_________ December 30, 2015 __________

The Great Gluten Rant

Well, I got all the pictures off Lydia’s phone, camera, and my camera from the Indy trip.  Brian took nothing on his phone, Aaron left the crack-phone home, and Isaac didn’t bother taking any pictures, either.  Made it a LOT easier than the U.P. trip from May (Got that mess down from 2000 to 1200 to 800 pictures, but it still terrifying to even look at that folder!!!!!).  Just thought you’d be interested in knowing that there are TWO pictures of me that were taken in Indy – and neither by Lydia.  She never took a single shot of me, can you believe that?  She says she doesn’t like taking pictures of people, she likes sky and water, and trees and architecture and animals.  Flowers.  Not people.  What she doesn’t realize is that – six months down the road – when she opens the file and clicks thru the photos?  It’s “nice… meh… okay… tree… meh… nice… that’s just sky… blah… blah… *PEOPLE!!!*”.

She’ll learn.

Anyhow, the pictures my guy took of me (and I was aware of it, yes, because he commandeered the new camera from me to do it) were terrible.  First one was a ‘Touchdown Anna’ shot at Notre Dame.  Hold your pinky finger up to the screen, just now.  See that fingernail?  It’s taller than I am in the picture.  Brian has not yet discovered the zoom feature on a camera.  I can blow it up and get an only-semi-fuzzy picture of me, but honestly, would you want to see *that*?!    And the other picture was “Laundry Bag Clad Anna *AFTER* a Day at the Zoo”.  Now… it’s confession time:  if my hair comes in contact with *ANY* humidity?  It turns into tight little coils.  In the back, it’s not so bad – because it’s so dadgum long, the weight pulls it down in to pretty gold waves, all the way down my back.  But in the front, where there’re bangs?  Have you ever seen a poodle?  Yeah, well,  that’s me.  My hair goes “SPROING!”, and it’s just mayhem.  Not to mention hotel laundry bags are NOT flattering, and he knew that – that’s why the rat-fink insisted on the camera, in evil delight, naughty boy.  He *wanted* me at my worst.  The only reason I kept it was because I’m not looking at the camera, and the boys are with me in the shot.

See, I have this theory:  You can either have fun, or be pretty.  Both don’t happen at the same time.  And I’ll be dadgummed if I’m going to sit on the beach and miss the fun trying not to get my hair/make-up washed away.  Yes, I look like a complete drowned (and chubby) rat.  Yes, I have a plastic sack over my coat.  But my camera stays dry under the plastic, our zoo map didn’t sog apart before we were done, and I wasn’t a shivering, wet mass of yuck – and we STILL had fun.  So if you think you want to see me when we’re out, you’re wrong.  It’s not pretty, but then, I’m mostly hamming it up, anyhow.  You have to have gotten that vibe from me, by now… no?

As to losing weight – I’m of a mind that being thin at our age is a bad thing.  It comes from people-watching.  When women hit forty, they either look haggard and thin, or jolly and plump.  (Or fat n’ food-stamp-y.  Or totally tatted and trampy).  << I’m *RUDE*, aren’t I?  It’s true, though.  That’s why I only want to lose 45lbs, total.  It’s still fleshed-out enough to be NOT skeery.  Because when I look at my counterparts – the women my age walking around…?  They’re either plump and happy, or thin and snotty.  The thin, snotty ones think they’re awesome, but without fat stores to smooth things out, their hands get vein-y and lined, their mouths get pinched, their skin doesn’t lay nice.  And I’m thinking at this age, only a small loss is the best place to be.  Personal opinion, of course.

This is probably TMI, but I’ve also come to appreciate men with a little meat on them.  It’s probably Brian’s fault (he cheerfully put on a boatload of sympathy weight with each of my pregnancies) – but holding someone soft is a LOT nicer than holding someone bony.  (I have bony kids to test this theory on – I wasn’t going out and squeezing marathon runners to test it, btw!)  I’ve just started realizing that people would rather cuddle up to a pillow than a bag of coat hangars.

Rebekah texted me, yesterday.  Said that she needed to remind me that they’re not just Gluten-free.. they’re *CORN* free, too.  Did you know there’s corn syrup in vanilla flavoring?  Did you know there’s corn in powdered sugar?  One recipe called for corn starch – the replacement for that suggested on-line was wheat flour… BUT THAT’S GLUTEN!!!!  Homigosh!  I hate people.  I’m playing ignorant on the vanilla thing, but I had to fork out half a paycheck for Arrowsroot – some weird crap I’ll have 99% of the bottle left after this fiasco.  There’s such a thing as gluten-free pizza crust, but guess what’s in it.  No, really, you’ll NEVER guess!!!  Cornmeal.

And I wouldn’t be so pissy about this, if it were legitimate.  But in August, Rebekah told me they were ‘cleared by the doctor’ that they were magically cured of the ‘allergy’… but now one of the boys has been put back on the restrictions, because of his behavior.  You read that right – this is about behavior management, NOT an actual allergy.  I can’t imagine how they handle their Bible Study group, when other people bring snacks.  And when they were still not-really-Amish, how did that work?!  They couldn’t afford this crap…!  I’m just… still… totally going off about it.  (The kids were snickering at my total in-store rant, last night.)

The joy of baking is being sucked RIGHT the heck out of me, for the record.  I was going to make *masterpieces*.  I even bought Gruyere, a cheese I can’t even pronounce!  I got minion paper hats and blow-y horns and paper Minion glasses for the kids.  I’m DUSTING the house, today.  It was going to be SO good.  And then… THEM.  I’m never having them over, again… no matter how much my cousin Steve wishes we could get together.  They’re too high maintenance, and just plain aggravating.  I can’t make ANYTHING!!

My innards are in a bunch.  And it’s likely going to get worse.  Wanna know why?  Because I have to put on a happy, “oh, no problem!” act for them, and it’s LYING, and there is *nothing* in this world I hate more than fake people and their lies.  And this whole thing is making me into someone I don’t want to be.  THIS is what comes of being hospitable and from reaching out to others.  *Sting!*  Being anti-social and introverted and sitting in my own little hole is FAR less stressful and easier and better than having to be FAKE.  (One night.  Just one night, and it’s only half a night, at that.  And then it’s over, and it doesn’t EVER have to happen again.)

Okay.  I’d best scoot along.  I’ve food to work on and a house to whip into shape for people who will only be here until 7pm, anyhow, and won’t even have known the angst they put me thru for their uber-short stay.  No, I’m done now, really.  😉  Can’t you tell?  << Just wait until I get in the kitchen, this afternoon.  I’m going to need death metal on the stereo to get thru it.  R’something.

At least it’s snowing.  ((((( ❄ ❅ Snowing!!!  ❄ ❅)))))   😀  🙂  😀  🙂
Alright.  Going.  Have a good day!

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