As I am typing this, I am heaving a very large sigh.
I am gluten-free.
I have not been diagnosed by a doctor with a gluten allergy, but evidence quickly leads me to this particular conclusion.
The reason for my heavy sighs as of this particular moment, is because I took a chance.
I took a chance - and failed.
Kind of.
You see, I have been gluten-free for about a year and a half now, and I usually just don't eat any products that have gluten substitutes. (gluten free bread, baking products, etc. Except I eat so many gluten free cookies. so. many.)
So this past grocery trip, I decided I would go out on a limb and try some gluten substitute items.
Fun fact about me, I LOVE. and I mean LOVE, any kind of bread. Any type of food with bread in, on, or next to it interests me. Except too bad for me though because my small intestine sees gluten and is like, "Yeah, no way in hell, honey" - and I'll stop there.
So I miss my bread.
I got some gluten free English Muffins. Cue Card: MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.
RIGHT!?
Except, wait.
Oh, SORRY. But the package failed to tell me that it would take me TWENTY MINUTES to separate ONE english muffin. ONE. ENGLISH. MUFFIN.
ONE.
So by the time I had my egg all fried and ready to hop into a warm and cozy english muffin, I was still battling the muffin on the counter (that I had just cleaned) and now there are crumbs everywhere and I just don't have the heart to exert any more effort.
So, now, the English Muffin has been thoroughly toasted, and I'm not hungry anymore. Because I was able to cook two whole fried eggs to put INSIDE of the muffin, before I was even able to separate the muffin.
THE END.
cooking sucks.
Monday
Wednesday
What's for lunch?
What's for lunch you ask?
Well, if you MUST know... THESE GUYS!
HA! JUST KIDDING! GOTCHA.
Anyways. I'm actually having a delicious salad at Panera. [Pause for a shoutout to the sweet old man next to me wearing a "STOP, FORREST, STOP" shirt. awwwwwww. Old people]
So... I know I haven't posted in a while. And honestly the only reason I am probably posting this right now is because of sweet Laura Ketola.
TIME OUT TO PROCRASTINATE ACTUALLY BLOGGING ABOUT MY MAIN POINT:
1. I am all for procrastinating
2. that is why I empathize with Laura's need to have something, ANYTHING on the internet to distract her from her actual studies.
3. Among such FABULOUS websites such as facebook and PINTEREST (which I am NOT addicted to... contrary to popular belief), I am proud that she would consider my inconsistent blog a stumbling block of the world wide web.
Thank you, Laura. I truly am honored.
OKAY BUT FOR REAL.
I AM SICK. This in an of itself is a misfortune.
HOWEVER. (catch up time) I live with 5 boys. And no, I am not talking about brothers or dads. I am talking about my 5, grown up, college boy, roommates.
Overall, I absolutely love living in a housefull of boys. There is hardly any drama, they are STILL under the impression that I can cook (I can't, but they make me feel better about that), and they also motivate me to clean...
[Side note; did you know that when boys miss the toilet, you have to clean the UNDERSIDE of the toilet!?!?! GAH. Who knew!?]
But one of the downfalls is this. It may be surprising to you, but I have an obsessions with not wearing clothes. I LOVE being stylish and having wonderful clothes, but when I am home, the pants and bra come OFF.
Now, I'm sure you can image what an uproar this would bring if I flung open the door, welcomed by a couch-full of boys drinking beer and playing Super Smash Brothers, and began to strip. NOT in the sexy way, mind you.
I believe this type of behavior would not be welcomed with open arms.
To conclude this sad little story, I have settled for locking my door, and THEN commence the pantslessness that I call my life. I feel imprisoned by my own need to not wear anything but a shirt. I can't even walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water or to start the coffee without putting on a bra. BUM. MER.
I can't think of any clever way to end this blog entry. So BYE, LAURS.
PS sorry for all the caps... I feel awkward now.
Well, if you MUST know... THESE GUYS!
HA! JUST KIDDING! GOTCHA.Anyways. I'm actually having a delicious salad at Panera. [Pause for a shoutout to the sweet old man next to me wearing a "STOP, FORREST, STOP" shirt. awwwwwww. Old people]
So... I know I haven't posted in a while. And honestly the only reason I am probably posting this right now is because of sweet Laura Ketola.
TIME OUT TO PROCRASTINATE ACTUALLY BLOGGING ABOUT MY MAIN POINT:
1. I am all for procrastinating
2. that is why I empathize with Laura's need to have something, ANYTHING on the internet to distract her from her actual studies.
3. Among such FABULOUS websites such as facebook and PINTEREST (which I am NOT addicted to... contrary to popular belief), I am proud that she would consider my inconsistent blog a stumbling block of the world wide web.
Thank you, Laura. I truly am honored.
OKAY BUT FOR REAL.
I AM SICK. This in an of itself is a misfortune.
HOWEVER. (catch up time) I live with 5 boys. And no, I am not talking about brothers or dads. I am talking about my 5, grown up, college boy, roommates.
Overall, I absolutely love living in a housefull of boys. There is hardly any drama, they are STILL under the impression that I can cook (I can't, but they make me feel better about that), and they also motivate me to clean...
[Side note; did you know that when boys miss the toilet, you have to clean the UNDERSIDE of the toilet!?!?! GAH. Who knew!?]
But one of the downfalls is this. It may be surprising to you, but I have an obsessions with not wearing clothes. I LOVE being stylish and having wonderful clothes, but when I am home, the pants and bra come OFF.
Now, I'm sure you can image what an uproar this would bring if I flung open the door, welcomed by a couch-full of boys drinking beer and playing Super Smash Brothers, and began to strip. NOT in the sexy way, mind you.
I believe this type of behavior would not be welcomed with open arms.
To conclude this sad little story, I have settled for locking my door, and THEN commence the pantslessness that I call my life. I feel imprisoned by my own need to not wear anything but a shirt. I can't even walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water or to start the coffee without putting on a bra. BUM. MER.
I can't think of any clever way to end this blog entry. So BYE, LAURS.
PS sorry for all the caps... I feel awkward now.
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