I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I was determined to get to the bottom of things. Luckily, so was my new gastroenterologist.

He suggested I add Benefiber as part of this delicious breakfast, but it’s been hours and I’ve yet to experience any results besides extreme bloating in my marsupial pouch region.

As you know from reading my Master Cleanse post, I’ve traditionally lacked the willpower to sustain diets that last longer than six to eight hours. But this time is different; I’m going to embark on a healthier eating and exercise plan that may or may not involve Jazzercise. Just as soon as I finish this tub of Co-oo-ool Whip! While I’m scraping the bucket with a piece of licorice, I’ll offer some tips to help you get started on your diet as well.

My mom has been rather vocal about my attempts at weight loss and has provided the following tidbits of advice. Her nutritional intervention may not help me channel my inner Skeletor, but it sure makes me feel a hell of a lot better about my inability to put down my spork.

“Nikki! If you don’t eat just a little bit of meat soon, you are going to wind up with anemia and a serious protein deficiency!” That’s right my fellow vegetarians! Pepperoni will save your life. Open wide.

“Finish your cheesecake, Nikki! It’s good for you. It has calcium and protein.”

“Oh my God, Nikki! Did you skip breakfast again? Cool Whip does not count! Here, eat these fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. The chocolate boosts your serotonin levels and they’ll stabilize your blood sugar.”

My mom is an amazing cook and I typically gain about seven to nine pounds when I visit. So in order to achieve my weight loss goals, I’m going to have to come up with a plan for resisting temptation, which is especially difficult because she has me convinced I will die if I don’t enjoy a heaping portion of her mac and cheese. She makes it from scratch! Who does that?

So while I’m putting together a new diet plan and a strategy for warding off our mothers this holiday season, I suggest you consider just how likely you are to lose an eye or foot to Type Delicious Diabetes this Kwanza. And by “you” I mean “me.” As a hypochondriac, the best way for me to avoid interaction with anything is to remember that it could kill or maim me. In the case of dessert, remember, it could do both.

I’ll be back soon with a heaping helping of Hungry Hypochondriac advice for the holidays.

Master Cleanse Eve, 1:37 a.m.
As I was indulging my adrenal gland in yet another exciting episode of the Discovery channel’s ingenious survival show, Man vs. Wild, I glanced towards the kitchen and caught sight of all the delicious treats on the microwave cart that would be off limits come the next afternoon when I awoke for day one of my Master Cleanse.

While watching Bear Grills slice open and then burrow inside of a rotting camel corpse for protection from harsh Saharan winds didn’t exactly inspire me to run to the fridge for snacks, the thought of my own impending and self-inflicted survival situation did. When I turned my attention from the corn tortillas and chocolate-dipped granola bars taunting me from the next room back to the TV, Grills had birthed himself from the bloody camel stomach self-cesarean style and was proceeding to urinate in a circle around this dead beast he now called home. In his thick British accent he explained the importance of marking one’s territory before lying down to sleep. Instead of usefully turning this fascinating new information into a practical application for my own life and tiptoeing into the bedroom to relegate Brian back to his one fourth edge of our bed, I was mesmerized by the amount of fluids a person can dispel even after subsisting on a relatively small serving of camel bladder. This worried me as I was already quite the pee-er. It was not uncommon for me to sprint past confused men in public restrooms because the women’s line snaked endlessly around the facilities. Shockingly, my new liquid diet contained an abundance of fluid and I began to worry that I might find myself squatting on the sides of freeways or behind an unpopular row in the library, like say the cookbook section. Would I be able to hold all the lemonade I was required to drink?

But public urination sans public restrooms was just one of my many concerns on Master Cleanse Eve. I was also anxious about the tantalizing treats that lurked so closely within reach in my kitchen. As Bear Grills chomped on his aged camel meat it occurred to me that if I was truly going to succeed at the Master Cleanse, I would need to solidify my commitment as soon as possible. And so, the night before my cleanse I elected to cleanse my fridge of all its delicious temptations, which I did by cramming the food in the only place where I knew I wouldn’t be able to reach it again-thanks to my stubborn uvula and inability to throw up on command. Once the hummus dip, leftover lasagna, cookies, and breakfast bars were safely stowed in my small intestine, I moved on to the tortilla chips and chocolate as only someone who is committed to a healthful diet can. As I hid hundreds and hundreds of calories from myself I praised my diligent dedication to this new weight loss plan.

It wasn’t until I was bloated and full that I remembered the starring role of laxative tea in the Master Cleanse. Oh, shit, I thought, before cursing my brain for always thinking in puns at the most inappropriate and serious moments. I told myself that perhaps the tea would not be so strong as to painfully unload the contents of my refrigerator – which were now the contents of my intestinal tract – in one fowl poop. In any case, I had taken the first step towards easing my original anxieties. As they say, in order to conquer your fears you must first confront them, and boy did I! I confronted that can of whipped cream like the Long Island Lolita confronted Mary-Jo Buttafuoco, only I didn’t shoot it in its head, that would be too dangerous as the contents are under pressure. I sighed with relief, no longer having to fear the snide come hithers made by imitation Oreo cookies and cheesy Italian pastas. I had silenced the seductive calls of my quesadilla ingredients, but, if that was so, then why were they making such a ruckus from my belly? Perhaps that was the tea.

The Tivo asked if I wanted to delete the just finished episode of Man vs. Wild and I considered what he had just been through. If Grills can subsist on the remains of a camel cadaver, then I can make it on lemonade. No, Tivo, you may not delete this episode. Bear and I are just getting started.

Day One
I woke up today with my usual crack whore urge to attack my coffee maker but stopped short of biting open my bag of Starbucks House Blend when I remembered that it was day one of the Master Cleanse and caffeine was not on the menu. What did I get instead of a nice chewy cup of legal amphetamines? Why I got to enjoy a nice tall lukewarm thirty-two ounce bucket of salt water, thank you very much, Stanley Burroughs, creator of the lemonade fast. Unless there are glorious amounts of dessert foods and total privacy involved, I have a very hard time putting anything life-threatening into my body. I’m no scientist, but years of watching Baywatch have led me to adopt the firm belief that humans just aren’t supposed to swallow massive amounts of salt water.

With the heavy reluctance of a sumo wrestler stepping onto a tightrope, I measured and poured and concocted nature’s rinse cycle as the book had instructed me to. Not since FDA regulations banned breast implants from containing silicone had I seen a bigger saline salute. After the first gagging gulp of my sodium anti-Imodium I found myself waiting for Mitch Buchanan to knock me down and pound the water from my stomach with his hairy fists. But instead of sputtering mouthfuls of sea juice up at the angora sweater David Hasslehoff calls his naked chest, I found myself taking note of a nearby clock that showed I had already wasted forty-five minutes attempting to down the first sixteen ounces. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I conceded that indeed, I could not. I dumped the remains down the sink then rushed…