My hair is four inches shorter, my skin on the mend and I finally waxed. Still, it seems like only yesterday I hung my head over the tub, egg yolk dripping up my nose. (Check out Cosmetic Withdrawal if you missed the first blog series). During that last round many readers asked why I chose 27 days. The short answer: I nixed the 30-day-trial thing. A Sandra Bullock movie and a post-apocalyptic horror film ruled out 28. And, the URL was available.
Since then, I found out there are 27 bones in your hand, 27 represents a perfect cube 33 (in case you don’t live with an 11-year-old boy, Rubik’s is all the rage these days) and Florida is the 27th state. I like Florida.
I’d also like to look 27. But having gone without cosmetics for said amount of time, I can safely say that ship has sailed. I can also tell you 27 days can be lengthy when you make an idiot of yourself day in and day out. And that’s the hitch: what next?
Cosmetic Withdrawal was an experiment I’d always wanted to try. But, I’d also like to try sleeping in every morning until 10:00am, eating warm chocolate croissants for breakfast, spiking my coffees with liquor, catching daily matinees, driving a vehicle that doesn’t seat seven, ditching my bras, loitering instead of exercising, and living year round in a tropical climate. Beyond that, I’m all out.
Everyone is full of suggestions, like 27 days without coffee. Been there, done that. For nine months. Three times. Besides, it would be much more intriguing to go 27 days drinking excessive coffee. My brother suggested the Paleo diet but it’s kind of what we all do already: diet for almost a month and fall off the wagon.
Back to basics. I started all this to learn, to shake up the status quo, over and over, throughout 2016. To refresh. And here is where my brain resets.
What are the things I suck at, am almost ignorant about or want to improve upon? The stock market? Yawn. Singing? Tone deaf. Classical music? Tone deaf and yawn. Cooking? Hmm.
I’m an effortless cook: I can put a meal together, as long as it requires little effort. When Dr. K is away, I happily subsist on leftover corn niblets and half-eaten chicken nuggets. Once in a while I’ll go all out, but a gourmet meal takes soooo long to make, nobody truly appreciates the pains you go to and, once that food is on the table, the oohs and ahhs quickly pass. Before you know it, you are alone in the kitchen at midnight wearing a stained shirt, cleaning by yourself. The whole experience closely resembles childbirth, without the bonus of a real baby–just a bloaty food baby. Still, I could whip up a fancy meal every day for 27 days… and make a movie called Julie and Julia. Crap.
Still, I yearn to improve my cooking. Regurgitating the same 10 recipes is dangerously habit-forming. I have 12 years of proof to back that up. What if I had to cook with a twist? What if…. I go vegetarian and slide down a slippery slope right into vegan? I’ll research recipes, learn about going meatless, followed by fish-free and then dairy-free until I am a full-blown tree-hugger. Dr. K is going to love this. I can watch gruesome films about animal agriculture and drive my family crazy, espousing clean-eating ideology. I may even lose weight–not the intention but an added bonus. I’ll post recipes (and readers can share their own). But, I need to do more. What if I also cut out sugary desserts and snacks? Only problem is, complex cooking and abstaining from all-things-yummy may turn me into a nutter. I’ll have to meditate. I’ve never been able turn off, unless I lose consciousness, but I am pretty darn sure I’ll need to clear my mind over the next 27 days.
There you have it. Challenge #2: Meatless and Meditating