Excuse Me, Is This Gluten-Free?

Shut up and get out of my way, ass goblin, before I cut off your creepy folk music man-pony tail. . . is what I used to say when I heard that question. Now, I've been having so many stomach issues that culminate in choking and throwing up, that I've had to give up a whole mess of delightful foods. I know I'm not pregnant because I sold my uterus on the black market in Mexico, so it had to be some sort of illness or a monkey living in my intestines. For now, until my symptoms go on the decline, I am supposed to avoid all gluten, dairy, soy, high fructose corn syrup, fructose, fructans, polyols, and anything I enjoy eating. I can have bok choy.

Going to the grocery store is annoying and frustrating, particularly when I'm doing an emergency run for a friend who has just broken up with her boyfriend and needs supplies of nacho bites and jalapeno poppers to go with her bottle of wine. You know your duty when a friend has a break-up: you get your hangin' rope out of the closet and you head over with booze and food to do the "process." The process is when you talk about how right she is about everything, how awful he was, and you give her that vaginal validation - or vagidation, that she's better than he was. Thank God he died, am I right? That's what you do. So I went to the grocery store and could not find a single effing snack that my intestinal monkey would approve of, so I settled for a salad and a coconut yogurt and then watched my grieving buddy eat cheesy, glutenous delights that I would genuinely kill her ex-boyfriend to be able to eat.

I shouldn't complain so much because I had an amazing week last week. I went to the Presidential Inauguration and sat 25 yards from the President. Look at his sweet little drone-strike loving face:

When my husband and I got to our seats, we thought we were being punked. It was amazing to see the second most historic inauguration in our lifetimes and be almost in spitball-striking distance from Scalia, that rat bastard. It'll be even more amazing if the President sticks to the awesome promises he made in his speech. I came back to Connecticut to an even bigger to-do when my little sister went into labor and now I have a sweet, cute little nugget of a nephew. I showed up at the hospital while she was in labor with a bunch of butter and my rubber tongs so as not to leave any marks, but they didn't want my help. Better to be prepared, I thought.

Lucky me, is all I can say, as I nibble on quinoa and fantasize that it's frosting.