Yarn and Beer

…you remember the video from 3 months ago?
After tweeting it to EVERYBODY at least once a week, Neil boosted my effing signal.

I’m super excited that I FINALLY got through… but also now I’m freaking out because I posted it so many effing times and they probably saw it 3 months ago but hated it and now I seem like a psychotic stalker but I wasn’t sure if she saw it and now omg I cannot breathe please twitter let me delete my other tweets why can’t I delete my other tweets I swear to Dog I am not psychotic and generally use a significantly higher amount of punctuation in regular everyday life but this is not a regular situation and I am unsure of how to handle it.

So it started as a writing exercise, but now I quite like it. I think I’m going to actually finish the dang thing. I would be incredibly pleased with any constructive criticism (don’t be afraid, I’m a big kid), and you can email it to me at sjoyce87ATgmailDOTcom if you prefer. Here it be!

Chapter One: In Which I Subject You to Background Information and Claim to Enjoy Your Company

John was a normal man. Absolutely textbook, but not unexceptionally so. There was nothing particularly interesting about him, and he liked it that way. He enjoyed his regular cereal breakfast with a mundane cup of coffee, went to his humdrum job in an insipid office, and came home to his average apartment every night for a prosaic frozen dinner. He delighted (although not too much) in the clockwork that was his normal life.

Now, dear Reader, the reason the thesaurus has been copied and pasted into the above paragraph is very simple. There are many ways of describing just how Normal a Normal person can be, and just how Boring their Boring lives can be. At many times in our own lives, we find ourselves quite unapologetically Normal, even if we were not so the week prior. There are also very many ways in which a person might come to be classified as Normal. I would explain this to you further, but that is incredibly Boring and I like you far too much to subject you to that sort of torture.

Most of us find being Normal or Boring to be both a Very Good and Very Bad thing. On one hand, Normal people have a significantly easier time finding gainful employment. However, Normal people are also very easy to overlook. Everywhere one turns, one finds a crowd of Normal people hustling and bustling by. It is far too difficult and far too Boring to keep track of them all, and is decidedly easier to simply forget them once they are out of sight, ignore them, or pretend they are all the same person walking past repeatedly.

Despite the downside to being Very Normal and Very Boring, John enjoyed his accidentally meticulous schedule. He was never surprised by anything, which was Very Good for him because surprises gave him indigestion. But he had very few friends, save Very Normal newspapers and television programs. He had no lovers, save his Very Normal porn collection, which he hid in a Very Normal place (incidentally, this was the same place he had kept it when he was a teenager. It did not work out particularly well for him then, but now that he had grown to the hardly ripe age of thirty-something and lived alone, his mother was very unlikely to find it again). Even as a child, John had no aspirations as silly as we have all had. I’m not sure about you, but I very much wanted to become a tiger when I grew up. John had no such desires. He was far too Normal. I would explain to you what he looked like so that you may picture him in your mind, but the man you have already imagined is exactly John. There is no need to explain such a Boring and Normal man.

Now, Reader, I regret to inform you that you have been lied to for quite some time. Personally, I have heard the phrase “The one unchangeable certainty is that nothing is certain or unchangeable.” Firstly, although this is quite nit-picky and I apologize, this phrase is negating itself. Secondly, our dear Boring friend John proved this to be untrue. It is very silly to think of this phrase from the start of the universe to its finish, as our lives are extremely short in comparison. It is far more useful to think of it in shorter terms that would actually fit in our heads. Although the date and season changed around him, everything in John’s life was the same from one day to the next. He was still subject to gravity, and the world moved around him just the way it ought. I would agree, however, that it is nearly impossible for the periods of imagined or unimagined certainty in our lives to remain so indefinitely. And that is, for John, When Things Went Very Wrong. That is when John started noticing things he was not meant to. That is when John’s antacid budget tripled, and he almost had to pick up a part-time weekend job to cover it.

I know you expect to get to the end of this book and find that everything worked out, John’s life was better than before, and he learned the value of being Not Boring occasionally. This isn’t that kind of story.

But I’m not a man-hater.

I mean, some of my best friends are men.

(I need to come up with better snappy come-backs. How else do you show how ridiculous it is without resorting to absurdity and humor?)

I tweeted at Amanda Palmer. That’s probably the first thing I’ve ever said to her, and she’s probably got such a flood of those tweets that she’ll never see it. I don’t even care. I’m just glad I did it. I’ve met her several times, and each time I am absolutely speechless. I just hand her a different pair of pink sneakers to sign, giggle like I’m high, and then shuffle off somewhere else before I make a bigger fool of myself. This image is from the True Colors tour, many years ago, an amazing number of hair colors ago, just moments before an epic shuffle-off.

(Not shown, Brian’s sexy talented mug)

I am always amazed by the creativity she inspires. What she produces, what she brings about in others. How she manages to surround herself with amazing people, and how they just flock to her. Amanda, you’re my fucking hero.

You defined so many years of my life. During my anti-depressant years, Girl Anachronism was my anthem. Gravity was my apology to the world around me. I wrapped your voice around me, someone so able to speak the words I could not.

And then, after a long period of lurking, I joined your forum. I met so many amazing people there… and then I met (some of) them in real life. One of them brought me a tray of dairy-free brownies (which I ate with my hands during a Dresden Dolls show), and told me all about Monument Avenue in Richmond. Inspired me to quit smoking (didn’t work, sorry). One of them offered me a roof, and a shoulder. Many of them offered me kind words during every hard time in my life. And Amanda inspired that in them. Without her, I would have never met them.

I am still depressed that I couldn’t get you to sign my pirate underpants at one show… security kicked us all out juuuuust before I made it to you.

I am Captain Dangerpants/dangereuxmortelle/Danger Girl from theshadowbox, and I am proud, honored, floored, and absolutely amazed to have been a part of this.

I just witnessed Amanda GETTING naked.

As opposed to already BEING naked.

Or having dressed after being naked for any given period of time.

That’s my money well-spent. I can’t wait for this album.

(Also, damn Neil. You and Boyfriend are kindred spirits. Both unable to keep your handses off the boobses, regardless of whether or not they are covered in balloonses)

So, yeah, I have a food allergy. And it sucks. I am allergic to milk. I am grateful every day that it’s not a nut allergy or a gluten allergy, but it still leads to a lot of really irritating situations, and being poisoned. One of my biggest pet peeves is when I say “I’m allergic to milk,” and people reply “Why don’t you use lactaid? One of my friends is lactose intolerant too, and that works for her.” No. NO. I am not lactose intolerant, I am allergic. Completely different response. I am also grateful that my reaction is not as bad as a nut allergy. I feel fine for a little while, then I get very very tired and develop a migraine. If I was only dosed with a little bit of milk, I sleep it off. If it was a normal amount, the migraine gets worse and worse, and then I develop an overwhelming sense of impending doom. Yes, that is a symptom of anaphylaxis. After that, my throat and chest tightens, I get massive hives on my neck, chest, stomach, and arms, and then I puke my life out. Usually at that point, the doomy feeling turns into a deep depression, and I curl into a ball and cry until the migraine subsides.

So, yeah, it sucks, but it’s not life-threatening. But the confusion that most people have is that they believe that lactose intolerance=allergy. So they don’t take it seriously. Usually people tell me “oh, god, I would have just killed myself if I couldn’t eat ice cream.” Yeah, thanks.

I’ve developed my own system. I can cook and bake better than most housewives, and I can make my own version of just about anything. I made a lasagna that was literally the best lasagna I’ve ever eaten in my life (keep in mind that I developed my allergy on my 19th birthday). But every now and again, I like to pretend like I’m a real person and can eat at restaurants. My system has allowed me to pin-point which restaurants would spell death for me and which ones would be safe, but not with extreme accuracy. For example, if I’m on top of things, I can eat a cheese-free pizza at Papa John’s. And even though Indian restaurants use a ton of sour cream and cheese, they understand “vegan” more than most English speaking restaurants. I typically go to Chinese, Thai, and Korean restaurants because I know they’re safe. Sushi, on the other hand, is not. Even when I get a roll that does not have cream cheese in it, I still end up puking. I’m not sure why, I think they might soak the fish in milk. I usually avoid milk-laden places because I feel it is my responsibility to choose restaurants wisely.

So I have a little zone around me. I know what I can eat at various fast-food restaurants, and if I go through the drive-thru, I always double check my burgers to make sure they didn’t put a piece of cheese in there. Fast-food doesn’t allow a lot of time for accuracy. They almost always get my order right… except for one lady up in MA that called me a “stupid American” for asking her to remake my burger with no cheese. She initially just pulled off the piece of cheese, but it had already melted partially to the burger. No-go. I assure you, I didn’t say a word. She didn’t know I could understand her.

When I leave that zone, I’m almost always paralyzed with fear. And here’s why. I went to a new sandwich joint near me (Jimmy John’s), and I explained my predicament. The cashier wasn’t sure, so he asked one of the other workers, who was lactose intolerant. She actually had the allergens for each bread memorized. So I ordered my sandwich (the poor cashier was programmed to ask if I wanted cheese, he was so embarrassed), and the cashier asked if I wanted to grab a bag of chips or a cookie to make it a meal. I love cookies, so I grabbed one to look at the ingredient list and said “oh, no, it has butter in it, I’d better do a bag of chips.” And he said “butter has milk in it?” If it hadn’t been for the other worker, I would have immediately asked to look at the ingredient list myself.

I went to an extremely fancy microbrewery in Pittsburgh the other day. So incredibly fancy that they had bison steaks on the menu (for over $30). Usually, fancy places are the best bet. Since everything is made in-house, the chefs always know what’s up, and can usually make something on the menu safe or just make something off-menu. Usually they come out, and I get the chance to grovel at their feet for being so kind. I didn’t have a problem, really, but they didn’t want to think about anything that day, and suggested I get the only vegan option on the menu. I’m not vegan, and I really did not want to eat a chunk of polenta for dinner. So I asked the waitress to double-check on the jambalaya. She came back and said “there’s no milk in the jambalaya, but there is butter.”

The next day, before we started the long trek back, we got lunch in a burger joint. The waiter grabbed a manager, who explained to me that there was no milk in the bread, but I should skip it so they wouldn’t be liable just in case. I told her that I wanted to pretend to be a real person for a minute, and she said OK. I jokingly said to my boyfriend “watch it come out with cheese.” And wow! No cheese. But the bun was buttered.

Now, keep in mind, these things don’t stop me from tipping. If a waitress runs around for me more than a “normal person,” I tip more than 20%. I was in a restaurant that was so busy that I was surprised to see a waitress at all, and she made sure my food was safe. Because it was so busy and she went above and beyond (although she had someone else bring out my food and they didn’t know whether or not she had checked it, so I just sat there until she could come back and tell me it was safe), I tipped her 50%. And I understand that a lot of this stuff is preprogrammed. I don’t get offended when people ask “cream and sugar?” or “what kind of cheese?” But I do get irritated when I’ve finished my whole plate of whatever and the server comes out to ask “hey, is whey made of milk?” I know I could sue, but that just seems ridiculous to me. Mistakes are mistakes. I’m not going to die, but I’d rather not tip someone if I know I’m going to spend the better portion of the night with my head in the toilet.

I understand that it is not a normal occurrence. People with food allergies tend to hole themselves up and never go out to eat out of fear. But the rate of food allergies is climbing. Little kids with nut allergies want a goddamn happy meal like everyone else. I can’t explain to you how much I almost kissed my waitress in a semi-local local-source restaurant when she brought me a vegan cheesecake. If you don’t feel comfortable, bring out the ingredient lists. Admit to your customer that you’re not familiar. It makes me feel a lot safer when my servers bring out the lists, and I usually take a minute to point out what is safe and what isn’t. People with food allergies will be thankful.

Take a minute to look at the ingredient lists of what you eat every day. I’m not asking you to avoid milk so you can “see what it’s like,” but if you become aware of the things you’re putting into your body, you become a god to people like me.

Hopefully they’re all like me, and will tip you enough to cover for the rest of the assholes you have to serve that day. That’s a rant for another day, really.

If you have a food allergy too, you know what it’s like. But if you’re only tipping 20%, you’re not tipping enough. As someone that is very very poor, I know that it can be irritating to suggest that you should have to pay more to eat in the same places as a “normal person.” But keep in mind that you are causing your server to run around more, and that extra work and extra attention should be rewarded and paid for. If you can eat in a place that has their ingredient lists online, you don’t need to tip extra if you’ve done your research. But I highly suggest tipping at least 30%. Tipping well for a job well done will encourage your server to look into more things that you can eat when you’re not there, or will encourage them to at least do some research on their own so they can help you more readily when you come back. Don’t expect that. Encourage it.