Maybe you thought this title was in homage to Adam, but it's not!!! I'm surprisingly serene these days about my Australian (although I still miss him pretty rottenly...luckily we still talk and he says he misses me, so we're even)...and after all the heartbreak of foreign summer romances, it appears that DIET COKE is really the hardest thing to let go of..(I know I ended that with a preposition, what are you, the God of Good Grammar????)
Most of you have been with me for the journey, so you know that I started weightwatchers and found out that I had arthritis about the same time last year. Well, they are both still very much a part of my life and as such, I am plagued with joint stiffness while I am plying my body with all manner of artificial sweetners and foreign chemicals. You see, if you want to go low calorie but maintain your high calorie lifestyle, you have to switch to spray butter, snackpacs with splenda, microwave popcorn, cheese that doesn't require refrigeration and frozen dinners that contain the words, "healthy and delicious" in their title. Tip: Just like men who TELL you that they are the funniest guy you'll ever meet, frozen dinners that spell it out on the box should be approached with GREAT caution.
While I was in a foreign country that doesn't have a testimony of Lean Cuisines, I came to suspect that it might NOT be the very best thing to spray your foods with a yellow half-liquid that is one molecule away from plastic in order to say, "I can't believe it's not butter". I also suspected that all those chemicals as well as the fizzy deliciousness of my diet sody pop might be contributing to my increasingly crappy finger mobility (typing with pecking fingers makes blogging so much more difficult). So last week, I began a quest to curtail highly processed foods when possible and refined sugars and artificial sweetners always. HAHAHAHAHA. HA. HA. HA.
I lasted about 4 days before going on a Diet Coke binger that would make any self-respecting DC drinker cringe. I was able to stay away from the sugar for the most part and even the splendarific pudding snacks, but damnit all to hell...it's the diet coke that gets me. You would think that the potential claw-like crone hands of arthritic pain would be enough to deter the now increasingly vertical pile of empty diet coke cans sitting on my desk. But no. Evidently, the grip of caffeinated joy is stronger than the fear of disfiguration for the likes of me.
Oh well, at least I'll be a thin pretzel-twisted 29 year old.