Like most of the world, a little over a year ago I had zero gluten knowledge. I knew Elisabeth Hasselbeck had Celiac disease, because I know everything about Elisabeth Hasselbeck, but beyond that I was unclear on what it all meant. Yet, the minute I was forced to drop my baguette and pick up some rice flour biscuits, I threw myself into the gluten-free world of fun. So much fun.
The fact is, if I’d never been diagnosed with the sprue, not only would I weigh about 90 pounds right now and never leave my bathroom, I would also be writing an entirely different blog. Boggles the mind, doesn’t it? In addition to my “Wow, I look great at only 90 lbs!” blog, I’m pretty sure these four blogs would exist right now too.
Saturns Are My Bitch
I hate those cars to an irrational degree. Any time I see a Saturn sedan I just shake my head and wonder if the driver also enjoys white bread toast with margarine and “Two And a Half Men.” My husband doesn’t understand it and thinks I should seek therapy surrounding my Saturn-hate. I think I should probably just blog about it.
Resort Towns Are My Bitch
Don’t get me wrong, I love me a vacation. What confounds me are the people who actually live year round in places like Key West, Martha’s Vineyard, and I would say Santa Barbara but my husband and his family are from there and I swear, this isn’t a passive-aggressive way of insulting them all. (If it was, then it would just be straight-up aggressive, really.) Regardless, my point is, unless you’re in the service industry, how can you stand living in paradise every day? Where do YOU vacation? Detroit? (Again, my friends in Detroit, no hate. After all, I live in Los Angeles.)
Food Trucks Are My Bitch
Actually, I used to love food trucks. But now they just taunt me with their gourmet grilled cheese, Banh Mis, and massive cross-contamination. So I guess this would be a post-diagnosis blog, unless I started blaming food trucks for me getting sick all of the time because I didn’t know about the devil gluten. I could totally see me doing that. Stupid food trucks.
Bitches Are My Bitch
I actually hate the word “bitch.” I know, I’m making no sense right now. But up until this blog, I avoided the word like the plague. And now I will only use it as a noun, never an adjective to describe a lady. I’m fucking classy like that.
What’s Your Bitch?