random love

Let’s fast!

She expected me to leaveUm no.
Was my first response.
Actually I think it was my first 38 responses.

Him: No one NEEDS to eat as much as they do.
Me: Nodding. I get that. But fries(!!!). Oh god, do I love a fried starch.
Him: You’ll get so much energy…you’ll feel great!
Me: I think I should watch you, get inspired, then try it out.
Him: You say you like to try new things…

I don’t know how it came to be that I agreed to fast.
Honestly, I think I was bored and that’s often dangerous.
I mean, it could cause a person to not eat for 11 days.

A few hours into Fast Day One…
Me: Oh my god, what are we going to do after we smoke weed?
Him: Uh, Rumi, we don’t smoke while we fast.
Me: WHAT?!
Him: Have you not been listening? It’s not just food; we’re getting pure.

What the shitty shit have I just agreed to?
I don’t meditate.
I’m not seeking mental clarity or an epiphany.
But at this point it seems like a good challenge. And it’s true that I’ve been feeling pretty lethargic and kinda gross in general so…yeah, let’s fast.

I’d never fasted before so I decide to maintain it until I can’t or don’t want to anymore, whichever comes first.

The first few days I think about how to handle hunger, hang out with friends at bars and restaurants, what if food smells gross me out, or I feel weak, would I be angry for being hungry, etc. I filter quite a few what if’s and feel excited about the new challenge and before I know it, I’m 2.5 days into the fast.

My body temperature fluctuates. A lot. I feel an intense heat radiate from within a few times a day. I’m a bit shaky for no more than 30 minutes every evening, between 21-23:30, towards the end of my work shift. I nap almost everyday; he tells me it’s a good way to conserve energy and let my body have extra rest.

The sight and smell of food don’t gross me out. Everything smells and looks fucking fabulous BUT I don’t want to eat except for a 15-minute window towards the end of my work-night. My sober self goes out to a drunken, hungover brunch and I’m severely tempted by fatty-fat dripping burgers and endless mimosas. But temptation isn’t indulged and she moves right along.

Life slows down, slows way down.
I calm down, my thought process is much more deliberate. Little things fall by the wayside; actually, they don’t even blip on my radar. I contemplate many things but it’s not necessarily deep thoughts, just thoughts.
Maybe I’m physically incapable of rapid-fire thoughts or knee-jerk emotional responses.
Maybe I’m gaining…clarity?

It was a peaceful, interesting and unexpectedly fulfilling 11 days.
Fast Day 12 doesn’t happen because I simply don’t want to fast anymore.
I want consumable energy.
I make a veggie soup and it is delicious.

Oh, and that first hit of pot, post-fast?
I-n-c-r-e-d-iiiiiiiiiii-b-l-e.
Pura Vida.

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about Japan, random love

I own this bitch, y’all

I own this bitch y'all

and she’s purtier and easier.

It’s makeover day, which means I have a new header and domain, which is: mybfturnedmelesbo.com (faster to type than with that wordpress thing in the middle).  

This domain is mine…hooray.  Y’all are really fucking sweet and encouraging so I thought, hell, might as well own this for real.  So let’s see what kind of trouble and embarrassment I can recollect and get into over the next 12 months.  I guarantee shenanigans that meet various degrees of disapproval, foreign discomfort, some more emotional paralysis (and growth) and some plain dumb shit because I have a knack of doing some really dumb shit.

For instance:
It’s hot here.  Really fucking hot.  It’s the equivalent of 95+°F, I haven’t stopped sweating for 13 days (and counting) and the oppressive heat is literally suffocating me (I crane my neck upwards on the sardine trains to catch air- not exaggerating) and killing old people.  Which is why weather-appropriate food is de rigueur here.

Cold-on-cold foods like cool soba or somen dipped in refreshingly chilled broth (freshly grated ginger is an especially nice addition) is typical summertime grub.  Noodles here are seriously delicious; the texture is amazing and Japan has probably destroyed my standards for the rest of the world.

So my friend and I are moaning about the heat, looking for a place to eat…
My friend: Oh, look at this.
Me: Oooh…pork shabu-shabu?!  I’ve never had that…
MF: Well, that decides it then.

I am so excited.  I’ve had beef shabu but not pork because America is scared of serving beautiful, paper-thin slices of raw pork cooked tableside in a vat of boiling water with herbaceous veggies and tofu.

We sit, order beers and my friend’s body temp has mysteriously risen for being inside.  Strange.  He immediately asks the server to turn down the AC; I can tell from the eyes that are cut that it’s not going to happen.  I feel bad because he’s dressed all Tokyo proper from fancy-pants work meetings.

And we are stupid.  Because shabu-shabu entails sitting nano-inches away from a steaming hot-pot where we boil meat for hours.  Wait, that sounded weird.  The meal takes hours (and the veggies are simmering the entire time) but the individual slices of pork-cook only lasts a few seconds because the gorgeous cuts are sliced so pretty-skinny.  Once it’s cooked to your preferred doneness, get you some delicate greens and dip in yum sauce/broth.  Basically, shabu is quality ingredients at their best…mmm.

My friend asks the server to turn down the AC again and annoyed dude is looking at us like, are you for real?  You’re eating cold weather food in the middle of a heat wave and we’re still in energy-conservation mode from the earthquake, fuckers.  He is so not turning the shit down.  I point out the words I see in server’s head and my friend is like, right…we’re the ijiots who have chosen to subject ourselves to a pork steambath.

Yes we are.

But these are my people: damn fools who, in their excitement to share a new experience with me, abandon foresight and suffer sweating balls for hours.

I love when I find my people as they are the best.  Like y’all.
Seriously, thank you for the love and support.
Cheers!

 

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