True Intolerance is Genetic

Monday, March 8, 2010 | 5 Comment(s)

I'm having a crisis folks.  I have an epic blog that has been formulating in my head for the past 4 days or so.  But I am just not in the right mood to write it yet.  So once again I will defer to my "feelings" (pussy), and elaborate on why I'm such a grump McStinkface.

When I was a kid, we're talking like little-league baseball-aged (i'm not sure what that is in "cricket" years), I used to absolutely love the shit out of ice cream. Again, this alone isn't ground breaking, but you'll understand it's importance in a bit.  There was one soft serve place in particular named Jilly's (Gilly's? I obviously paid more attention to the product than the vendor--priorities) where I would try to con cheat or cajole someone to take me numerous times a week. I think the fact that I was a scrawny little 70 pound toothpick with arms helped my cause in getting repeat visits.  The "Flurry," which contained both soft serve ice-cream AND 2 toppings all blended together, was the grand prize.  When I hit a triple (or should I say my one triple) in a baseball game, I got a Flurry.  If I had a Flurry in my hand, something had gone right for me.  I miss Flurry's so bad.

This love affair continued without interruption til about my sophomore or junior year in high school, when I would start to get headaches after ice-cream or cereal.  While annoying, I was so deeply in love with my dairy queen (hehe) that these headaches were ignorable.  But, being that Jilly's had plenty of variety, I switched to frozen yogurt, and the headaches went away.  Problem solved.  Until senior year when the headaches came back with their friend "doubled-over stomach cramps."  Any of you ladies who have had a good ol bout of period cramps can support me when I say that severe cramps can REALLY ruin your day.  The difference, however, between my cramps and lady cramps, is that mine was followed with 3 hours of toilet time.  Explosive toilet time.  Toilet time that left its 'exit' resembling a dog's chew toy.  Not cool.  Bur I ignored it (I really friggin loved ice cream).  It happened again.  I ignored it again.  I distinctly remember that the 3rd time this fiasco unleashed from my body as the time that broke me.  We had rented a movie and I missed the entire thing upstairs on the shitter.

I'm lactose intolerant folks.  A Lactard.  And it's not going away.  It was only late in my college career that this affliction affected enough rich people that they made a drug (Lactaid) to help us lactards digest dairy like you normal folks.  And for the past decade or so, as long as I moderate my intake, use the pills, and avoid aged cheeses (they are more lactose-rich), i've been fine.  Long story short, gas I can handle.
hilarious comic from

For whatever reason, my body's changing again (I feel like one of those books for 13-year-olds. "Why is my body changing mommy?").  The last few times I ate cheese that I probably shouldn't have (last night it was fresh mozzarella), my body has been severely reprimanding me.  At least that's how it feels.  It starts about an hour after eating with a searing pain in my side.  This pain-baby grows and grows until its kicking in my entire lower chest and stomach area.  And there it boils.  The middle of my body locks up in pain just to remind me how stupid it was to eat a fucking panini with mozzarella when I know better.  It's like having an internal school marm (sic) just giving you "the look" for hours on end.  And what's so horrific about this time is that while I am in a great deal of pain, that pain is not pushing up nor down.  It's sitting there.  It's teaching me a lesson.

Four hours after that (so if I ate dinner at, let's say 8, it's now 1am) the pain gets so great that I must release.  And, since I can't stick a finger up my butt and make myself poop, it's coming out the other way.  And it does.  For an hour. Maybe an hour and a half.  I crawlled into bed around 2:30am still doubled over in pain, but drugged up enough to pass out by 3.
creepiest milk mustache ive ever seen.  I have know idea who "Bert" is.  But he will haunt me dreams.

Today my stomach has been talking to me all day.  A growl here, a rumble there.  While talking to the participants in our lab study today, it gave out such a moan that it sounded like I had farted while giving instructions.  Awesome.  Mature.  Professional.  I'm thinking of getting my stomach-stapled as retribution.  I need to show my stomach whose boss around here (tony danza?).  I fear, this plan may be misguided.  I will give it a bit more thought.

More generally, I'm just disappointed that it had to come to this.  The shits made sense to me as a consequence of my lack(tose)adaisical-ness.  Vomiting?  That's just inappropriate amounts of convulsing.  "Slow your roll!," my insides.  Chillax.  Settle down.  Seriously man, settle down.  I can't take much more of this.


  1. I totally want to get Bert printed on a t-shirt so I can share the creepiness I felt with the rest of the world. I'm just sayin'.

  2. I think this blog would be lacking if I didn't include THE STORY about our trip to get ice cream. For the readers: one night, after a nice sushi dinner Matt and I decided we wanted fro-yo. As we stood in the grocery store frozen food aisle, out of no where appears a walking Haagen daz commercial. An African American male, about 6'2'' in stature, with an ear to ear smile walks up and says "you looking for ice cream?" We tell him we were, in fact, deciding upon a flavor. At this point he starts raving about Haagen daz cocoanut pineapple. This isn't a simple "hey, this is a good favor," this was a full blown advertisement. "I don't even like pineapple, coconut, or ice cream, but this shit is the bomb. This shit will rock your night. I urge you to buy it." etc. etc. Matt and I are shocked at this stranger's enthusiasm, so we had to get a pint, just 'cause. Wherever that man is today, I'd like to thank him, because that shit did, in fact, rock our night.

    Matt, if you can't have this anymore, I will personally staple your mean mean tummy.

  3. @ninja. turns out he's a professor at Cornell or something. So IM the asshole once again. But that doesn't mean I'm taking it down :)

    @becky. I believe the man's final lines were "Hey if you don't like it, you can totally blame me. And that's fine because, you won't ever see me again." I'm almost positive this guy was Jesus, or at least Elijah.

  4. @Becky, conversations in your house must be more entertaining than a Sunday afternoon watching reality TV! I love to hear things like the Jesus-slash-Haagen Daz guru and it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside to know strange things such as this don't just happen to me.

    @Matt - I would totally leave it up just because he was insane enough to take the pic. Good call!

  5. @Ninja just for clarification, becky is not my gf, just a "g" and a very good "f" (hehehehehehehe), but conversations at her house have often been epic nonetheless.