When I was little, I was sort-of lactose intolerant. By sort of, I mean that if I ingested too much dairy in a short period of time, I'd get something akin to a cold. I grew out of it by the time I hit my teens. The same thing happened to my aunt and Fratello (granted, Fratello was allergic to EVERYTHING; milk, eggs, wheat, beans, etc).
Junior year; I had a New Year's party. Just before the party, I had some oreos. But, as always, oreos just aren't as good without milk. So, being a daring individual (because I generally don't drink milk, it tastes funny), I poured myself a glass of milk. It tasted a bit funny, but Mater said it was fine, so I drank it. It turned out to be TWO. WEEKS. EXPIRED. I spent all of New Year's Eve with the porcelain god.
I don't drink milk anymore. Fucking evil cow juice.
Senior year; Sorella and I were left home alone for a weekend. Being unconventional, we decided to get smashed alone instead of with a large group of people.
[Just a note - Rum is NOT your friend. Captain Jack Sparrow is lying.]
Anyways, I drank enough to puke my brains out. Sorella, having a bit more experience with booze, was unaffected. In the middle of the puking, I got a call from my (now) ex-girlfriend. She was pretty straight edge, so I told her that I had eaten expired yogurt. We later fed Mater the same story when I wasn't feeling well when she came home.
I didn't actually eat any yogurt. But I did develop a generalized taste aversion* to yogurt.
Tonight; I had a milk shake from Friendly's. It was a damn yummy milkshake. While I was in the bookstore, it only made my stomach uncomfortable, like I ate too much. The moment I went outside to listen to the Mc'lovins play, I became so incredibly nauseous (Pater later explained that heat speeds up bodily functions). I went home and threw up my milkshake.
Clearly, dairy has something against me. I don't understand why. I really hope I don't get an aversion to milkshakes now.
Wander safely,
Arc.
*Psychology term - Generalized Taste Aversion, discovered by Dr. John Garcia, occurs when someone (or rather, an animal) associates a certain feeling or taste with a food. Because I was thinking of yogurt when I puked up my liquor, the thought of yogurt now makes me nauseous.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Lack of Title is Lacking
I think these last two weeks are the time of death or something.
On the fourth of July, my (almost) 94 year old grandmother died. It's been a long time coming, but it's still really sad. I miss her tons, although I don't think it's really hit me yet that she's gone, and I'm reminded why I dislike Catholic churches. She was a hard core Catholic until the end, so she would probably be pretty happy with the service. Me, on the other hand, my idea of religion is dancing around a maypole.
As said by the post below, one of my kitties, Moustafolees, died of kidney failure.
Now, my other kitty, Riddle (yes, he was named for Tom Riddle. I got him for Christmas when I was in sixth grade), is missing. We've had to keep him outside for the last few weeks because he was peeing in the house, and now he's gone. I really hope he's not dead.
You know, I wonder if he was peeing in the house in protest to dying and Harry Potter winning. You never know. Granted, I'm pretty sure Riddle doesn't even know his name, but hey...*shrug*.
Happier notes! My Goddess Mother ceremony happens next week! One of my favorite women in the world is going to take up vows to be the Goddess Mother of Sorella and I. A Goddess Mother is pretty much the same as a God Mother, but because I follow a religion that recognizes a God and a Goddess, I would have a Goddess Mother and a God Father. However, there is no man I wish to name my God Father right now.
Mater went to Vancouver for a week and a half, and I'm proud to say that Sorella and I didn't burn down the house, need to go to the emergency room, or suffer from malnutrition, all of which were completely possible. When I stop and think about it, the least likely of those three to happen would be burning down the house. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Sorella has a sort of love/hate relationship with the emergency room; she doesn't like it there, but she keeps needing to go back. And, as most young adults, we're lazy as all hell about food. We figure things will look more appetizing if we're more hungry, there's no need to put in effort to find food just yet.
But, otherwise, all is well in the land of Arcaine (even if this post is late. And incredibly uninteresting. Whoops).
Wander safely,
Arc.
On the fourth of July, my (almost) 94 year old grandmother died. It's been a long time coming, but it's still really sad. I miss her tons, although I don't think it's really hit me yet that she's gone, and I'm reminded why I dislike Catholic churches. She was a hard core Catholic until the end, so she would probably be pretty happy with the service. Me, on the other hand, my idea of religion is dancing around a maypole.
As said by the post below, one of my kitties, Moustafolees, died of kidney failure.
Now, my other kitty, Riddle (yes, he was named for Tom Riddle. I got him for Christmas when I was in sixth grade), is missing. We've had to keep him outside for the last few weeks because he was peeing in the house, and now he's gone. I really hope he's not dead.
You know, I wonder if he was peeing in the house in protest to dying and Harry Potter winning. You never know. Granted, I'm pretty sure Riddle doesn't even know his name, but hey...*shrug*.
Happier notes! My Goddess Mother ceremony happens next week! One of my favorite women in the world is going to take up vows to be the Goddess Mother of Sorella and I. A Goddess Mother is pretty much the same as a God Mother, but because I follow a religion that recognizes a God and a Goddess, I would have a Goddess Mother and a God Father. However, there is no man I wish to name my God Father right now.
Mater went to Vancouver for a week and a half, and I'm proud to say that Sorella and I didn't burn down the house, need to go to the emergency room, or suffer from malnutrition, all of which were completely possible. When I stop and think about it, the least likely of those three to happen would be burning down the house. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. Sorella has a sort of love/hate relationship with the emergency room; she doesn't like it there, but she keeps needing to go back. And, as most young adults, we're lazy as all hell about food. We figure things will look more appetizing if we're more hungry, there's no need to put in effort to find food just yet.
But, otherwise, all is well in the land of Arcaine (even if this post is late. And incredibly uninteresting. Whoops).
Wander safely,
Arc.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Magical Mrs. Moustafolees
Thursday was a very sad day.
When I was in fourth grade, someone dropped a box full of kittens in the parking lot where Mater worked. She managed to catch this adorable little calico kitten and brought her home, much to Pater's annoyance. This little kitten grew up to be a beautiful, rather fat, cat. We called her Moustafolees from the play Cats. I know we spelled it wrong, but that's okay; it made it more her name.
She was a great cat. She liked to hang out near us if we were on a couch or bed. Her tummy would dust the ground when she ran. She loved to be petted. If we started petting our other cat, Riddle, she'd watch us expectantly, waiting her turn. We called her Stafa-lump a lot.
At the start of this week, she got lazier than usual. She started laying around the house in unusual places and didn't really acknowledge our presence, when she'd normally look up and demand love and affection. Thursday morning, Mater took her to the vet.
Moustafolees' kidneys were failing. Mater was given the choice of a very expensive surgery that only had a 50% chance of helping her, bringing her home and letting her die slowly on her own, or putting her to sleep.
So Thursday morning, Moustafolees left us. It sounds cruel, but we put her body out with the trash. We didn't do it because we didn't care. We loved her dearly. But our trash gets burned, and we thought it'd be a nice thing to turn her body into energy, so she could always be with us.
Blessed be, Moustafolees. We'll miss you so much. I hope your Summerlands are everything you could ever want.
Wander safely,
Arc.
When I was in fourth grade, someone dropped a box full of kittens in the parking lot where Mater worked. She managed to catch this adorable little calico kitten and brought her home, much to Pater's annoyance. This little kitten grew up to be a beautiful, rather fat, cat. We called her Moustafolees from the play Cats. I know we spelled it wrong, but that's okay; it made it more her name.
She was a great cat. She liked to hang out near us if we were on a couch or bed. Her tummy would dust the ground when she ran. She loved to be petted. If we started petting our other cat, Riddle, she'd watch us expectantly, waiting her turn. We called her Stafa-lump a lot.
At the start of this week, she got lazier than usual. She started laying around the house in unusual places and didn't really acknowledge our presence, when she'd normally look up and demand love and affection. Thursday morning, Mater took her to the vet.
Moustafolees' kidneys were failing. Mater was given the choice of a very expensive surgery that only had a 50% chance of helping her, bringing her home and letting her die slowly on her own, or putting her to sleep.
So Thursday morning, Moustafolees left us. It sounds cruel, but we put her body out with the trash. We didn't do it because we didn't care. We loved her dearly. But our trash gets burned, and we thought it'd be a nice thing to turn her body into energy, so she could always be with us.
Blessed be, Moustafolees. We'll miss you so much. I hope your Summerlands are everything you could ever want.
And we all say
Oh, well, I never! Was there ever
A cat so clever as
Magical Mrs. Moustafolees!
Wander safely,
Arc.
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