Step 1: Make a paste out of herbs. Step 2: Rub it on your face. Step 3: Who's a pretty princess?

The Crohn's truck ran me down. Then it backed up, ran over me again, went forward, hit me again, then sort of parked on my head. Then the driver lit a cigarette and the whole truck went up in flames.

I'm not going to go into details. Is anything as boring as people complaining about their health on the internet? No. I would rather have to take the SAT every day for the rest of my life than rerad someone whining about how brave they are because they puke a lot.

Did I mention sometimes I puke? I am so brave.

The upshot is that, without "commitments," "a job," or "a greater life purpose," I've got some pure, undistilled blogging time. What fun we're all about to have! I'm back!

Please do stay tuned.

The raspberries would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for you meddling kids

I gchatted a friend of mine. Three lines into the conversation, she drops this:

guess what? I went into anaphylactic shock a few hours ago. Apparently I'm allergic to raspberries now


Hells yes, you are! 'Cause bodies are the worst. Can I get an "amen"?

This is what a badass she is: she called an RN friend of ours and described her symptoms through wheezing; had the friend call in an epi pen for her; picked up the epi pen and stabbed herself at the pharmacy, all in one fell swoop.

Healthy people just don't get to do this kind of "Mission Impossible" shit.

My triumphant retur--wait, I had a blog?

My friend Bulwyf (not his name) had cancer and painstakingly blogged every treatment. He is a man of many talents; when I met him, he was a "Top Gun" enthusiast and amateur quilter. Who knew he was also a science nerd and a pretty solid writer?

Once again, acute illness is the rock tumbler that brings out our true brilliance! 

Thanks, "genetic risk factors" combined with "environmental triggers"!

Dude did his research. And he went through a lot. If he could keep his blog going, what excuse do I have for falling into a Twinkie coma?

LINGUISTIC MINUTE: did you know that "coma" is Spanish subjunctive for "comer", "to eat"? Fun fact to know, because "comer-ing" is exactly what led me to be chilling at home on a Friday night in my underwear, not answering my phone and cursing my air conditioner to work harder, damn you! 

My (debatable) mistake is your (debatable) gain, though, 'cause I'm back to blogging.

What fun we're all about to have!

Oh, but seriously, go read The Great Monocytic Purge. I've gotta go see a guy about some cookies.

Liveblogging my destruction

This is a total Narrator/ Tyler Durden showdown in my head right now.

Source: theantiroom.com

I have been feeling horrible lately, so I am severely restricting what I eat. I counted, and just realized all I have had today is tea, two gluten-free chicken tenders, and some terrible rice noodles.

I. Am. So. Hungry.

Meanwhile, my body is primal-scream yelling "MEAT!", and the angel on my shoulder is trying to temper its bloodlust: "Well, you have a can of lentil soup in the pantry...maybe that would...kind of...be like... oh, whatever, eat a fucking burger."

So that's where I am right now. And, right now, odds are 60/40 on the burger.

I know! Could it possibly get any more exciting? Stay tuned.
_________

OK, I had a burger. And five tiny beignets. I HAVE NO SHAME.

I went to this tiny bistro down the street, and had rousing conversations with all of the staff, and I danced outta there with burger-shaped hearts and stars over my head.

Kale just doesn't treat me this good.

You cocky bastard.

Social Climbing for the Literally Hungry

Y'all.

In my long* and dedicated** road to health, I have an embarrassing admission. I've been here. Twice.

Source: Ecochick.com

It may as well be called "Organic Bitch!" or something equally Kardashian. Not because bitches shop there--because women shop there on whom the marketing tactic "...just put the word 'bitch' in it, slut-ho!" totally works.

When I go in, and I'm not Caitlin the scrappy ex-Anthro major. I'm Stefffanie, and I pay someone wax my fingers, and I spend unprintable amounts of money on liquid kale. (Just bein' a bitch, y'all! Being downright cunty!)

More than anything, I hate that the tall, thin, and rich have cornered the market on health food. It makes my social-justice heart hurt. Plus, in the moment, it makes me feel like a troll.

But, at least in New York, if you want to eat pickily, you align with the Alphas. Because if you want to specify "no soy, gluten, or dairy, please," that makes you demanding. And if you're demanding and female, there's a word for you.

I guess I'm resigned to it. Though the minute I giggle at a Hedge Fund Manager's unfunny joke is the minute you should shoot to kill. 

*One day and a half
**which is being generous

Eating Actual Food: Take Fifteen

As of roughly 1pm today, I'm back on the "eating better" wagon. (I'm writing it publicly so it might become true.) Girl cannot live on Swedish Fish alone.

Plus, if I can get off all my toxic meds, maybe I'll only get "cancer of the torso" instead of "cancer of the everything." A girl can dream!

Plus, the more kale I eat, the more I weaken Terrence's life force. It's true.

If you believe in fairies, clap your hands! (It distracts Terrence from his Xbox.)

Really, I think we can agree this is a win-win-win situation.

So far, "3/4 of a day" down! Only "a lifetime" to go.

.....

Ugh, fuck. Where's a "depression cake" when you need it.

Greek Chorus

Y'all, right now the teenager in my head is winning so hard. And he sucks.

What a little shit.

When I gently remind him that we need to do things, like "shower" or "get on the train", he shrugs me off. Then I have to stand between him and the TV, unplugging his Xbox and throwing his clothes in his lap, panicked at how late we are. He hates that. He calls me unprintable names and then I have to wrestle him to the ground and put him in the goddamn shower, because, so help me god, one of us needs to go to work.

The thing about Terrence (his name is Terrence) is that he's very persuasive. And Terrance is wearing me down.

Today I started off full of great intentions. I made some hippie tea and did some yoga! Today was gonna be an adult day starring adult impulse control!

Then good ol' Terrance stomped in, and demanded a coffee and a latte and a bunch of candy and some leftover Indian food, and, well, I caved. I'm just too tired to fight him.

Now Terrance is back in front of his Xbox, slack jawed, and I'm canceling plans to stay in and nurse my sick stomach.

Don't you "shush" me, Terrence. You're the worst.