I love that this place is called Newport News because they seem to have never gotten any information. WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA! No, it’s fine. Actually, I wouldn’t really know because I haven’t seen anything out side of the airport. I’ve noticed that people do that sometimes: judge a place by the airport.
“Fucking Roanoke sucks man.”
“What part did you go to?”
“No part. Just the airport. Had a layover.”
You can’t do that! I know what you’re thinking, “Roanoke DOES suck,” but that is beside the point!
*SIDENOTE: the places I’ve been to in the Roanoke area, do not suck. Blue ridge foothills: pretty amazing.
My point is my body has turned on me. Not that I think I’m old, but I am at the point where all the awful eating habits I have are really beginning to take a toll. I noticed it last year while having the fortune to shoot a TV pilot in LA. I was chilling at the table with all the free food just imbibing Coke at every moment. My “child” brain gets excited about things like this. “Free Soda! This can’t be true!” It’s the same kind of mind trick that made me have 6 boxes of sugary cereal at any moment during my junior year of college (Cocoa Puffs, Cocoa Pebbles, Fruity Pebbles, Apple Jacks, Waffle Crisps, I have a problem).
Whilst downing my 3rd or 4th beverage that day, I started to feel something very unfamiliar. I just felt big. Like my stomach and sides were just jutting out. I had the thought “I feel fat” for the first time ever. I began describing it to another cast member while in the middle of soft drink.
“Oh, you’re just bloated.”
“Bloated. You feel bloated. Drink some water and when you go to the bathroom you’ll feel better.”
He was right. I drank some water and laid off the Coke. The damage had been done, however, because I KNEW WHAT THE FUCK BLOATED WAS. It’s awful. Women have been feeling this way monthly since they were 12?! Wow, I apologize for everything. I now get where you’re coming from because when I feel that way, it just makes me want to soak my feet and watch Grey’s Anatomy – two things I’ve never done.
I’m also lactose intolerant. I’m sorry – I have lactose malabsorbtion. I’ve recently been told THAT is the correct term…because lactose needs political correctness. Although, I guess it’s true that your body has a problem absorbing enzymes, rather then standing outside a lactose church with torches yelling, “Go back to Lacfrica!”
If you don’t know what it means to be lactose intolerant, let me give you an insiders insight. It means I no longer recognize the smell of my own farts. All my farts are a symptom of my body’s confusion. That’s right, ladies, let’s eat some cheese and spend the night!
Not that I had one fart when my digestion still worked, but I had maybe 5 farts: 5 “go-to” farts. Sure each had their own personality, but they were like a boy band in that they have different styles, but it was still the same group.
FART: That’s the sensitive one.
FART: That’s the bad boy.
FART: That one…seriously needs to come out of the closest already.
Now, every fart is a mystery. Like I said it’s a product of my body’s confusion. It’s like dairy is Calculus and my small intestine is someone who is bad at math. My gas is the equivalent of that bad-matician looking at an equation. Just – “Wow, uh, um, gee, pssh, yeah uh, ffft, guh, ugh, yeah, uh, wow, I don’t know, I DON’T KNOW, I DON’T KNOW!”
Thus my flatulences (that a word?) are unique snowflakes that you DO NOT wanna catch on your tongue. Just nasty and disgusting.
However, if I don’t eat dairy, none of this happens…LADIES?!
*(note: took me over 2 weeks to finish this post.)