With my inability to cook (aside from my awesome lasagna last night — you’re WELCOME), you think I wouldn’t complain so much when someone else is doing it for me. But I have problems — some would call phobias — about certain foods in public.
But then, last weekend I had a CRAB ROLL IN MY MOUTH by accident. I cannot fault myself, as I am a newfound sushi lover, having eaten regular fish for the first time this past year after over a decade abstaining. Just as I was chewing away at its delightful texture and rawness, AB told me to spit it out.
“You have my crab sushi.”
Thank you, sushi restaurant for combining orders on multiple incorrect plates. When AB told the waiter, he switched out the proper combination of food orders (back in the kitchen).
But he never did bring me a new napkin (or take away my old one… ew).
Thankfully, no bathroom stalls or walls or floors were harmed by projectile vomit or a nervous breakdown as a result with this incident. I’m sure it helped that I was already drunk.
I can’t so much as label this a food PHOBIA, being that it’s an actual ALLERGY (thankfully, not deadly… but doubly thankful that my friend had an EPI-pen on her), but there are certain food items I will stay away from.
JUST IN CASE.
And mostly as my past experiences dictate.
For instance, meat in Mexican restaurants. Caused likely from too many episodes of Kitchen Nightmares, I do not order chicken, beef, fish (and of course, seafood) at any eatery that serves a glob of refried beans and rice on my plate. I opt for yummy, incredibly delicious cheese (and sometimes onions, if not mixed with green peppers) enchiladas. And extra sour cream because I’m dangerous.
To save face, err stomach, if it’s ANYTHING at Yo Rita, I’m eating it. I would seriously even consider the potential shellfish allergy effects. DAMMIT those are some good tacos.
So, when I joined Downtown Pittsburgh Lunch Club this past week, what did I get? Enchiladas with chicken. *puke* Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long for a correct replacement (as I was already starving from the rationing of chips that day).
Speaking of chickens (and their deliciousness outside of a wrapped corn tortilla), I completely lose my appetite if I have to saw/cut/dismember any piece of one with bones. If the chicken is in a scrumptious wing or drumstick shape, breaded and slathered with the best BBQ or buffalo sauce, then I am fine. But I cannot see it in its natural form. Excavating an entire chicken nearly caused me to turn vegetarian.
I also fear buffets. And potlucks. Especially from homes with multiple cats and coworkers with body odor and messy desks.
And I cannot stand the smell of popcorn in public spaces. It smells like vomit. And then you’re stuck in the small theater in the middle row and EVERYONE around you decides that the LARGEST POPCORN for sale is awesome and then you can’t move because then you can’t see the screen because you forget your glasses. Again. NOMNOMNOM — MORE BUTTER!
Excuse me… I have to throw up.
What are your food phobias?
Independent survey results show: ‘Burghers do not celebrate Sweetest Day (including one, “What the frick is Sweetest Day?” Best answer I could receive).
Hopefully these needless card company-created holidays — apparently designed for Ohio and popular for Chicago residents, which is technically a bunch of ex-pat Ohioans anyway — will not cross outside the state border to its east.
East. It’s so freaking weird living east of from where I lived my entire life. I still haven’t quite adjusted to that.
Moving on. AB’s birthday is already competing with this — and Halloween — so I’d rather just select one occasion, celebrate with some beers and maybe a can of whipped cream, and call it a weekend. But I will not let him win at drunk Scrabble.
Most lovey-dovey holiday moments are lame — up to, and including Valentine’s Day, kisses at midnight on New Year’s Eve, monthly anniversaries and spending Thanksgiving with the in-laws pretending ONCE AGAIN to like beets… AND sweet potatoes. And seriously, the Day of Sweets really only meant something if all the cheerleaders in the school and the guy you were taking to Homecoming sent you a Cookie Gram to homeroom, for you to show off like some sort of Pride of Ashtabula High School award. That glitters. And has bubble letters. *puke*
The DATE means absolutely nothing — well, it SHOULD not — to grown adults. And for shame on those who even EXPECT something to be bought/gifted/or shown off to co-workers on that day. If we NEED to absolutely celebrate romanticism (and all of your stupid baby talk), why not choose a completely arbitrary date and go balls out? Oh, there’s an event for that? But you will never take away the St. Patrick’s Day party from these two Irish drunks!
Better yet, use Sweetest Day for its intended meaning — to genuinely spread a little love or joy to those NOT so fortunate.
Like, your single friends.
For those still curious (‘Burghers and otherwise), or whom need to feel enlightened on the origins of Sweetest Day and all its inanity, there’s this info.
Science is awesome.
As many of you Internet and Social Media Whores know, today is National Coming Out Day — a day for allies of the community to ensure peace, love, diversity, solidarity, civil rights and sexless marriages to all.
I’m not here to fight for my piece of the LGBT (and sometimes Q) pie, only that we need equality no matter your sexual, gender or Borne identity. I wouldn’t mind coming back as Jason Borne… you? Add to that, we need more than JUST a day. This is something that needs wholly embraced by the gay or straight (and yes, in between) public no matter the date on a calendar.
Which leads me to an interesting story when we took a visit to South Bend, Indiana this summer. For a friend’s birthday celebration, we hit the local gay bar for Drag Night. It’s a magical night out where rarely does a person feel guilt for making out with friends in public. And you know, some hilarious fun and entertainment. There was the “MC” Drag Queen, announcing the acts for the evening, as well as giving shout-outs to the gay boys, lesbians, transexuals, drunks… shit, even the local roller derby team. But when I called out bisexual — not once, but twice (with a woo!) — I was completely snubbed.
Like, OMG YOU DO NOT EXIST! *Drag Queen death stare*
Be gone figment of my Party Bisexual Imagination.
Outside in the “real world,” it’s a given that there will be eye rolling. Or video cameras. While certainly the least of first world problems, it’s disheartening and sad being dissed by your (supposed) own community. My point being is that there are several tiers of identity, and that your “label” might not correlate completely with mine — what I might identify with, another might find somehow “wrong” or inappropriate.
But shouldn’t this disparity be the beauty of the LGBT community? That we are accepted, no matter what our outward appearance or behavioral experiences (or whomever is on my arm) might display. As far as my life is concerned, I’ve completed my search, attempting to “fit” in somewhere. No thanks to National Coming Out Day (which would have been nice to have when I WAS struggling some 15 years ago as a young adult), it took me YEARS to find a comfortable place and acceptance with my identity. Even as recently as a couple years ago.
Hopefully, if you are struggling, you learn to accept yourself (I sincerely hate to hear that others are facing a multitude of ignorance, bullying and general fear in everyday life) — as I’ve learned that certain approval from others occurs as a result… regardless of the turned up noses in some seriously sexy heels.
By the way, I am a ring-wearing member of this fabulous organization.
It’s when the party begins, so sayeth Sinbad.
It’s also a decidedly nerdy day. Did you know that I have a binary tattoo? I mean it’s only fair that I post that today of all days.
And that’s all that I got, being that I stayed in bed until 4 pm because of drinking 5-6 stupid beers last night. Or that damn Pumpkin Bomb. My brain is still mushy.