I drank milk a few minutes ago.
Lactaid milk.
We’ll see in 25 minutes if I can actually handle lactaid milk.
It was nice to taste milk again.
Archive for December, 2007
Have you heard the story of the Rich Wife’s Poor Son? No? Well, then, sit down for a few minutes and let me tell it to you.
Once upon a time, there was a woman who married into wealth. There are a lot of stories regarding the occupation of the husband — some say he was a rich politician who rode on the coattails of his father before him; some say that he was a merchant who was able to make huge profits off of a people’s ignorance; some say that he was a simple innkeeper who was known so well throughout the land for his dashing good looks that people would come far and wide just to glance at him; and, still, others say that he just was some rich guy who made his money from selling things that weren’t his to people who were not conventional consumers — but whatever the story was, one this is well-known: he was very rich.
The husband was so rich, in fact, that lords of smaller towns would come to his social-events and laugh at all of his jokes and look at all of his decorations and praise all of his cooking and (most importantly) drink all of his wine. Occasionally, rumors would flood the town where the rich man lived, saying that the King, himself, was getting jealous of the rich man’s lifestyle and friends.
The woman met him at one of his social-events, and he was instantly infatuated with her — and, likewise, she was mesmerized by him. The woman, who was beautiful in her own right, was married to him after only a few months of light dating.
As time went by, they had a daughter and a son. The daughter was one year older than the son, and the father was overjoyed — he had a son to carry on his name, yes, but his entire life, all the man wanted was a daughter to love and hold. You see, when the husband was younger, his mother and father had tragically passed away in a carriage accident — and left him alone with his much younger sister. Raising her was the most important part in the boy’s life, up until she grew up enough to know what she wanted out of her life better than he did — and, so, she went off to marry a man who beat her until she was no longer a woman, but more of a walking corpse. Despite his best efforts, the husband could not get his sister back from her husband, until one night when he tried to sneak her out. He was successful and hid her in a house of a friend in a local town — but her husband found her before she could be moved elsewhere, and he beat her until there was almost literally nothing left. Having a daughter, to the husband, meant having a second chance.
The daughter died the very next year, from a coughing-sickness.
The husband died the year following that, from the same coughing-sickness.
The mother was left alone to raise the son. She didn’t mind — and the husband’s fortune went directly to her. This type of thing didn’t normally happen, but because this was a more liberal town than most, the town officials allowed her to be a landowner, despite her biological sex. But even with a home, a fortune, and a son to do chores for her, she was very unhappy.
In fact, the wife was extremely unhappy. So unhappy, in fact, that she began to have delusions — delusions that the little boy was, actually, her sick husband.
The wife began to hug and kiss the boy as if he were her husband (for, at that time, intimate love was ungodly, and so children and spouses were essentially loved in the same way) and tell him that she loved him and would always love him. The wife also would give him anything he wanted: a beautiful bed, expensive foods and wines, the best clothing money could buy — anything his heart desired. There was literally nothing that the boy wanted that she wouldn’t give him.
One day, the wife began to start saying things that the son couldn’t understand — it just all sounded like gibberish. Later that day, the wife began having seizures. By the next morning, the wife was dead.
But, what? Yes, the son got all of the rest of the fortune, and the house, and everything else — why do you ask? Why is the story called the Rich Wife’s Poor Son? Well, you didn’t let me get to that part yet! Now sit back and listen.
The Son spent his days inside the large house with no one but himself. After a short while, he decided he couldn’t stand it any longer and sold the house to a friend of the mother’s. He moved into a small cottage at the edge of town. But after moving in, he found that his neighbors could barely afford bread — so he gave them each a share of his fortune. Whenever anyone needed any money to spend, he would always be there — not a lender, but a giver.
The son became infamous for his generosity — and this became his boulder to bear. In a few months, he was so poor that he could barely afford to pay the taxes and was threatened several times by the local lord that he needed to pay up or leave.
The boy got a job working for a baker — but every time a hungry poor man came in, he would feed that man. The baker had to fire him. The candlemaker gave him a second chance, up until the point that the son would give away candles to those who claimed they needed them. Following the candlemaker kicking the son out, a blacksmith took the boy under his wing. Said the blacksmith to the boy:
“Why do you give things away for free to those without?”
“I don’t know.” Said the boy, and he meant it.
The boy had an enormous amount of guilt. Here he was, a boy who had everything handed to him by his mother who had everything handed to her by his father — and there were those who had no beds in their homes and no food but bread for years! He would never fit in with those people — they knew who his father was, and would never befriend him unless they were in desperate need of money. The boy wanted more than anything else to become one of them — to become a commoner, but he could never do so because of his past.
So what was he doing? He was trying to give away money to those in need because, to the son, it was almost like repaying his debt to his mother.
Of course, with his mother dead, there was no way to repay his debt to the mother, and so he spent his life attempting to give and never receive, because he couldn’t bear to owe anyone else — the debt to his mother was overwhelming enough. Up until the day he died, the son never did anything for himself, for, to him, he was still the son of his mother — and, moreover, he was the son of his mother, to whom he owed an unfathomable and ultimately unrepayable sum.
What does it mean? Oh, don’t trouble yourself with it for now. It’s a Freudian thing. You wouldn’t understand.
There comes a time in every man’s life when he must admit that he’s been mistaken once or twice. That time for me is now.
I like this dress. I saw someone wearing it tonight, asked where she got it, and then noticed something funny — the waist.
I know that I’ve said in the past that empire waist dresses make any girl look pregnant, and pregnant girls obese — but in this particular case (and maybe it’s just Lux! I love nearly 40% of what lux puts out, and that’s much more than I can say for anyone else…) it actually looked…good.
I need to go do some deep soul searching now. I think I’ve got a lot of growing up to do.
Why do I love House? Let me count the ways.
Many people have told me that my obsession with House is — well, creepy. I mean, come on. The show is extremely formulaic — patient comes in, house treats her, she gets worse, house guesses, is wrong, she gets a little bit better but then gets much, much worse, and then house has to make some kind of life-or-death choice regarding the patient. At the end, he wins, and we all get high-fives. But this doesn’t mean that it’s not entertaining. There is a slow-moving underlying dramatic plot that has nothing to do with the patients. It’s like watching Desperate Housewives VERY SLOWLY. And who ever said that change was good?
I feel that House has a wide-reaching demographic. Younger kids will like House’s in-your-face attitude. Teens and lonely midwives will like the romantic drama, and the over-18-heterosexual-male demographic is set with the medical \ crime drama appeal. There’s probably something for old people, but they’ll watch basically anything. It’s on FOX. That’s like…what? channel 13? or 5? So, I mean, they’ll probably watch it by mistake.
The only drawback to watching House is that every time you do something, it seems like the beginning of a House episode, so you’re always thinking, “Oh, shit, I’m going to go into a seizure or something. Ativan! Stat!” I never go anywhere without my lorazepam.
Now, take the compliment of house. I mean, take a show on TV which is exactly what house is NOT. What do you wind up with?
That’s right: Notes From the Underbelly.
There really is nothing like having someone deny your identity to you.
It really makes you think.
When someone says, “no, you’re not X because you do not do {x1, x2, x3…}…” it reminds you that who you are is not defined by what you think you are, but, rather, what other people think you are.
So far, as far as discrimination is concerned, I’m 0 and many from the enemy and the ally, respectively.
I’m going home tomorrow.
That’s it, I just wanted to tell you.
Someone pointed this out to me during a monoamorous vs. polyamorous semi-debate [ugh].
“Yeah, but if you’re in a relationship with three people, who do you kiss first at midnight? And what does the other person do?”
Triple kissing doesn’t count. That isn’t even a real new year’s kiss. And it’s hard to do. And, Yes, the question has to do with social constructs, tradition, etc., but I thought it was a good point. What would the other person do?
Last year at new years, I was around friends that I was suspicious about and irritated at. The year before, I stayed home alone because I learned that day that I wasn’t invited to the new year’s party I thought I was going to go to. I only remember one new years — and that was during middleschool. I was at a small party with people I don’t even remember.
This year, if I come back to chicago early, there’s a good chance I won’t be invited to a new year’s event that all of my other friends are going to. If I stay home, there’s a chance I may actually do something.
At home, I’ve tried to retain my wanted friendships and get rid of the ones that were keeping me miserable. Ditto for Chicago. But, while the home ones had no unexpected casualties — no people that I wanted to become friends with began and continued to hate me — Chicago was somehow full of them. At home, I don’t go to places and events because someone will be there that will make the event too irritating to stand — but here in Chicago, I don’t go to places and events because someone can’t stand me.
I’m really not sure which one I like better. You never really feel the similarities between people who hate you and people who love you until you’re stuck in the middle of it. There is not too much of a difference between the lifestyle of hating and being hated and loving and being loved — except, of course, for the sex and company. In one, you repel. In the other, you attract. It’s really all the same force, though.
My new year’s resolution last year: make everyone like me.
That was a bit too hard to actually do.
This year’s resolution: forget about everyone who doesn’t like me.
Because, as I learned, if you just ignore something, it will probably go away.
It follows that, on new year’s, two of the three [or more] people would kiss. So two would be attracted, one would be repelled. The first two are dominant, and the latter few are secondary, at best.
I think this is a good reason for anyone who’s polyamorous to get drunk before the ball drops — it gives you a good reason to justify what you did.
Done with my finals. Done with this quarter.
And I think the end of this quarter marks the end of an era in my life.
I can’t decide if I want to read, play civ4 or play snes.
Such a hard decision.
“The Magic begins when you realize you can afford a Disney Vacation.”
This is a horrible way to advertise to marxists.
This episode of Desperate Housewives is a “trapped in a small space” episode. I learned that from That’s My Bush. Really, that show should not have went off the air.
Finished bio, worked on math minimally.
I’m studying it now. My test is in 7 hours.
I hope I do okay.
After Math: Do all of the neo-assyrian reading, ever.
