I’ve lived in L.A. long enough. It’s time for me to embrace the culture, become a part of the cliché. I’m going on a juice cleanse.

This will be my own personal “Heart of Darkness,” my Apocalypse Now. I’m about to descend into madness. Only my obsession won’t be Kurtz, it will be fitting into my wedding dress. “Bridezilla” is sort of like mad cow disease for humans, and I’ve caught it. My wedding is a little over 3 months away. It’s time to go big, go hard or go home (*insert lots of other sports references here.) I just want to weigh what my driver’s license says I weigh. And for my face to glow in a way that is difficult to achieve with the amount of salt and fried things I consume.

I’ve never done a cleanse before, mostly because I keep strictly to an infant’s schedule of eating every two hours in order to survive. This is a real dad joke, but I’m going for it anyway because it is grounded in deep truth: There is a picture of my face next to the definition of “hangry” in the Urban Dictionary. The logical part of my brain thinks I should have purchased a straight jacket. I called my mom yesterday and told her not to speak to me over the next three days; if she chooses to call, it is at her own risk and I cannot be held liable for what I say.

I’m ready to juice all the cellulite out. In three days, I’m going to look like this. (That’s how this works, right?)

{Photo courtesy of the most depressing Instagram feed of all time}

Question: Can you juice a cheeseburger? My friend Jason says yes, that’s what a Vitamix is for. But I checked the juicing rule sheet and this is all I’m allowed to do:

{Is crying because you miss food so much part of the detox process, too?}

A small part of me is worried I am going to die. Literally, truly die. I know that sounds melodramatic and gross, but I read in Women’s Health that your body goes into starvation mode after 4 days and so 3 seems to be cutting it kind of close. And I really don’t want to be the jerk who died from a juice cleanse. (And if I do, just please know I’m aware of the irony and I hate myself more than you do, OK?) The only upside I see is that I am not supposed to exercise for the next three days. So at least I don’t have to feel bad about not exercising anyway.

Like most of my decisions, I didn’t really plan for this or do much research. Only this morning, while looking for some links for this blog, did I learn you’re supposed to eat a mostly vegan diet for three days leading up to the cleanse, so your body doesn’t go into shock. I didn’t do that. Last night, I ate as much Zankou Chicken (and a cupcake) as I could possibly stuff into my body, hoping it might tide me over for the next three days, like a bear preparing to hibernate for the winter.

I know some people swear by juice cleanses, and some people say they’re bullcrap. Studies have been done saying they don’t actually do anything, and that you don’t actually lose weight on them. But, the most consistent weight loss advice I’ve read is to simply cut calories. And three days of eating nothing but pureed rabbit food has a lot less calories than my normal diet of tacos, wine, fries with ranch and frosting. It may not be long term weight loss, but it will at least kickstart my game plan. And, hopefully, the terrors of the next three days will make me think twice about shoveling macaroni and cheese into my face and undoing everything as soon as it’s over.

Here’s the deal: I think women should be able to do whatever the hell they want with their bodies. I love how Pink responded when stupid people said stupid things about her on the blue carpet at the MTV awards this weekend. I like myself and Tony tells me I’m beautiful 100x a day even when neither one of us can remember when I last washed my hair. But I’m also vain, and was told this pilot season I looked too old to audition to play the love interest of a part played by a 31-year-old actor, and I want to look a certain way in my wedding dress. And I’m also curious if I can actually do it.

Also, Tony said he’d give me $100 if I can do it. Which I plan to spend solely on cake come this Friday morning.