Tonight, UNABLE TO STAND MYSELF, I took myself out to Chipotle, a pretty reliable place for gluten-free food as far as I know. I've been craving the cheesy spicy meaty mmmmm for a while, so I figured, why not.
The thing is, food isn't what it is in your mind. When I went back on gluten for three weeks to get the Celiac blood tests done, I made a list of everything I wanted to eat in that time -- a list I won't even try to reconstruct because it was so very incredibly singularly Dionysian.
But as I hacked away at my list, I found most of the foods weren't as good as I remembered. Most were like, huh, I used to revel in this? Even a glazed donut from Dunkin did not stand up to memory -- the most essential item on my list. Here are the three things that actually tasted as good as I remembered:
- Cheddar SunChips
- Orange Milanos
- KFC anything
So at Chipotle today, eating the cheese and sour cream that will make my tummy owie tomorrow, of course it was the same thing all over again. Like, yeah, this is good, but it's not changing my life. It's not even changing this moment of my life.
Before I went gluten-free, I didn't care about what I ate. Fuel, that's all that mattered. I was fine with whatever it was as long as it was easy, and I often didn't eat much anyway. Having to change my diet -- and having my diet echo in my pain -- has made food a huge figure in my life, a celestial object, and yet now more than ever I know that food isn't ever what we think it is. We unknowingly ascribe to food hope and celebration and release and reward, but the food itself can't ever measure up to the meaning behind it.
(Unless it's KFC? That 11th spice -- meaning?)
Topic #2 is harder to write about because I know my family read my blog. Well, my parents don't (even though I invited them to SUBSCRIBE BY EMAIL...no, I don't get it either, but at least they read when I DIRECTLY ASK THEM TO READ AN INDIVIDUAL POST, I THINK. Anton, you told me I'm never passive-aggressive -- does this count?), but my aunt does, and my cousin(s?), and this is a subject I just haven't talked about with ANY of my family, ever. But if they're okay listening, I'm okay talking about it.
No, I am not coming out as gay. For starters.
But sexuality has never been a binary thing to me -- never, not even as a kid. I remember my first sexual fantasy, before age 8 -- it was a threesome, two girls and a guy. And, for accuracy, it wasn't actual sex; it was more like sexy overtones. HOW a 7-year-old gets that idea in her head, I have no idea, but I guess these things seep into children's minds somehow.
I feel pretty evenly attracted to guys and girls. And here's a fun fact: when I was on Prozac a few years ago, not only were my moods cycling every few days, but my sexuality was cycling too every day and a half or so, and exclusively: one day it was NO BOYS, EW EW EW, and the next day it was NO GIRLS, EW EW EW. Go figure that one out.
I'm sure someone could find a way to call me a homophobe for thinking my sexuality oscillated when I was on Prozac, but I've been called a homophobe for even more loosely related statements... If Prozac can bar you from orgasming (and it can), I see no reason why it can't cause you to reinterpret turn-ons.
Anyway, I've never dated a girl (though I have done other things with them). I'm not sure if it's by social custom or what -- I've had crushes on girls, but very few of them have panned out to something more than fleeting interest. But really, it doesn't trouble me too much because I really, really like guys as well, and they take up more than enough time.
My mom once told me that if I were gay, she'd feel bad because my life would be "harder." I think what she meant was the way society is about homosexuality right now, but when I think of my gay friends, my main concern is that their dating pool is so much smaller than mine. I want them all to end up with the loves of their lives, and if I'm having trouble, AHHHHHHH on their behalf.
My dad just commented on the Facebook quiz I took that called me a tomboy (0% girly). Says he, "I think we may have failed you." At first I thought he was being serious.. Then I thought he was joking. Now I just don't know. Because I've never felt judged by my parents for my level of girliness, but in the summer, he does tell me I should get a pedicure.
I'm rambling, but I DO have a coochie-pain point: lately, as I've grown ever more wary of the penis (or the penis-thought, even), I've been lamenting my outside-the-gay-community life. I hope that doesn't sound stupid -- opportunistic, in a way; based on my condition. Because it isn't. I think I'm just getting to the point where, on top of saying every other truth about my body, I can say this one too. To everyone, not just close friends -- because I've whined enough privately about not knowing where to meet girls.
Like, I was watching House last night, seeing Thirteen drown her sorrows in other girls, and I was so jealous. So jealous. No, I'm not looking to be a sex addict. My friends used to call me Samantha (of Sex and the City) but a recent Facebook quiz told me I'm Charlotte. Things have changed. My coochie's made me less flippant about sex if only because I have to protect her.
And I was never Samantha anyway. I'm always just the least prude of everyone around me, except when I'm around John and Hannah. I love you guys; you make me feel average!!!
Sorry I keep name dropping (lol). I just need to purge this to sleep and I'm not really editing.
POINT: I don't know how to meet girls, and it's getting me down. And I don't know how to meet guys either, so of course I don't know how to meet girls. And overall, I'd just like to feel like a sexual being again on a regular basis and not just during a serendipitous episode of House or when a beneficial friend passes through town (maybe I'm still Samantha...Samantha Somewhat). I'M 29 AND I'M NEVER GOING TO BE THIS HOT AGAIN. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.