My mom had surgery yesterday, a Carotid Endarterectomy. This is a procedure where a surgeon opens the carotid artery and removes plaque that has blocked it. In her case, this particular artery, which carries blood from the heart to the brain, was 90% blocked. It was a relatively quick thing and she was only in the hospital overnight.
Think about that. They cut open my mom's neck, clamped the artery that supplies blood to the brain, cut that open, cleaned it out, patched it up, sewed her up and sent her home the next day. She was up walking around today and is now at home sleeping next to me.
Not long ago, her first symptom from this aspect of the disease would have been a stroke. Because my mom went to the doctor when she was 46 and discovered, through things like ultrasound and advanced x-rays, that she had this issue, she was able to break the cycle in our family history. Heart disease is far too common in our family tree, see previous blog entry titled "Pink is for Boobies" for more info. For almost 20 years after the first diagnosis, she was closely monitored at one of, I would argue THE most, prestigious medical facilities in the world, which happens to be 40 minutes from her house. Earlier this year, they decided it was time to remove this obstruction. A few years ago, they did a similar procedure to restore the blood flow to her leg, giving her the ability to walk my daughter to the park again.
I always say one of my biggest Facebook peeves is when someone says something like "at the hospital, pray for mom," with zero other details. This is partly because of the "look at me, I need attention" aspect of this tactic, but it's also for the easy out people get with this method of helping. Yes, pray for my mom if praying is what you do. But also pray for places like Mayo Clinic and pray for the people who provided such compassionate, human, unique, moving and miraculous care to my
mom. Pray for continued medical advances that let grandmothers watch their grandchildren grow up. Even more than that, donate your time and money to the places that do the research that changes family trees. Might want to think twice about that cheeseburger too, but bygones.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Friday, November 2, 2012
Church and State
Whenever an election rolls around, at least in my lifetime, it seems that the issues which cause such derision are the ones that have to do with religion and sex. Here's why this scares the living dead zombie lights out of me:
1) The forefathers of this country knew mixing religion and politics was a bad idea. It's like mixing business and your personal life or asking a family member to be your power of attorney. It's not a good idea, because emotions and thousands of years of tradition cloud your judgement and inhibit your ability to make rational decisions. We have some faults in America, but being the youngest kid on the block actually allowed us to learn that mixing religion and law ends in some serious mo-fo bloodshed. Using your religious beliefs as a reason to vote or not vote for someone or something means that the rich folks holding the puppet strings have successfully convinced you that religion will play a factor in governing this country, when, in fact, the First Amendment expressly prohibits it. High treason I say! Tantamount to burning the flag.
2) Democrats believe in more laws and Republicans believe in less laws, right? Well, I can't say that I've ever seen evidence of this. I think they both create the same amount of laws, probably not as many as they used to be able to when there wasn't so much bi-partisan bitching. What I've witnessed this year is a lot of frivolous law making in order to scare the piss out of people. Voter IDs, abortions banned unless it's because of an "actual" rape...or not (again?!) and marriage amendments? C'mon. That's like shining a giant flashlight onto vaginas and gay people, far away from climate change and the economy. "Guys, hey, look over here!" "Ooo, shiny!"
********************************************************************************
Now that I got that out of the way, I think we really need to take a deep breath before we walk into that little booth on Tuesday. Regardless of which religion you call your own, remember that this is about LAW, not RELIGION. As long as we keep it that way, we all get to keep going to whichever church we want.
If you don't think gay people should get married, then continue to go to a church that won't allow it, and just don't invite me to join you. Call me when you're done and we can have a beer or something. I hear a lot of people say that this is a personal belief thing and that they wouldn't make me feel bad for my beliefs; we are all allowed to vote whichever way we want, it's true. In fact, I love that about this country! Cheers to us! However, for the record, I hope that if I ever backed a LAW that discriminated against someone because of who they love (something they can't control) that you would, by all means, make me feel bad. Stand up to me. Write a blog post about it. I promise I'll read it.
Now that we're on the subject, boy have the flashlight shiners done an excellent job with this gay marriage thing in Minnesota. I've seen more signs in lawns on this subject than anything else, and I am all for the fervor we've all gotten into over it because when one group is being discriminated against because they're different, we as Americans stand up for them and fight along side them until things change. See: World War II and civil rights. But don't you ever just sit back and say "Wow. Are we really spending all this time and money on preventing consenting, taxpaying adults from...loving each other? sharing a home? starting a family?"
I've said it a few times, but boy. We just had the hottest summer on record. There are people who don't have enough to eat. Rape is still the most unreported crime. And we're worried about our neighbors loving each other and wanting to make it legal? And, I'm off my soapbox. Let's have that beer next Sunday. Because we can. Even if we disagree. That's the beauty of this place. Cheers.
1) The forefathers of this country knew mixing religion and politics was a bad idea. It's like mixing business and your personal life or asking a family member to be your power of attorney. It's not a good idea, because emotions and thousands of years of tradition cloud your judgement and inhibit your ability to make rational decisions. We have some faults in America, but being the youngest kid on the block actually allowed us to learn that mixing religion and law ends in some serious mo-fo bloodshed. Using your religious beliefs as a reason to vote or not vote for someone or something means that the rich folks holding the puppet strings have successfully convinced you that religion will play a factor in governing this country, when, in fact, the First Amendment expressly prohibits it. High treason I say! Tantamount to burning the flag.
2) Democrats believe in more laws and Republicans believe in less laws, right? Well, I can't say that I've ever seen evidence of this. I think they both create the same amount of laws, probably not as many as they used to be able to when there wasn't so much bi-partisan bitching. What I've witnessed this year is a lot of frivolous law making in order to scare the piss out of people. Voter IDs, abortions banned unless it's because of an "actual" rape...or not (again?!) and marriage amendments? C'mon. That's like shining a giant flashlight onto vaginas and gay people, far away from climate change and the economy. "Guys, hey, look over here!" "Ooo, shiny!"
********************************************************************************
Now that I got that out of the way, I think we really need to take a deep breath before we walk into that little booth on Tuesday. Regardless of which religion you call your own, remember that this is about LAW, not RELIGION. As long as we keep it that way, we all get to keep going to whichever church we want.
If you don't think gay people should get married, then continue to go to a church that won't allow it, and just don't invite me to join you. Call me when you're done and we can have a beer or something. I hear a lot of people say that this is a personal belief thing and that they wouldn't make me feel bad for my beliefs; we are all allowed to vote whichever way we want, it's true. In fact, I love that about this country! Cheers to us! However, for the record, I hope that if I ever backed a LAW that discriminated against someone because of who they love (something they can't control) that you would, by all means, make me feel bad. Stand up to me. Write a blog post about it. I promise I'll read it.
Now that we're on the subject, boy have the flashlight shiners done an excellent job with this gay marriage thing in Minnesota. I've seen more signs in lawns on this subject than anything else, and I am all for the fervor we've all gotten into over it because when one group is being discriminated against because they're different, we as Americans stand up for them and fight along side them until things change. See: World War II and civil rights. But don't you ever just sit back and say "Wow. Are we really spending all this time and money on preventing consenting, taxpaying adults from...loving each other? sharing a home? starting a family?"
I've said it a few times, but boy. We just had the hottest summer on record. There are people who don't have enough to eat. Rape is still the most unreported crime. And we're worried about our neighbors loving each other and wanting to make it legal? And, I'm off my soapbox. Let's have that beer next Sunday. Because we can. Even if we disagree. That's the beauty of this place. Cheers.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Case of the Sundays
This will be the first post I have written where I didn't have at least a vague idea of what I was going to write about before I started typing. I have a few blog subjects floating around in that abyss I call my brain, but none of them are giving me that familiar, or you may say unfamiliar given the pathetic amount of entries I have, itch.
I hate Sundays. I don't remember always feeling this way. I think it has to do with working in a cubicle since 1998, or my excessive (albeit well hidden from most people) anxiety problems, or possibly a throwback from my Catholic school days when I probably felt guilty all day after church, or maybe I'm like President Bartlett on West Wing, plagued with the constant "what's next" disease.
Whatever the cause, I do find myself afflicted with a kind of incurable dread on Sundays. Sometimes it's worse than others; for example, I didn't find myself in this crappy mood when I was on vacation and facing a week of fun instead of a week of work. Therefore, I often attribute the cause to dread for work and "real life." It's not just that though. It's almost as if Sunday is the day my mind has assigned to wander to that land which is no good for anyone: regret for the past and worry for the future. It would be almost ok if this was the only time I did this to myself, but I do it often enough during the week that I don't actually need an entire day assigned to it.
I woke up in a great place, made breakfast for dear friends, ran 4.5 miles, took a long bath and read for a while, all things I love. Yet here I am, back to the same old pointless spot, feeling like I'm stuck here, letting every little thing set me off down a road that will only dead end, thinking about things I really have no control over. Funny how I know this, yet I find myself coming back here over and over.
Bygones. I think I said something in my last post about making my next post more upbeat and funny, so I'll end with a joke:
What did the zero say to the eight?
"Nice belt."
I hate Sundays. I don't remember always feeling this way. I think it has to do with working in a cubicle since 1998, or my excessive (albeit well hidden from most people) anxiety problems, or possibly a throwback from my Catholic school days when I probably felt guilty all day after church, or maybe I'm like President Bartlett on West Wing, plagued with the constant "what's next" disease.
Whatever the cause, I do find myself afflicted with a kind of incurable dread on Sundays. Sometimes it's worse than others; for example, I didn't find myself in this crappy mood when I was on vacation and facing a week of fun instead of a week of work. Therefore, I often attribute the cause to dread for work and "real life." It's not just that though. It's almost as if Sunday is the day my mind has assigned to wander to that land which is no good for anyone: regret for the past and worry for the future. It would be almost ok if this was the only time I did this to myself, but I do it often enough during the week that I don't actually need an entire day assigned to it.
I woke up in a great place, made breakfast for dear friends, ran 4.5 miles, took a long bath and read for a while, all things I love. Yet here I am, back to the same old pointless spot, feeling like I'm stuck here, letting every little thing set me off down a road that will only dead end, thinking about things I really have no control over. Funny how I know this, yet I find myself coming back here over and over.
Bygones. I think I said something in my last post about making my next post more upbeat and funny, so I'll end with a joke:
What did the zero say to the eight?
"Nice belt."
Monday, July 9, 2012
Pink is for Boobies
I'm going to preface this rant of mine with the following:
- I hate cancer, I have many relatives who have died from it
- I'm proud of anyone who does anything to help create positive change
- This is by no means a rant against people who fight breast cancer
- If you are easily offended, stop reading
- Constant readers, this one isn't as funny as my other posts...I'll work on something more entertaining!
My grandmother died after having a few heart attacks when I was only 2. At the time, my mom was in her late twenties and had to face losing her mother. I can't imagine what that must have been like, since having my mom around my 4-year-old is one of the few things I really enjoy. Given the advanced state of my ennui, there's not much I enjoy more. My mom has the same heart issues and is only alive today because she is taking advantage of modern advances in medicine which help to unclog her arteries...for the most part.
I myself have high cholesterol, despite being of a relatively healthy weight. Yes, I'll admit I like my liquor and cheese, but I've had high cholesterol since the first time I asked for it to be tested, at 24 or so when I ate better and exercised much more. So, I have the telltale medical sign which points to the same fork in the road, or, better put, blockage in the road. That's 3 generations in a row, probably more I don't know about.
On to the boobies. I am a marketer by trade, and the movement to fight breast cancer impresses me. The whole thing kills me: use of the color pink, which I despise but would have chosen too, the use of fun little phrases like "save the boobies," which I love, is really quite smart. It draws attention to what is, in most cases, a woman's disease. It's an awful thing, taking grandmothers, mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, etc. This is therefore a uniquely "pink" cancer. Loving the marketing genius who came up with this pink ribbon stuff.
It bugs me though.
I often ask people (I'm sure they think, as they do often, "Christ, here goes Jen again") what they think the number one killer of women in the good ol' USA is. Their answer is often breast cancer. In fact, the number one killer of women is heart disease. See for yourself: http://www.cdc.gov/women/lcod/. All other forms of cancer combined make up the number 2 slot.
It bugs me because I see pink everywhere and all I can think is that we are extremely pre-occupied with saving boobies, when really we are trying to save women.
We often actually cut off the boobies in order to save the woman. I suppose the sentiment is that in order to save said boobies, we need to find a cure for this disease. I guess it bugs me because my mom and grandma had something else that is just as contagious to their offspring and actually kills many more women. It probably also bugs me because I think that if the disease my mom and grandma had involved a boob, it might get a better marketing campaign, any marketing campaign really.
It bugs me because in surveys, women say they fear breast cancer more than heart disease. This could be because of the excellent marketing campaign I discussed earlier, or it could be because of simple vanity. Both bug me, and it's probably a little of both, but even the not knowing as the result of a pink campaign is a tough one. I hate, almost more than anything, people who choose to be ignorant.
It bugs me because I need to do more, and I wish I had a nationally advertised 3-day walk to show support for my mom and grandma. It bugs me because I know I need to do more...although this is the best way I know how.
- I hate cancer, I have many relatives who have died from it
- I'm proud of anyone who does anything to help create positive change
- This is by no means a rant against people who fight breast cancer
- If you are easily offended, stop reading
- Constant readers, this one isn't as funny as my other posts...I'll work on something more entertaining!
My grandmother died after having a few heart attacks when I was only 2. At the time, my mom was in her late twenties and had to face losing her mother. I can't imagine what that must have been like, since having my mom around my 4-year-old is one of the few things I really enjoy. Given the advanced state of my ennui, there's not much I enjoy more. My mom has the same heart issues and is only alive today because she is taking advantage of modern advances in medicine which help to unclog her arteries...for the most part.
I myself have high cholesterol, despite being of a relatively healthy weight. Yes, I'll admit I like my liquor and cheese, but I've had high cholesterol since the first time I asked for it to be tested, at 24 or so when I ate better and exercised much more. So, I have the telltale medical sign which points to the same fork in the road, or, better put, blockage in the road. That's 3 generations in a row, probably more I don't know about.
On to the boobies. I am a marketer by trade, and the movement to fight breast cancer impresses me. The whole thing kills me: use of the color pink, which I despise but would have chosen too, the use of fun little phrases like "save the boobies," which I love, is really quite smart. It draws attention to what is, in most cases, a woman's disease. It's an awful thing, taking grandmothers, mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, etc. This is therefore a uniquely "pink" cancer. Loving the marketing genius who came up with this pink ribbon stuff.
It bugs me though.
I often ask people (I'm sure they think, as they do often, "Christ, here goes Jen again") what they think the number one killer of women in the good ol' USA is. Their answer is often breast cancer. In fact, the number one killer of women is heart disease. See for yourself: http://www.cdc.gov/women/lcod/. All other forms of cancer combined make up the number 2 slot.
It bugs me because I see pink everywhere and all I can think is that we are extremely pre-occupied with saving boobies, when really we are trying to save women.
We often actually cut off the boobies in order to save the woman. I suppose the sentiment is that in order to save said boobies, we need to find a cure for this disease. I guess it bugs me because my mom and grandma had something else that is just as contagious to their offspring and actually kills many more women. It probably also bugs me because I think that if the disease my mom and grandma had involved a boob, it might get a better marketing campaign, any marketing campaign really.
It bugs me because in surveys, women say they fear breast cancer more than heart disease. This could be because of the excellent marketing campaign I discussed earlier, or it could be because of simple vanity. Both bug me, and it's probably a little of both, but even the not knowing as the result of a pink campaign is a tough one. I hate, almost more than anything, people who choose to be ignorant.
It bugs me because I need to do more, and I wish I had a nationally advertised 3-day walk to show support for my mom and grandma. It bugs me because I know I need to do more...although this is the best way I know how.
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Walmart Hell
I just took my daughter to the Walmart (I like to put "the" in front of places like Walmart because it makes them sound even more backwoods than they are) and boy was it epic in its madness. Don't get me wrong. It was a normal trip to the Walmart. All my trips to the Walmart are epic in their madness.
I think it's possible that something about that place turns me into a lunatic. Maybe it's that I'm surrounded by lunatics and ludicrously placed items in a shed the size of 20 football fields, designed to make me walk by the most crap in every shopping trip. Could be. But hey, I had a gift card.
I had the Walton family jackpot of a list tonight too, from candles to shower curtains to milk and laundry detergent, I hit every blasted corner of that place. I knew I was in trouble when I was halfway through the trip with a cart half full of said items and my daughter said she had to go to the bathroom. The first parenting failure was when I let her have a toy so she would be occupied for a while. The second parenting failure was when I told her she needed to wait to go to the bathroom. As we all know, 3 year olds wait for no one. If they tell you they have to go, they've likely already waited a while.
We continued to shop and eventually we had to make our way to the bathroom. Sure enough, after parking my cart outside and making our way to a stall, she had waited so long the stream of pee rivaled that of a male...only she was sitting like a girl. So it ended up on her pants, my toes (I was wearing flip flops) and on the floor. Let's just thank the inventor of those annoying hand dryers for a moment, as he or she (or heshe for all I know) saved my ass tonight. I just realized now that my toes probably still have pee on them.
That crisis averted and pants back on, we made our way back out to the cart. I put her in the cart. She wanted a drink. I took her out of the cart. The water fountain didn't work. I put her back in the cart. She wanted to look at something. I took her out of the cart. I put her back in the cart. Halfway back to our location pre-bathroom trip, she had opened her toy, which she knows is against the rules. She tries to put it back together...while stepping on the candles and putting the bread next to the fabric softener.
I think I had more stuff on the list...but who knows or cares at this point. Gift card balance depleted, sanity not even close to intact and I'm sure I'll be back next week.
I think it's possible that something about that place turns me into a lunatic. Maybe it's that I'm surrounded by lunatics and ludicrously placed items in a shed the size of 20 football fields, designed to make me walk by the most crap in every shopping trip. Could be. But hey, I had a gift card.
I had the Walton family jackpot of a list tonight too, from candles to shower curtains to milk and laundry detergent, I hit every blasted corner of that place. I knew I was in trouble when I was halfway through the trip with a cart half full of said items and my daughter said she had to go to the bathroom. The first parenting failure was when I let her have a toy so she would be occupied for a while. The second parenting failure was when I told her she needed to wait to go to the bathroom. As we all know, 3 year olds wait for no one. If they tell you they have to go, they've likely already waited a while.
We continued to shop and eventually we had to make our way to the bathroom. Sure enough, after parking my cart outside and making our way to a stall, she had waited so long the stream of pee rivaled that of a male...only she was sitting like a girl. So it ended up on her pants, my toes (I was wearing flip flops) and on the floor. Let's just thank the inventor of those annoying hand dryers for a moment, as he or she (or heshe for all I know) saved my ass tonight. I just realized now that my toes probably still have pee on them.
That crisis averted and pants back on, we made our way back out to the cart. I put her in the cart. She wanted a drink. I took her out of the cart. The water fountain didn't work. I put her back in the cart. She wanted to look at something. I took her out of the cart. I put her back in the cart. Halfway back to our location pre-bathroom trip, she had opened her toy, which she knows is against the rules. She tries to put it back together...while stepping on the candles and putting the bread next to the fabric softener.
I think I had more stuff on the list...but who knows or cares at this point. Gift card balance depleted, sanity not even close to intact and I'm sure I'll be back next week.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
It's Minnesota
I was born in Menomonie, Wisconsin. When my age was still measured in months instead of years, we moved to La Crosse, Wisconsin, where we lived for a few years and then we moved to Rochester, Minnesota. I've lived in Minnesota ever since. I'm telling you all of this because I feel it's relevant to share how long I've been a resident of the state. I swear, it becomes important soon.
Every year about this time, I hear a lot of whining about the weather. There's lots of talk about the cool temperatures coming, about winter or some other Fargo-esque talk. It's not too bad this time of the year, many people (like me) are happy to see the change in season and are ready to break out that Minnesota tried and true piece of clothing: the sweatshirt. It's to be expected to a certain degree, as we live in a state where we really do have to pay attention to weather forecasts.
However, the stupid talk is coming. The lamenting about the snow and the ice and the ice rain. God forbid we see a "wintry mix." I'm here to remind you: it happens every year. The shock and awe all of you display is really starting to wear on me after 30 years. Here's a tip: it's Minnesota. It does this every. single. year. Sometimes it's better, sometimes it's worse, but it always gets pretty cold from November to about April.
Here's another tip: it doesn't happen in every state! There are other states in this crazy, amazing, huge union where it doesn't get cold. Ever! Many of them have very low unemployment rates too, and I'd be willing to bet they'd love to take your Midwestern attitude and sell you a cheap house that doesn't need a furnace.
I, for one, realize that it will get cold. I live here because I kind of like it. I have this obsession with people who embrace their climate. I loved going to keggers in the winter in someone's shed in the middle of nowhere, warmed only by the alcohol, masses of people and the occasional space heater. Conversely, I loved going to a bar in the middle of the desert when I visited Arizona. Put me on a back country road and point me in the direction of that insanity any time.
Yes, sometimes I complain about the weather. Usually around February I start to think, man, I'd really like it if I could spend more than 10 minutes outside or hey, it would be dandy if it wasn't dark out when I left for work AND when I come home. Then I go outside and look at the sparkles in the snow and listen to the insulated quiet and think, wow, I'm lucky to live here.
Every year about this time, I hear a lot of whining about the weather. There's lots of talk about the cool temperatures coming, about winter or some other Fargo-esque talk. It's not too bad this time of the year, many people (like me) are happy to see the change in season and are ready to break out that Minnesota tried and true piece of clothing: the sweatshirt. It's to be expected to a certain degree, as we live in a state where we really do have to pay attention to weather forecasts.
However, the stupid talk is coming. The lamenting about the snow and the ice and the ice rain. God forbid we see a "wintry mix." I'm here to remind you: it happens every year. The shock and awe all of you display is really starting to wear on me after 30 years. Here's a tip: it's Minnesota. It does this every. single. year. Sometimes it's better, sometimes it's worse, but it always gets pretty cold from November to about April.
Here's another tip: it doesn't happen in every state! There are other states in this crazy, amazing, huge union where it doesn't get cold. Ever! Many of them have very low unemployment rates too, and I'd be willing to bet they'd love to take your Midwestern attitude and sell you a cheap house that doesn't need a furnace.
I, for one, realize that it will get cold. I live here because I kind of like it. I have this obsession with people who embrace their climate. I loved going to keggers in the winter in someone's shed in the middle of nowhere, warmed only by the alcohol, masses of people and the occasional space heater. Conversely, I loved going to a bar in the middle of the desert when I visited Arizona. Put me on a back country road and point me in the direction of that insanity any time.
Yes, sometimes I complain about the weather. Usually around February I start to think, man, I'd really like it if I could spend more than 10 minutes outside or hey, it would be dandy if it wasn't dark out when I left for work AND when I come home. Then I go outside and look at the sparkles in the snow and listen to the insulated quiet and think, wow, I'm lucky to live here.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Cilantro Rant-a-roo
Oops, sorry legions of loyal readers (legions might be pushing it...I admit) but I haven't lived up to my promise on this here blog thingie.
Sometimes the shit just doesn't come. Sometimes it does and I just don't feel like putting it onto the Interweb. Today I shall rant about cilantro.
Did cilantro exist before the last, oh, 5 years? I mean, I know it must have. It's a plant after all. Unless! Unless it is a genetically engineered plant created by the government and only people who are not prone to mind control hate it. Because I hate it. I hate it with the fire of one thousand itching and burning herpes outbreaks. Not that I know what that feels like.
Let me tell you a little something about this lady. I like food. I grew up in a household where being a picky eater was not an option. We had to try everything at the table, every single time it was served. "But I know I hate peas Dad. I had them yesterday." Didn't matter. I had to take at least one of each thing or my Dad would serve me a generous helping that I was then forced to finish. This made me able to try and eventually like almost every food. Even if I hate the food, I keep trying it. For example, cilantro. I can take it in very small doses, but I always know it's there. Like when the herpes lies dormant. Again, the herpes stuff is just from Wikipedia. No first hand knowledge here. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
My point is, I'm not a picky eater. Never have been. I make fun of picky eaters. I laugh in the face of it. But this cilantro craze has gone way too far. I was annoyed when it turned up in salsa. I was super annoyed when I went to Chipotle the first time and realized it's in EVERYTHING there. Today was when I tipped into rant land. I ordered an Asian sesame chicken salad at Panera, and there, hiding amongst the lettuce was cilantro. I was blindsided as I can usually sniff out the dishes they put that trendy crap on to make it seem more, oh, trendy.
I just wanted to spread the word: you zombies who like it are just being controlled by the government. My bet is that the government created it, made it addictive and is the only supplier, thereby funding some mind control experiment. Do you also sleep eat and have blackouts? Don't say I didn't warn you.
Sometimes the shit just doesn't come. Sometimes it does and I just don't feel like putting it onto the Interweb. Today I shall rant about cilantro.
Did cilantro exist before the last, oh, 5 years? I mean, I know it must have. It's a plant after all. Unless! Unless it is a genetically engineered plant created by the government and only people who are not prone to mind control hate it. Because I hate it. I hate it with the fire of one thousand itching and burning herpes outbreaks. Not that I know what that feels like.
Let me tell you a little something about this lady. I like food. I grew up in a household where being a picky eater was not an option. We had to try everything at the table, every single time it was served. "But I know I hate peas Dad. I had them yesterday." Didn't matter. I had to take at least one of each thing or my Dad would serve me a generous helping that I was then forced to finish. This made me able to try and eventually like almost every food. Even if I hate the food, I keep trying it. For example, cilantro. I can take it in very small doses, but I always know it's there. Like when the herpes lies dormant. Again, the herpes stuff is just from Wikipedia. No first hand knowledge here. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
My point is, I'm not a picky eater. Never have been. I make fun of picky eaters. I laugh in the face of it. But this cilantro craze has gone way too far. I was annoyed when it turned up in salsa. I was super annoyed when I went to Chipotle the first time and realized it's in EVERYTHING there. Today was when I tipped into rant land. I ordered an Asian sesame chicken salad at Panera, and there, hiding amongst the lettuce was cilantro. I was blindsided as I can usually sniff out the dishes they put that trendy crap on to make it seem more, oh, trendy.
I just wanted to spread the word: you zombies who like it are just being controlled by the government. My bet is that the government created it, made it addictive and is the only supplier, thereby funding some mind control experiment. Do you also sleep eat and have blackouts? Don't say I didn't warn you.
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