So I have just come to terms with the fact that I just might be......lactose intolerant. Oh the horror. Apparently, I consume a hell of a lot of dairy. Or dairy is in just about everything I eat. I'm not sure which it is yet. Will let you know once I discover a world free of bloating and swearing. (Side note: Never ask a woman if she's pregnant. She might be lactose intolerant and making bad choices that day. Things may get violent. This has been your Public Service Announcement brought to you by GoFuckYourselfCheeseEaters.)
One thing I do know, the day I thought I came to terms with lactose intolerance is the day God decided to fuck with me. Ben & Jerry's came to my work to give away free ice cream. Sonofabitch. For a second there, I thought they might be stalking me. Like maybe they had some kind of honing system where they pick up the lactose challenged individuals on radar .
No seriously. I didn't get the email about free ice cream till after I saw the truck. Sometimes I get paranoid and, of course, the world revolves around me. And of course Ben & Jerry's would stalk me. Duh.
It's times like these that I'm glad I spent the $12.99 on this beauty:
You'd be surprised at how often I need to look at this at work.......wait.....this is me we're talking about. There should be no surprise there, just look at the damn blog address.
My parents love me and tell me I'm special.
In other somewhat related news....I can still have fun sans cheese. And this fun makes me glad to be an adult. Especially when being an adult means going to adult playgrounds. No, not what you're thinking, get your mind out of the gutter....why do my blog readers have such dirty minds?
Adult playground = table taps! Hallelujah! God does love me!
Say hello to Redline. (Say hello to my non-dairy meal of beer!, beef and grilled veg! on a stick! with potatoes!...which I did not eat...they may have fried it in butter.)
Now, don't let the term "gastrolounge" frighten and/or excite you. It is not a place, as I may have previously thought, where you can eat to your tummy's content then stretch out and take a nap. Lounge = nap to me. But c'est la vie. I can pour my own beer and eat at a slight recline in their booth. ALWAYS CHOOSE A BOOTH. Anywhere. If your belly gets too full, you can lean back and it does not appear that you are carrying a food baby. You're welcome for that Lady-Like Tip Of The Day. Also it means I can sit with my feet crossed under me.
This joint is right next to the Chinatown Metro and has happy hour specials. Which make me happy inside. (Side note: I just thought to myself "I'm so happy I could vomit." If you've ever thought this, you too may have Crohn's Disease or IBS. Welcome to the club, your membership card is in the mail and I can tell you where all the best public bathrooms are in DC --or--- that was just an incredible overshare on my part and in fact you just think crazy thoughts like that...in which case, welcome to my blog. Where crazy thoughts occur at random...or when there's wine involved. Or whiskey.) No Mom....I am not drinking and blogging at the same time. One Corona does not count....okay now it's two, but still.
I do believe that's my cue to exit.