Celiacs Know Things That You Don't....

Celiacs aren't geniuses. Well, I'm sure some of us are. Maybe the guy who invented the Sauna Pants is Celiac. Sauna pants are genius.

 Sauna Pants are a thing and Mother's Day is coming.

But you don't have to be a genius to have Celiacs. Thank God because if that were the case, I would be screwed. I'm pretty clever, but I'm no Sauna Pants inventor.

I saw a thing on someone's Facebook that in order to have diabetes, you have to have a masters in mathematics and patience. All I could think was, thank god I don't have diabetes. In fact, about 10% of Celiacs have diabetes too. Why? Because God has a sense of humor that's why. I am horrible at math...horrible. I should think that Justin Bieber is better at math than I am and he stopped going to school when he was 7 and before that attended in Oakville so he was screwed to start with. None of the last statement was based on fact or even personal knowledge. I just thought the sentence was funny.

I'm not known for my patience either. Ask the lady at the grocery store on Thursday. She was arguing about the cost of a package of toilet paper. It had been advertised at $3.49 cents and it had been rung in at $3.89. The girl behind the counter didn't have the ability, or launch codes to change the price so she was just going to void the item and ring it in by hand. The lady didn't think that this was an acceptable solution. She felt that they were trying to TAKE her. They wanted to suck her into their store with these fancy promises and then fleece her of her hard earned 40 cents. I had no patience for this shit. I reached in my pocket, pulled out two quarters, and slammed them on the counter. She hates me now.

So I'm glad that I don't have to be patient, a math whiz or a genius to have Celiacs.

 However, there are some things that we Celiacs know that the vast majority of the planet do not. Here they are.....

1) Celiacs has to be diagnosed by a doctor. Not Dr. Strangelove or that douche who wears a "I'm a Doctor, take off your clothes" T-Shirt at the mall. A MEDICAL DOCTOR, preferably a Gastroenterologist. You can not decide this for yourself. If you feel better after not eating gluten, you do not necessarily have Celiac Disease.


2) There are no short cuts, there is no way to be a 'little bit Celiac'. Someone told me once that she was 'basically a Celiac too'. Like we were both had the same parole officer or had the same waxer. Saying that you are 'basically Celiac' is the same as being a clingy little roady slut and claiming to 'basically' be in the band. Sorry, unless Ozzy Osbourne is handing you the mic, you aren't in the band and unless you have been diagnosed by a doctor, you don't have Celiacs. Consider yourself lucky on that one.

3) Gluten does not make you fat. It doesn't make you slow or ugly or give you warts. There is no proof that a gluten free diet helps you lose weight.

4) Gluten can do weird things though. Gluten can give us headaches, and strange brain fogs that make us forget our hair color. Gluten can give you nausea, vomiting, gas and diarrhea. It can give you sores inside your mouth and viciously itchy rashes on your arms and legs. Gluten can effect the growth of a child and the growth of your hair. Gluten is a wily bitch.

5) Gluten is everywhere. It really is. It hides in every restaurant you have ever been to. It is in soy sauce and cereal and crackers and breads. Gluten lives in canned soup and pre-made,,,,anything. Some bacon has gluten in it, most sausages, some cheese. It's in beer and rye and burbon. It's in sauces and pastas and every single convenience food there is. It lives in some ice cream and gummy bears. It's in some makeups and face creams and candy canes. Everything fried. GAH!

6) Celiacs know how to read labels. We read labels on everything. A Celiac can read a label faster than Superman can get naked in a phone booth. We know the long and involved list of garbage that resides in food and which ones of those contain gluten. We know to scan for Xanthum Gum first because if something has Xanthum gum in it, it usually means that it doesn't have gluten.

7) We know how long a loaf of bread has been sitting in the freezer at the grocery store. You aren't getting anything over on us. We know that Udi's should not have icicles or look like a polar bear den.

8) We know you think you are an expert on our disease. We know you are wrong. Please don't tell me what I can or can not eat. Please don't tell me you know how horrible it is because you get gas when you eat red peppers.That must be terrible for you. You poor baby.

9) Being Celiac is an inconvenience. But that is ALL it is. There are plenty of worse diseases out there. We don't have to take a bunch of creepy medicines or pump our bodies full of poisons, we have to cut out gluten and that is something we are actually grateful for every day.

10) We know that Sauna Pants are the stupidest thing we have ever seen and yet we secretly want a pair. See? We are just like everyone else.

Thank you NASCAR

A reader emailed me asking me to respond to the NASCAR ad that will play at the Superbowl. If you would like to see it, watch it HERE.

I also know that lots of other Celiacs are blogging about this issue. One of my favorites, Gluten Dude, has posted an ARTICLE about having the ad pulled. I usually agree with Gluten Dude because he is the guru of Celiacs, but on this one, I have to respectfully disagree.

I think Ron Swansen did us a favor.

He wasn't talking about Celiacs. He isn't making fun of Celiacs. I think he is talking about all the morons in the world who have gotten it into their heads through whatever Pintrest article they read that says that gluten is bad for everyone.

I think he is making fun of them, not us.

Thank you NASCAR. 

(There's a sentence I never thought I would type. Included on this list is, 'I bought new gun rack with the money I earned stripping.')

I think people who don't eat gluten because they think it will make them skinny or smart or have blonder hair or be better at croquet, or whatever the reason of the month is, are soft. I think they are whiners. I think that George Washington would think they are idiots.

And yes, those whiners eat from the same restaurants that I do and yes, they are the reason that a manager said to me, "Don't worry, there was only a little bit of flour in it." Those whiners should be made fun of, mocked, ridiculed and then maybe they would stop doing it. NASCAR just called them out. They pointed at them and publicly called them names. I think they did us a favor.

As far as I'm concerned, the less that Lyndsay Lohan pretends to have my disease, the better it is for me.

Celiac fakers are stunting the gluten education curve more than any Superbowl ad could.

NASCAR didn't say anything about Celiacs and I think we are getting a little sensitive on this issue. I think we, as a community, need to build a thicker skin on this. Anytime someone puts their two cents in about gluten, we all stand up and scream fowl.

Celiacs aren't soft and NASCAR isn't saying we are.

Don't get me wrong, if they had said the word Celiacs, this would have been a very different post. It would have been a lot longer and had a great deal of unladylike language in it.

Making fun of people with a disease is not okay, making fun of self righteous liars is always okay and honestly, that's what I think is going on here.


NOW, LET'S GO WATCH SOME FOOTBALL.

Entertaining side note: Canada doesn't get American commercials during the Superbowl. We have never figured this mystery out. We get all your other commercials during all other TV shows, causing us to get excited about all the cool stuff you have only to realize that we can't get it. Can anyone say Chipoltle? But NEVER during the Superbowl.

An Open Letter to Restaurants with a Gluten Free Menu

An Open Letter to Restaurants Who have a Gluten Free Menu,

Or Gluten Friendly or Gluten Easy or Gluten Sensitive menu or whatever your lawyers wanted you to call it so you wouldn't get sued.

I have Celiac Disease and I'm sorry about that.

I know that sucks for you. I know that it used to suck for me when I was a server and a manager at various restaurants over 20 years - insert obligatory Flintstone joke here..... It's annoying. It's tedious and at times, it feels like a total waste of your labor (and certainly, food) costs. I know that some of you think, I am, at the very least, being dramatic and at the most, a complete raving hypochondriac.

I know some of you think it's fake.

I know you hate it when I come in.

But, and trust me on this one, I hate this disease more than you do.

I hate the way the servers roll their eyes at me. I hate the way the new shift manager, who is barely out of diapers, saunters up to my table, (reeking of Axe Body spray) assuring me that my meal will be gluten free. I know for a fact, that this kid has never been in the store at 8am to witness the prep team do their work, doesn't know who your suppliers are, and certainly has never put on a set of whites and watched anything be prepared on the heat of the line. I hate dealing with him and his 'I know my shit' attitude because he doesn't know his shit and it terrifies me that I am getting the same 'trust me' line that he gives to the rookie hostesses just before he tucks them into his mom's Corolla. I hate telling every staff member who approaches our table that I have Celiacs, prompting everyone eating with us to have a long and involved discussion about my intestinal health.

I hate talking about my disease more than you hate cooking for it.

And here's the thing. I, unlike some of my Celiac compadres, completely understand cross contamination. I know that on a Friday night, asking you to wash your tongs repeatedly or change your gloves, or deal with my meal when you have 57 open tables seems like cruel and unusual punishment. I understand how much of a challenge my food is to cook and therefore, I am ALWAYS prepared for cross contamination. I know that it might happen, not because your BOH staff are lazy shits but because they are busy. They are busier than most employed people are on any given day of their careers. They are so busy that they want to punch their accountant friends in the face when they claim to be 'swamped' at work. You don't know 'swamped' until Mother Day Brunch.

I understand cross contamination so don't insult me by explaining it to me again.

What I don't understand is a restaurant not educating your staff on what gluten is and what foods it is in and what foods it is not in. I don't understand the times when I have ordered something off of your gluten free menu, checked with the server, who checked with the manager, who had the sous chef expo the food to then be served something WITH flour in it. I am willing to risk my gluten free bun touching a regular bun in the craziness of the rush but I will never understand having a glutened item on your gluten free menu. This is completely unacceptable and irresponsible.

I don't expect a Celiac Association stamp of approval meal, I expect, at the bare minimum, one without flour in it. I expect you to know that the tiniest bit of flour makes me very ill. I expect you to understand that there is no such thing as 'a little bit of poison' to you and therefore, no such thing as 'a little bit of flour' to me.

I expect your servers to know the ingredients of the food they are serving. I expect cooks to know that gluten is not a germ nor can it be killed by wrapping the food in plastic wrap for ten seconds.

These are my expectations and I don't think that they are unreasonable. By opening a restaurant, you have agreed to serve the general public and like it or not, I am a member of the general public.

I don't expect you to be experts on my disease, but I expect you to be able to serve me food without flour in it. I expect you to educate your staff on what foods those are. I expect you to have a process in place for handling Celiac food and I expect you to follow that one hundred percent of the time.

I expect this much like a person with a peanut allergy expects to eat something without peanuts in it. Because like it or not....that is how serious Celiac Disease is. Just because I don't have an epi pen, and don't react right away, doesn't mean it's not serious.

I know that Miley Cyrus and the rest of the Hollywood idiots have turned my disease into a joke. The Atkins of the decade. I know that confuses things and if I had a magic wish and  by some cruel twist of fate, was no allowed to wish away my Celiac Disease, I would force everyone who can eat gluten to start eating gluten again. But I can't. So I am leaving it to you, good servers and managers and back of house staff to sort through it all.

I know it's a lot to ask. On a night when you are completely in the weeds and two bartenders are late (and - let's be honest, possibly high), your bussers don't understand the word 'bussing', your lounge servers were just sexually harassed by a skeevy regular and the line just informed you that you are out of fries. FRIES. I come in and start asking questions about your Gluten Free menu.

I hear you. I get it.

And dear God, please know that I am so sorry that you have to deal with this garbage disease with me.

I want to thank you for taking the time you do to make my meal safe. I know it's not always perfect but I truly hope you will try your best.

As a matter of fact, I'm counting on it.

With great respect and a high tip percentage,
I am...
A Freaking Celiac

Cheeky Monkey

Our adventures in Halifax continue. Don't worry Haligonians, I am only here until August so you won't have to put up with my 'aggressive' driving forever. 'Aggressive' here meaning, 'driving the speed limit on a dry sunny day'.

Did you know I used to be a flight attendant? Fact. I was a very good flight attendant but I wasn't allowed to drink on the job so I had to leave and become a stay at home mom and writer instead. These are both jobs which require huge amounts of booze to function properly. I do, however, still know a lot of flight attendants and one of the bonuses of knowing a lot of flight attendants and living in a city far from home is that they can come and visit.

Case in point, Friday night, our friend Marlaine came into Halifax to visit. She is a flight attendant, but Trevor went to high school with her so we have known her for years. She's also in Roller Derby and convinced me to try it when I get back to Calgary. Trevor is hesitant of this plan. I can't imagine why.

We decided to go to The Wooden Monkey, a restaurant in downtown Halifax that focuses on locally grown, organic food. It's menu even has notifiers for meals that are Celiac safe. Think about that. CELIAC safe. Not just 'Gluten Friendly' or 'Gluten Aware' or 'It's Complicated' which is what is on Gluten's facebook page. That's because Gluten is an indecisive whore if you ask me.

The Wooden Monkey actually uses the word Celiac, which is awesome. The only bad thing about it is that I couldn't decide. Usually, I only have about 2 choices on a menu and one of them is always green salad. To be given so many choices was almost overwhelming. I know how Heidi Klum feels in a Victoria Secret now. It was dizzying.

Every single entree was gluten free. PS I suck bags at taking pictures.

I finally decided on the Scallop Pasta. It was fantastic. Like really awesome. The pasta was tender and it didn't have that creepy starchy taste that a lot of GF pastas do. The scallops were good. The sauce was a nice texture and full of flavor. My only disappointment was that I asked if I could have some kind of garlic toast or something because I knew they had GF bread but after checking, the server said that she would have to serve it as a GF bun with butter on the side and garlic in a bowl on the side as well. I thought this odd considering that they served GF burgers and sandwiches that they couldn't butter a bun to go with a plate of pasta. For dessert, they have a tofu chocolate pie which was to die for and I usually despise tofu.

Celiac Safe Scallop Pasta

Service was okay, she was sweet and eager to please. I asked for a recommendation and she didn't really have one off the top of her head. She didn't have a great deal of food knowledge though and had to keep going back to the kitchen to ask questions. We weren't asking hard ones either, I feel that the server should know how the chicken is prepared. She wasn't sure about the desert and had to ask about it too. However, I would always prefer a server go and ask the kitchen than make something up or not give a crap at all.

I was thrilled with the Wooden Monkey. However, Trevor and I don't always agree. We agree more than Tory Spelling and her husband agree on the use of tranny's in a marriage but we don't always agree. Trev was less than impressed with the Wooden Monkey. He had the roasted chicken and a coffee. He was underwhelmed with the portion size of his plate. He only got two small chicken legs on a huge pile of mashed potatoes and the veggies were hiding in the mash. Trev's opinion was that the price was fairly high considering the small amount of protein on the plate. He also had to ask for every single coffee refill he got. Which even I admit, got a little irritating. He felt that for a $3.00 cup of coffee, refills should come fairly regularly. Trevor didn't feel that the portion size or the service reflected the price point at the end of the night.

I don't agree. Again, we don't agree on everything, like how I should be a roller derby superstar or the fact that we should have a married couple secret handshake. We should totally have a married couple secret handshake. We would be the talk of the play dates with something badass like a secret handshake.

We did agree though that it was good to see our friend Marlaine because she is fantastic. I will certainly be back to the Wooden Monkey because I feel like I should try every single thing on the menu but I don't know if I could get Trev to come back with me.

We have since come up with a secret handshake. Trev insisted that it ends with him giving me the finger, which I feel is just his way of giving me the finger for making him develop a secret married couple handshake. He is adamant that it is how all the cool ghetto kids end their handshakes.

Christmas Post 2014

Ahhhh Christmas, it cometh. Like a raging fire or a swarm of locust, the magic of Christmas can not be stopped.

If you have been reading this blog for more than a year, you will know that I have issues with Christmas. Well, I don't have issues with the obese, fur clad man breaking into my home to give the spawn flashy, mind numbing gifts. I certainly don't have issues with a beautiful baby being born under a bright star to an unmarried lady. I think all of that is magical. I even get teary eyed at the Nativity Play and Christmas movies (except Christmas with the Kranks, that movie is shit).

I love Christmas.

I just hate the way we handle Christmas.

I hate the exhaustion in a Mother's eyes when she is standing weary-eyed at the Walmart checkout line because she knows that she has fifteen more stops to make. She also just realized that this Walmart doesn't have the one gift that she needed and that means she has to make a trip to Toys R Us today and she really, really didn't want to go to Toys R Us today because she is so tired she could
literally fall asleep against the gossip magazines right here in the Walmart line and risk having a Real Housewife face imprinted on her cheek.

I hate that she is also dreading the bills that will show up in January and how she's going to stretch the grocery budget next month because hockey money is due and God knows that will be a mortgage payment. I hate the weary facebook posts about baking until 3 in the morning and the writer wearing this foolishness like a badge of honor. I hate the bitching and moaning about who is coming to basically live with you for six weeks over the holidays.

My problem with Christmas is that too many moms do parts of it because they feel like they should do it.

And I hate the word 'should'. Don't 'should' all over yourself. Don't 'should' all over anyone else.

Don't 'should' all over your Christmas.

Here's a crazy thought.....

What if, what if, you didn't do something for Christmas unless you wanted to? What if, you made enjoying Christmas a priority? Think about it. Put down the elf on the shelf and the piping bag and think really hard about that.What don't you enjoy during Christmas? Then, then, after you decide what you don't enjoy, then decide not to do that this year.

Hate making a turkey? Fine, make a ham, buy a cooked turkey, ask your aunt or cousin or mailman to bring a turkey. Instead of being up unitl 3am making Santa themed cake pops from a pintrest recipe, stop at the grocery store and buy them. Hate wrapping the teachers gifts? Have children? Done. Dreading the family Christmas picture? Then don't do it! Or have a friend come to your house and take pictures of you and your family jumping on the trampoline or walking the dog.

Hate all the shopping? Do you have a spouse? Have you asked him to help? Let me clarify this one, I'm saying for you to be vulnerable and turn to him with sincerity in your eyes and say, 'I have too much on my plate and I need your help." This is NOT, "OMG YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HARD BEING A MOM DURING THE HOLIDAYS IS! WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO GET YOUR BOSS HEY? WHAT? FORGET IT! I WILL JUST DO IT, AND EVERYTHING ELSE BECAUSE I GUESS BEING THE DEFAULT PARENT MEANS THAT I'M IN CHARGE OF EVERYTHING!" Stop doing that to your partner in crime. Stop making him suffer for your shitty to do list decisions. He's not going to read your mind and offer to mail the cards. He can't read your mind and let's be honest, you don't want him to. If you ask for help. He will help. It is that simple. Get off your martyr cross, save that for Easter.


I know, I know it's hard to let go of the control of Christmas. We want things done our way. Christmas has become a presentation of status, social standing, wealth and mothering skills and that's bullshit.


Your worth as a mother and a wife is not decided on one day. Your value is not in the sugar cookies or the ipad under the tree or the matching napkin rings made by hand. You are more than your Christmas and if you have people in your life who judge you by your wrapping or turkey basting skills, get them the fuck out of your life. That includes that little voice that sits in your medulla oblongata that whispers evil things to you. The voice that tells you the turkey is dry or the gravy is cold or uncle john didn't really like his gift and the people down the street had better lights. Shut that little voice down.

I say this every year, it's a new tradition. Mary gave birth in a fucking barn. Think about that. Think about your birthing experience with the medical equipment and the staff and the operating theatre five feet away. Think about that and then think about giving birth to a baby who, even atheists will agree, is one of the most influential humans in the history of mankind, and you give birth to that child three feet from a pile of cow poo. After Mary did that, she wrapped that newborn in some spare cloth she found lying around and was still, literally, the happiest woman that has ever had a baby of all time.

There isn't a clearer message about the simplicity of Christmas. It's not where you are, what you are wearing or what you have bought. It's about who is in the room and how much you love them.

The measure of a mother is not in a perfectly set table or a homemade bow. You need to know that. Because everyone else around you already knows that. Your spouse would rather be sitting in a bare house with a picture of a tree taped to the wall than have you break down in tears while putting lights on a blue spruce. Ask him, go on, ask. I dare you.

Your children may say that they can't live without the newest toy. But they are lying, the can live without the toy. They don't want the toy though if it means that Mommy is in hysterics on Christmas morning because the wrapping is making a mess.  They don't want it if you don't want to have brunch for fifty people twenty minutes after they get it. It's true. Don't ask them though because children are inherently selfish and will lie to you in the hopes of getting the present. Adorable little assholes.

You have to decide if you are worth it. And let me whisper something new in your ear, you are. You are worth letting some things go for your own sanity. Do the things that give you joy, that you look forward to each year. If that's making homemade cards, and you have time, do that. Enjoy it. But don't stay up frantic until four am because everyone expects a homemade card from you. Don't do it because you feel you should because that was never the intention of Christmas.

Pick one thing this year that you don't want to do and then just don't do it. The world will not end. Jesus was still born, the fat man will come and you, you, the maker of the magic, the owner of the secrets and the joy and the sweet sweet love from your children and partner, you, will actually enjoy Christmas. You will enjoy the time because you deserve to.

Merry Christmas to All
Love
Laurie

Date Night at the Feast

Let's talk about date night. Date night for those of you who are unmarried folk is a rare and cosmic-like event that occurs once in a eon-esque age in your marriage. Particularly apres children, the likeliness of date night occurs with the frequency of a meteor shower or the sighting of a Kardashian's common sense. It's rare bitches, it won't get better, you won't have a set date once a month, it doesn't get easier.....own that.

Never more rare has a sans spawn night happened than since we have found ourselves in a new province with no friends, family or homeless people to bribe with Lysol to watch our children. The fates somehow aligned tonight for the baby daddy and I to have a night out. Now, I'm not a picky wife. I don't care if we go to a five course dinner or if we go bowling. Both sound fun to me. However, Trev's work was hosting an event at the local dinner theatre and I have to be honest, I rolled my eyes.

Dinner theatre, historically, sucks. Like suuuucks. Sucks like a bear attack when you are drenched in fish sauce. It sucks. It's awful. The acting is always trite, the plots so thin, you could bust it apart with a strong puff of disappointment and the food? Good lord, the food would make a blind, deaf imprisoned seagull turn up it's nose. I have been to some dinner theatres that make you want stab yourself in the eye. Think I'm exaggerating? Picture it, Tina Yothers, ( you might remember her as the oddly heavy, awkward useless younger sister in 'Family Ties'. She only said the quirky lines in response to MJ Fox's perfectly timed ones.) as the iconic Sandra Dee in a non-musical rendition of Grease. It was hands down, the longest, most harrowing, arduous three hours of my life. I found the 'keepsake' etched wine glasses in my Mom's apartment after she passed away. It was disturbing.

And I know my theatre, I love my theatre. I have scripts of plays in my library, I have seen some of the best musicals and independents from front row centre and I know my shit. If my husband really wanted to impress me, he would find an indie  hole in the wall theatre showing 'Death of a Salesman' or 'The Dollhouse'. However, he has basically baby trapped me and doesn't need to impress me anymore. He impresses me when he puts his underwear in the hamper.

So when he told me that we were going to a dinner theatre, I sighed. I wished we could beg off and go get drunk on Spring Garden Road so we wouldn't waste the babysitter.

I say this more rarely than date night....I was wrong.

The Feast Dinner Theatre in Halifax is a rare and wonderful gem in a spectrum of mediocre and downright horrific dinner theatres. We were greeted by our server Page Beauchamp whom we quickly discovered was one of the actors who served us in character. Actually, all the servers were the actors, which was fantastic. They stayed in character the entire time and it was hilarious. Page handled my Celiacs like a pro. She clarified what my concerns were, then darted off to the chef to check it and then darted back to tell me what I could or could not have. I decided on the bacon wrapped scallops for an appy (amazing) and the maple glazed salmon for an entree. For dessert, "Page" (whose real name was Savanna) offered me fresh sliced strawberries for dessert. The meal was good, really good actually. The salmon was a hair dry, but flavorful and tender. The mash potatoes were well seasoned and the peas, were pretty good. The strawberries were delightful and throughout it, the service and the show was beyond entertaining.

The show playing was a "Merry Maritime Christmas". I like to bitch and whine about things but I really can't find anything bad to say about this show. It was bloody entertaining. Granted, there were some maritime jokes that went over our Alberta heads, (I assume you don't want to marry people from somewhere called Meat Cove? No shit, It's called Meat Cove, What they hell happens in the preschools at a place called Meat Cove?) But they were still funny jokes. Like, laugh out load, mouth wide open, slam hand on leg, funny jokes. It was brilliantly written, like a whole series of SNL routines lined up one after the other, The characters that in any other show would be considered stereotypical, were played so well that they were heartwarming. They reminded you of your own family. You see your grandma and your aunts and your goofy cousin who never has his shirt tucked in right. It was charming and funny and delightful.

Then there is the music. Normally, these things are weakly, tone deafly, sung to a shitty track with an 80's high hat beat to them. Not so at the Halifax Feast. The actors are talented. Let me clarify that. They are SICK talented with voices that make you stop and whisper 'shut the fuck up' to the guy next to you. Any accompaniment was played by the actors themselves who rotated through the instruments, it was amazing. The song choices varied from traditional Christmas carols sung in 5 part harmony to 'Shake it off' by our server Page who nailed it while her 'grandfather' danced like a fly girl behind her. Their 'O Holy Night' had everyone sitting, silently, enraptured and teary eyed at the beauty of it.

More than once we wondered, 'why aren't these people famous'? Why aren't they on Broadway? Because they are really that good, that professional, that talented. Meanwhile, they finish belting and dancing to race to the back and appear again with aprons and trays of food all while staying in character. The effort that these people put into my date night was more than either of us has ever considered putting into it.

It was a delightful surprise and I loved every second of it. So for you Haligonians (or people from Meat Cove so you can explain that joke to me) go see the Christmas show at Halifax Feast Dinner Theatre. By the time they get a new show, I will most likely be hankering for another date night.

Meanwhile, Calgary, enjoy the prison-like buffet and Tina Yothers musical rendition of 'Waiting for Godot'.....shudder.

A Worm of Cure....

Is there a cure for Celiac Disease? No. Would I like to find a cure for Celiac Disease? Yes. Have I been sitting, drunk, outside of a McDonalds at two in the morning weeping inconsolably because I could not have the Big Mac that I deeply, down to my soul desired? Did I at that point kick the garbage can with my Micheal Kors pumps, fall down and cry out desperately, "I would do anything to be cured of Celiac Disease!" Maybe....

Did I mean what I said? Would I do anything to be cured of Celiac Disease?

Like many things said outside MacDonalds at two in the morning while drunk on tequilla....I don't know if I meant it.

On the disease spectrum, Celiacs sits pretty damn low on the scale. It won't kill you, unless you eat gluten and get colon cancer and that kills you, which technically means that cancer killed you. You could eat gluten while driving a huge boat and the cramps are so bad you fall onto the wheel, jarring the boat sharply left, run into an iceberg, sink the boat, find a floating door to hang out on until help comes but then Kate Winslet shows up, takes the door and won't let you on even though there is plenty of room so you drown, so technically, drowning killed you, you poorly planned plot flaw.


I do want them (and by them I mean smart sciency types) to find a cure for Celiacs but I'm  not sure how far I would go to help them.

Case in point.....An article in Metro discussed a study done by  Paul Giacomin at James Cook University in Australia where he used hookworms on Celiacs and diminished their symptoms when eating gluten.

You read that right...hookworms. I also read the guys' name and totally thought for a second that he was that actor and I was all like 'wow, I loved you in 'Saving Mr. Banks', how did you find time to act with Emma Thompson and run a Celiac study?' but then I googled him and realized I was totally wrong.

Still, running the celiac study is impressive. Want to know why? Because it involved hookworms.

This reads like a freaky reverse hazing challenge. How baaaaad do you want to be out of our Celiac club huh? Are you willing to have hookworms in your gut?

Let's just discuss hookworms shall we? A little bio lesson for you.

 

These are hookworms. I tried to find something cute to say about them and yet, I can not. This is them, this is it.....yup....hookworms.

 

Hookworms are a parasite that stick their little mouths onto the inside of the intestine and suck your blood until you die, true story.

 

 

 

 

 

This is it's adorable little face....it looks like that thing in Return of the Jedi that ate Boba Fett.

 

Now, I know Celiac's are bad asses, I know we are hard core, life on the edge type of people. After all, every meal out is like Russian roulette, but I feel like this is pushing it...don't you?

 

Let's look more into hookworms.... I will take some excerpts from Wikipedia

 

"Hookworm affects over half a billion people globally.^[2] It is a leading cause of maternal and child morbidity in the developing countries of the tropics and subtropics."

 

But, hell, if you can eat spaghetti in the hospital, why not right?

Who ARE these people?

 

"Larval invasion of the skin might give rise to intense, local itching, usually on the foot or lower leg, which can be followed by lesions that look like insect bites, can blister ("ground itch"), and last for a week or more."

 

'Larval invasion' just makes you think of that weird movie where the bugs mutated into human sized creatures that attacked people in subway tunnels doesn't it? Would I like something called 'ground itch' in exchange for eating a subway sandwich? Ummmmm, let me think long and hard about that one....NO.

 

How did this guy find people to DO this for him? Did he have a 'Celiacs Only' Party and roofie everyone and while they were under, shoved worms up their ass?

 

This one, is my favorite so I saved it for last.....

 

"They mate inside the host (that's you), females laying up to 30,000 (that's thirty thousand) eggs per day and some 18 to 54 million eggs during their lifetime, which pass out in feces (poop). The larvae are able to penetrate the skin of the foot, and once inside the body, they migrate through the vascular system to the lungs, and from there up the trachea, and are swallowed. They then pass down the esophagus and enter the digestive system, finishing their journey in the intestine, where the larvae mature into adult worms"

 

I have to admit, this part has me tipping my intestinal hat to the little bastards. This is dedication to your craft right here people. Read that again, they travel UP the body to the esophagus, to then be swallowed to get into the digestive system. I sometimes won't cross the street to get a meal because I am that damn lazy, look at these little buggers! They really want your intestines....a lot.

 

Have we considered hookworms in the fight against ISIS?

 

 

So, in conclusion, as if I have not made my point clear. I don't want Celiacs but I don't want hookworms either. As a matter of fact, I think that we should find a way to give Celiacs to people with hookworms because everyone in their right mind would take a gluten free diet over having a swarm of wiggling, fanged worms in their intestines. Everyone. I would like to talk to any of the study participants (or survivors as I like to call them) and find out what childhood trauma made them think that hookworms in their gut was the right path on that particular day.

 

 So Paul Giacomn, thank you so much for your extra effort on this one, but I will not be trying you Celiac cure....ever.

PS. You were the only good thing about 'Lady in the Water'