Posts tagged personal narrative

-Weird-ass gluten free frosted flakes (They’re not Grreeeat!)

-Weird-ass low lactose ice cream (yep, that stuff I talked about a while back… I found a better flavor, okay?).

I used the ice cream as milk for the cereal. I basically ate air and sugar.

BUT! Before you point fingers at me and laugh when I get the dia-bee-tuhs, it was all for a very good reason! Apparently, if I reintroduce small amounts of lactose into my diet, I will eventually be able to eat dairy foods. My current dream is to be able to eat that Jimmy Fallon-flavored ice cream (some people want to be astronauts. I want to be able to eat Ben and Jerry’s). I figured that I should stick to boring, easily-digestible food while introducing foreign foodstuffs to my belly. I don’t want my stomach to go bananas (while eating a banana? I’m really tired/not sure why I’m writing this. Leave me alone!).

The other day, I thought I’d go full into it, and eat cheese pizza. I hadn’t had cheese in literally four years (I am a freak/there was a year-long vegan phase in between finding out milk was making me a hunched over like some sort of salty sea wench/lactaid tastes like vanilla-flavored chalk, and makes everything taste like dust— though that might be because I have that whole Flying Dutchman damned/undead thing going on?). Anyways, I bought a slice of gluten-free pizza from a nearby cafe, almost bit into it, but then chickened out and popped some free sample of non-flavored generic brand lactaid (yum!) before chomping (thus rendering the food experiment useless).

The pizza tasted like a rubber tire. I almost cried. I’m really hoping that it was just terrible pizza. I used to love cheese! Could it be an acquired taste? Or is everything just awful? Is it sad that I avoided dairy for four years, only to attempt eating it again because I want to know what late night television infused ice cream tastes like?

I’ve done this eating ice cream for dinner a couple times over the past weeks, and I’m only suffering from slight malnutrition and toothlessness (via sugar rotting my face)!

Though I have done laundry many times in my life, I had never used a laundromat before. In college, my parents lived in town, so I would go home for two hours on the weekend as a nice way to catch up and save a hundred dollars in quarters per year. In the two weeks I’ve lived in New York, I’ve worn most of my clothing, and since it’s been extremely warm, and I’ve been walking ungodly amounts (I have become the sweaty kid who shows up everywhere red-faced and out of breath), it’s not an option to sneakily wear clothes more than once without washing them (because not only would I be the sweaty kid, I’d be the stinky kid, too). So today, I lugged my Santa Claus bag of clothes to Extreem Kleen (I’m not even joking, that’s what it’s called), and got to laundering (not in the criminal sense).

I shoved all of my clothing into one washing machine, because separating  clothing is for nerds/I just noticed that most of my clothing is covered in crazy flower prints (which deserves to be its own color family). Laundry.

An old lady stared at me for twenty minutes while I drew a picture of a dog driving a smart car (I guess I was entertaining her), and hey presto! The laundry was done. I started to pull my clothes out of the machine, when I noticed that a lot of it was strung together by neon yellow elastic thread. It was caught on buttons, wrapped around dresses, and connected several items of clothing. I attempted to pull a shirt out, and two dresses came out, bobbing slightly on the elastic. A stretchy neon yellow bandeau (like a tube top that you can wear under things to keep it modest/or I guess I could wear it alone, if I wanted to blind the world with my ghosty whiteness), had started to unravel and caught on, well, everything.

I do laundry all of the time, and this never happens! Ever! Of course when I’m in a public setting, I become a side show attraction. I had  to try to undo the crazy knots by ripping the thread with my keys, as an old man watched, and made clucking noises.

Throughout my life, there has been a weird trend of things happening to me that are so bizarre, that if I were to see them in a movie, I would complain about not being able to suspend disbelief. What am I going to do in a city where crazy seems to be the norm?

When I was really little, my family lived in Florida, where cockroaches were impossible to escape. When I think of my former home, I do not think of oranges— I think of snakes, terrifying bugs, lizards, and alligators. I remember going to the mall with my family, where an exterminator company was putting on an exhibition (which in itself is bizarre, but wait, there’s more!), and had a tiny race track set up under a glass cage.  Little cockroaches with colorful stripes were in a jar, and passerby were told to choose one to sponsor. I chose the cockroach with the green stripe, and watched as a man dumped the jar onto the track. The  cockroaches kind of stood in a mass, and then wandered around. Mine happened to skitter to the finish line, and the man in charge jokingly said that I got to keep the cockroach. I think I almost started to cry, when he gave me my real prize— a giant inflatable cockroach pool float. It was highly realistic and terrifying. After my family got home, my dad inflated the giant roach with an air mattress pump. As soon as it was full of air, my brothers and I jumped on it, immediately squashing it.