Let me start by saying that I'm not really fat per se but at the same time, I'm carrying around at least fifteen pounds I could afford to lose and when I recently tried to convince my doctor that perhaps it was muscle mass (from working out at the gym) that was making me tip the height to body weight chart on its ear, he felt my bicep and dryly said, "I don't think so." And while I'm not a fatty boomballatty, I'm not "gay thin" either. I was in LA last week hanging with what I lovingly call "My LA Gays" and let me say that I look like the Star Jones "before" ad and they look like the "after" (if you know what I mean) although none of them have had "medical intervention" (read that blog here...Star Jones Please Please Go Away) I had heard that when Beyonce was getting ready to do Dreamgirls she had decided that she needed to lose weight so that she could look more like gay thin icon, Diana Ross (which anyone who knows the musical, knows that while there are similarities, it is NOT the story of the Supremes although Baby Love, it's a fabulous musical) so she went on this lemon water with maple syrup and cayenne pepper fast and lost twenty pounds. I thought, perfect right? I read about it and found out that it's really called "The Master Cleanse" and after getting the supplies, I was all ready to start. So this past Friday morning bright and early I made my lemon water and drank it all day, by 7pm that night I would have eaten the sofa. Thus my story, my 12 hours on the Beyonce Lemonade Diet - Don't Get Me Started!

The real idea behind the supposed cleanse is to rid your body of toxins, give your colon a cleaning out (like your closet in spring) and give you a clean slate as it were to begin to re-toxify yourself all over again with the environment around you when you're done. On my recent family vacation my sister-in-law and I had discussed it and we were ready to go on this thing come hell or hot water spewing out our ass (remember that it's a cleanse with cayenne pepper - come on what do you think is going to happen?) to be thinner then thin on our next meeting. My massage therapist had gone on it and he had lost nine pounds in six days and said he felt more energized than he ever had in his life during and after the cleanse. I had also read in US Magazine (a publication as truthful as the bible, if you know what I mean and I think that you do) that one of the Coreys (can't remember if it was Haim or Feldman) had also gone on it and lost over 150 pounds to get in shape for their new reality show. (He could have saved himself, no one is watching that thing and for good reason)

So with all the success stories that were better than Anna Nicole on TrimSpa, I was ready for the adventure to begin on Friday. I chose that day because I was working from home and while I didn't expect major action on the first day, I was taking the precautionary methods that made sense in this situation. Well, it's a damn good thing that I did because approximately one hour after my first glass of the Jekyll and Hyde fluid (and a cup of "Smooth Move" tea that you're supposed to drink with it) I was off to the races (or moving as quickly as I could to the bathroom). I'll spare you the details of what followed next but let me say that it was not pretty and you could hear my yelping for miles like a gay caught in a bear trap in the woods. (And let me say that days after that my stomach and my bowel movements are still not back to normal.)

I drank and shit, drank and shit all day on Friday and stayed away from the kitchen (especially the refrigerator where my guy's famous homemade barbeque ribs and greens were sitting in there in all their deliciousness). I kept talking myself into another glass of the yellow liquid, trying to convince myself that it was the most delicious thing ever, much better than the Popeye's chicken they showed on the commercials on television. Much better than the home cooked deliciousness that was in my own frige. To be honest, much like they say, it's not the heat, it's the humidity...it wasn't the lemonade it was the fact that my ass was more sore than a boy crack whore on Saturday night in an alley going for ten cents a dance (if you know what I mean).

To say my stomach was making odd noises is an understatement. Like a scene from Aliens or an old car going over cobblestone streets my stomach would lurch and then scream as if it wanted out of my body. All the while, my guy is saying, "I want to be supportive so let me know if it bothers you if I eat in front of you." God love him, he knew I was crazy and doomed for failure but he did try to show his support. Unfortunately I only heard part of his sentence as I was running back to the bathroom at the time.

Finally at 7pm having drunk all the lemonade that I was supposed to for the day, my stomach screaming like a chick in a horror flick being chased by a killer in a ski mask, and my ass so sore that I thought I'd spend the rest of my life sitting sidesaddle, I had to end my cleanse, my fast, my stupidity. I went right for the ribs and greens and boy were they delicious.

Look, I know that I need to eat less and work out more (or eat seventeen small meals a day and jump on a mini-trampoline while I'm on conference calls all day in my office or something) but I just haven't been able to do it. My heart (or mouth in this case) just doesn't want to do what my head knows it should. However, now that I've seen yet another quick fix the celebrity world tried to sell us is not in fact any sort of fix at all (disclaimer - for me) I'll resign myself to trying to get to the gym more and eating smaller portions to lose the fifteen pounds.

Let's face it, if I'm really honest with myself, it's not like Bill Condon (director of Dreamgirls) is waiting for me to lose the weight to have me star in his next film, or VH1 is waiting for me to lose the weight to go on some bizarre reality show that no one will watch anyway because I'm still the "Greatest Never Was Been There Ever Was" so as long as my guy loves me and my cats enjoy "kneading" on my extra stomach fat that's the way it's going to have to be until I can motivate myself to stay away from the Oreos and get on the elliptical again and again and again.

There are no quick fixes for us normal folk, it's all a lot of hard fucking work and the sooner I realize that, the better. Sure if I had Oprah's chef cooking for me or Michael Thurmond (from Extreme Makeover - love him) working me out or even one of Beyonce's entourage wiping my sensitive ass during the process I guess I could stick to a plan but I'm sure that Oprah would tell me that it's really my inside that needs the fixing (mentally) before I can lose the weight and has nothing to do with all the assistants in the world fawning over me and telling me I look fabulous when I drop six ounces. So hey, I tried to be a celebrity but during that twelve hours I felt less like a celebrity and more like Morale from A Chorus Line when she sings, "I felt nothing, I'm feeling nothing and he said "nothing" could get a girl transferred. They all felt something but I felt nothing except the feeling that this bullshit was absurd." My 12 hours on the Beyonce Lemonade Diet - Don't Get Me Started!

Read More Scott @ www.somelikeitscott.com