just me or the juice.  Another sip.  Ugh.  Ok.  Not good.

My boyfriend, champ that he is, asks the waiter why there is no toothpick in the olives.  I mean, they are just floating there, how is one suppose to get them out?

“um….um….I don’t know.  I think we may have a straw for you or something.  How about a spoon”

Let’s fish ’em out!

Ah, yes, nothing so refined as sitting at a lovely restaurant spooning olives from my drink into my mouth.  I think that is how Sinatra and Dean Martin liked their martini.

Ok, Done.  So, send the martini back.  Frankly, it’s not worth the money or the calories.  Yes, I actually said that.  I had to re-read that myself.

At this point, my boyfriend realizes this is not good.  Bless his heart trying to be great about it.  Me:  I’ve just hit juicing effect: level 4.  I need to leave this devils den of poor drinks.  A spoon?  Really?

Now, normally, this is not a big deal.  With juicing, there is no rationale, there is no thought process.  It’s zero to crazy in 3.5 seconds.

People, this story leads to level 10 on the juicing scale freak out.   Join me next week, won’t you?  For part two of…”Bitch, You Crazy!”.  As it is, I’m already tired of reading my own drivel.


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