Dude food lesson No. 4: French fries are basically a vegetable

Another morning, another protein bar and coffee. Yawn. (By the way, if you haven't picked up on this yet, according to dude rules, breakfast is the least important meal of the day.)

At lunch I hit up the food truck parked in front of our office. The chef suggests I order Cali burger, which is loaded with bacon and blue cheese. It's literally the size of my head. I reluctantly agree to a side of fries and immediately regret wearing a form-fitting pencil skirt. After I soldier through (most of) my burger, I spend the rest of the day contemplating the consequences of unzipping my skirt at my desk. I decide it's not a conversation I want to have with HR.

Miraculously, by dinnertime, I'm able to stomach more meat. Also: more fries. (For those of you keeping track at home, this is the third time I've had fries this week and -- spoiler alert -- it's not the last). Turns out, for guys, potatoes are a totally acceptable vegetable -- even when julienned, fried, frozen and reheated. This is the point where I first start to fantasize about eating green things. I'd kill for a nice kale salad. Hell, I'd be tempted to eat even iceberg lettuce straight from the bag, potato-chip style.

Calories consumed: 2,763
Time spent preparing food: 20 minutes
Current mental state: Panicky. (I really need some greens, y'all)

Dude food lesson No. 5: You can add meat to just about everything

When a coveted grilled cheese food truck rolls up this afternoon, I feel a pang of longing for my old eating habits. Normally I'd gravitate to something a little fussy, like a gruyere melt and dainty a cup of tomato soup. But today I select the most overstuffed sandwich on the menu: The fully loaded grilled cheese, which features sharp cheddar, pulled pork, caramelized onions and a healthy serving of macaroni and cheese stuffed between two buttery pieces of bread. I can practically smell the machismo (or maybe it's just the barbecue sauce?). For good measure, I order a side of tater tots and some ranch dressing for dipping. When I return to my desk after eating, I swear I feel my arteries start to shrivel.

I've started to notice that I'm falling into a cycle of intense but brief fullness followed by violent hunger, and I wonder if the lack of fiber in my diet is the culprit. For dinner I make three-quarters of a box of spaghetti for myself. To my surprise I eat every last strand and still go to bed hungry. This probably had something to do that the jar of meat sauce I purchased turned out to be meat-flavored rather than filled with any actual meat. Maybe it's the hanger talking or maybe I'm turning into a monster, but I am incensed by the existence of a product that tastes like meat, but doesn't contain it.

Calories consumed: 2,645
Time spent preparing food: 12 minutes
Current mental state: Somewhere between angry and uncomfortable

Dude food lesson No. 6: You can buy food from any place that sells it -- no matter how shady

During my penultimate day of my dude diet, I take a few cues from Andrew, an editor at our brother site CraveOnline.com and junk food savant. He points me to two unlikely food sources.

First up is 7-Eleven, where I attempt to mimic Andrew's typical breakfast: A maple bar, a bear claw and a cup of coffee. In a moment of non-dude-like fussiness, I grab what appear to be the two least manhandled pastries from 7- Eleven's picked-over, Plexiglas case. I leave with a pink frosted donut that would have made Homer Simpson salivate and a slightly squished chocolate éclair. The "cream" inside the éclair is disturbingly gelatinous and sticks to my throat so much, it almost activates my gag reflex. Breakfast is so sickeningly sweet that the bitterness of my burnt coffee is a welcome palate cleanser.

Lunch comes from Home Depot. Or, to be exact, a tiny hot dog stand nestled between the store and its parking lot -- a gem that had previously eluded me. The smell of sawdust mingles with that of grilled onions and meat. I order two jumbo dogs. They smell better than they look. To add insult to injury, the rest of my team enjoys fresh sushi bowls as I test the elasticity of my innards with more processed food.

Impressively, breakfast and lunch combined set me back less than $10, but the real cost is to my productivity. Between the morning's sugar spike and my post-lunch bloat, I find it impossible to concentrate. I almost feel like I'm nursing a hangover. Late in the day I choke down a piece of birthday cake out of politeness, and it puts me over the edge. I need a nap. Thirty minutes before quitting time, I beg off early.

Tonight's frozen fish filet dinner and fries do not go down easy. As I doze off into an uneasy, meat-sweat-disrupted sleep, I wonder if I can make it through my last day.

Time spent preparing food: 22 minutes
Calories consumed: 2,641
Current mental state: Does puke-y count as an emotion?

Dude food lesson No. 7: Don't be a hero

Earlier this week I bought a package of bacon that I'm determined to eat. I've never in my life felt so ambivalent about the crackling sound of sizzling meat or bacon's hickory-tinged aroma. I dig deep and manage to polish off eight slices, plus eggs, that, if I'm being honest, are probably about half shredded cheese.

By lunch I'm full of dread. Until now, I'd been looking forward to today's Arby's lunch. As a teen I'd drive to the next town over just to satisfy my Big Montana cravings (a habit I kicked once I developed an adult metabolism and a little nutritional self-awareness). Under normal circumstances, I'd relish this rare guilty pleasure. But today, I am a broken woman. I glare at the gray layers of meat nestled in the plush Arby's bun You've got this, I whisper to myself, attracting one fast-food worker's quizzical look.

Afterward I can't entertain the idea of eating for several hours. I stare at the TV and will my stomach to digest. When my hunger pangs return, I know it's over. I reach for my phone, and instead of ordering a large meat-lover's pizza as planned, I demand that Siri connect me to the nearest vegan restaurant. Within an hour my dinner is at my doorstep: A quinoa power salad.

"I'm a quitter," I moan to my husband, mouth full of bell pepper, avocado and fennel. He kindly reminds me that men eat vegetables too as he tucks into his bowl of Cap'n Crunch.

Calories consumed: 1,797
Time spent preparing food: 15 minutes
Current mental state: Utterly defeated

Total calories consumed: 16,063
Average calories per day: 2,295
Total time spent preparing food: 103 minutes

So, what did I learn from this reverse cleanse? Did the countless pounds of meat awaken my inner ruggedness? Put hair on my chest? Force me to man up?

Short answer: meh. Aside from the four pounds I gained and spray of pimples that appeared across my cheeks, I don't feel like I changed. The not-so-surprising takeaway from this little experiment is that if you eat like crap, you feel like crap.

However, there is something to be said for a diet that values efficiency over all things. I spent less than two hours total on meal prep, which had I been able to muster the energy to do more than languish in front of the TV, could have been a boon to my to-do list.

Plus, I've gained a newfound appreciation for fresh, un-fried, non-meat foods. And at the same time, filling my plate with edible untouchables (calories, fat, grease) has been liberating. It was thrilling to eat the foods I regularly deny myself. Even when taken to the Nth degree, it didn't kill me to indulge. Going forward, if I want a hamburger instead of a salad, I'm going to order the damn hamburger. #Yolo.