Dude food lesson No. 2: Convenience is king

If I've learned one thing from my husband, it's to never pay full price for anything. If I've learned two things from my husband, it's that men are ultimately utilitarian creatures. I should be able to feed myself in the fewest amount of minutes and steps possible. That's why my eating plan hinges primarily on convenience and efficiency.

In the morning I wolf down a protein bar. At lunch, I attack my Mexican leftovers (I know, I know, if I were really eating like a guy there would be no leftovers, but I'm still dealing with a limited amount of real estate in my stomach). I snag a bag of Doritos for a snack and decide to order takeout for dinner. So far, so good. I've wasted exactly zero minutes on food prep, unless you count the 30 seconds I spent reheating my lunch

Unfortunately, when the time comes to place my Seamless order, I momentarily lose sight of my mission. Out of habit I order my usual: Pad Thai with tofu. I mourn the loss of an opportunity to have filled my plate with red meat, or even chicken, and I vow to double down on the protein tomorrow.

Time spent preparing food: 0 minutes
Calories consumed: 2,020
Current mental state: Like I've seen heaven and it's full of takeout joints

Dude food lesson No. 3: You can never have too much protein

Today's breakfast is a modest pair of Pop-Tarts, but at lunch sh*t gets real. Lured in by the not-so-subtle tagline, "Eat like a man," I eagerly plunked a Hungry-Man Select in my grocery cart. At two to three times the size of my typical Amy's frozen meals, the box alone is a sight to behold. Then there are its contents.

As the packaging touts, my meal (fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn and a brownie) packs a whopping 41 grams of protein. In smaller print, I read that it also contains 41 grams of fat -- plus a day's worth of sodium. The chicken tastes surprisingly OK. I do my best to choke down the flavorless potatoes and corn (you'd think all that sodium would at least make my taste buds happy). The microwaved brownie is an unexpected high point. But in spite of my manly lunch's sky-high protein count, I find my stomach rumbling well before my next meal. My spirit flags a bit, and I cannot stop guzzling water.

For dinner I fire up the oven for the first time all week. I pan sear rib-eye steak (medium rare, natch) and bake half a bag of frozen steak-cut fries. The Flintstones-esque steak that eclipses most of my plate screams masculinity and brings the day's protein count to about 110 grams -- probably about twice my recommended daily intake. My husband recommends that I dip my french fries in the steak drippings. He's right; it's delicious.

I'm probably slowly crawling down the path to malnutrition, but I can't deny how much I enjoyed dinner. Maybe I'll extend my dude diet for an entire month.

Calories consumed: 2,337
Time spent preparing food: 27 minutes
Current mental state: Cautiously optimistic

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?