Christmas was a rousing success - all things considered.

The holidays are so often about family. And I blame Sunday night movies for my expectation that we will all sit around the tree with glowing hearts and warm thoughts. Cue music and roll credits. Not that I watch those movies. I may have glanced a few times. Ahem.

Okay, Christmas in my world means heated arguments, bruised egos, and stress. Gird yourself for the "We Should Call it Christmas Instead of 'Holidays' Goddammit and Who do These People Think they Are" debate. Guess they missed the whole Christian tenet of 'peace on earth and goodwill to all men,' . I'm no religious scholar but I'm pretty sure Jesus pretty much commanded people to chill the hell out, didn't he? Getting nasty about it is so ironically un-Christmassy it would be funny. Except that I don't laugh. I just take Ativan.

You might also want to prepare for the details of uncle so-and-so's colostomy bag. For the third time.

However, the children LOVED Christmas, and I managed to stay out of the hospital! I even kept the intestinal lever in a fairly neutral position. So I'd call that a rousing success!

You want the milk? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE MILK!

There's been much on my mind lately, but not the kind that I can write about in public. So I'm practicing the fine art of shutting up. Which makes a blog completely pointless.

However, my brain is completely and totally full and overloaded and I must unload.

Beep...beep....beep....beep....(the sound of my brain reversing onto your laptop where it's going to dump.)

First dump:

I've been reading the Twilight saga - to see what all the fuss was about. Yes, I've taken all the abuse from my more 'literate' friends who are horrified that I could read such shite. Pfft. Hoity Toits, you'll be happy to know that you've drained all the pleasure out of it and I no longer enjoy it but have to finish the last book just because I can't stop what I started. Spoiler alert: it gets increasingly preposterous, but then I always knew it was about a vampire and a werewolf. Where wolf? Here wolf.

So there.

Everything else that's on my mind is:

a) contractually inappropriate to write about...it's about...oh never mind.
b) going to offend someone I know...because they don't believe that butter makes me fart.
c) going to offend many people I know...by displaying symptoms of lactose intolerance.
d) boring tales of the endocrine system...am I really lactose intolerant?
e) baffling

It's the "baffling" that keeps you coming back, isn't it? Yes, in my year-long quest to find out What Is Wrong With Me, I finally saw a holistic nutrionist. I went in with my "You're not a doctor so you probably don't know anything" mindset and walked out with "Gosh".

First two things I had to eliminate were caffeine and dairy. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD THAT IS? The morning latte is sometimes my sole reason for waking up.

It. Sucked.

Then you think about it. And you read about it and you realize that if Halle Berry is lactose intolerant then you can be too. But then you see melted cheese and all bets are off.

Until later.

When you swear you will never ever do this again. And then you reason with yourself that you can't possibly be lactose intolerant because that is a weird-ass problem and is the domain of hypochondriacs and health-nuts, (Sorry Halle, but you are Hollywood). So you do do this again. And the cycle repeats and then you become a crazy person.

And that is why I started this blog in the first place.