I'm Their Favorite Celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac!

My amazing brother and sister-in-law (B3 and SIL) wrote this song for me on a long drive last summer. Going through old emails I found it, chuckled, and just had to share!



To the melody of "Movin Out" by Mr. Billy Joel

Annie's at work down the road at the Inn, saving her pennies for Denmark.
She traveled to London and soon decided, "I need to get out of this country".
Ah, but even when she's gone she's the best celiac- ac-ac-ac-ac-ac!
She doesn't eat gluten.
She will pass on the it-al-ian bread
Gluten Free keeps her so skinny!

On our big nights out, she shoots tequila to the boys bud lites;
and if it's pasta night than she's...eating rice, she's eating rice, no wheat.

Annie is my favorite celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac!
She doesn't eat gluten.

It costs more for Annie to watch your kids
but she's definitely worth that much money.
BUT Annie's booked on Friday night...
She shoots tequila to the boys bud lites
and if it's pasta night than she's eating rice... she's eating rice... not wheat.

Annie is my favorite celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac!
She doesn't eat gluten.

Give Annie Jose and a fat wedge of lime,
she is her own bartender.
She wears cute British hats
and walks drunk down the street-
on a drunken tequila type bender.
I'll make her meat and cheese cause she's
my favorite celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac
She doesn't eat gluten...

repeat chorus 3x


And here is the actual "Moving Out" song, in case you don't know the melody!

Do not trust anyone. And the unmentionable.

I feel the need to describe the terrors of Celiac Disease.
Terror meaning you cannot trust anyone - ever. Even your own sweet grandmother who is just trying to fatten you up and put a smile on your face. Because your dear sweet grandmother is getting old and she just may pick up the wrong cake mix and give you a piece of moist chocolate cake assuring you its gluten free, made especially for you because you missed out on the blueberry cobbler the day before. And you gobble it down as soon as you get home from work and then maybe you have another piece because, well, it was a hard day at work. Then a few hours later you are snuggled up in dream land, dreaming about Jake Gyllenhal and Prince Harry vying for your love while you walk down your old street in London and all of a sudden something seems horribly wrong, but you aren't sure what it is. You grasp at your stomach and moan. You realize it's not just in your dream, that there in your little bed you are moaning and tossing and your insides have lit on fire and are trying desperately to make an escape through your belly button.
So you rush to the bathroom, and unmentionable things occur. Your mother, hearing your moans, arrives in the bathroom. She is welcomed with the sight of you cross legged on the floor, head resting on the toilet seat, tears streaming down your face from the pain.
"What's wrong?" she asks, wishing there was something she could do to fix it, but six years of this terror tells her it is hopeless.
"That. cake. was. not. glu-ten. free." you let out, trying to catch your breath. After another unmentionable you tell your mother to return to bed, there is nothing to be done. And it continues. All night long. And you are just so tired. So you curl up and try to fall asleep but your dreams are littered with terror, and you rip awake again in time to put your head into the toilet once more. And it continues.
The next day you try to eat, but your stomach rebels, your small intestines alight with flame. You writhe in pain. And you laugh at the only time you never got sick, because you were in a foreign place, because you didn't know anyone well enough to trust them with your food, because you questioned every waiter, read every label. But at home, with the people you love, you let your guard down. You think that people know you enough, that your parents and your grandparents have cooked for you enough to know to read labels as well. You forget that everyone makes mistakes. You forget that your grandmother can be a bit absent minded. And you get sick.
And that is my terror of living with Celiac Disease.

Quarter life crisis - mine involves flowers and gluten free cookies - this post may not make any sense

I have decided I want to become a florist. So maybe I can cross "figure out what I want to do with my life" off my before 30 list. Maybe.

But yesterday I had a moment of terror and a little bit of a freak out.. complete with hyperventilating and a little bit of oh my hell what am I doing with my life??? When I realized that I may never again work at a place where people make me gluten free cookies and I eat like five or more a day and I drink tea and read books and blog and "research" random things on the internet and sometimes do real research for gluten free things and sometimes I answer the phone and make reservations. But the point of this story is I eat a lot of gluten free chocolate chip cookies all day long. And it is heaven. And I have decided to leave this job. What am I thinking?? Really. My life is so cush. Isn't it?

And then I realized that this is what the quarter life crisis is all about. We are just at that moment when you actually have to start acting like an "adult." Where we start paying our student loans, where we have to get real jobs with real people that maybe provides health insurance? And you have to take what you learned from college and apply it to some sort of job that maybe has a little something to do with what you studied but probably doesn't because there are no real jobs available. And then you are me and you never actually graduated from college so instead you keep thinking - what do I actually want to be when I grow up?

That brings me to where I am. Working a comfy little job where I have an endless supply of gluten free yummies, for breakfast, for snack, for dinner, for whenevertheheckIwantandI'mgo ingtohavefivecookiesrightnowdamnit. So yeah - the quarter life crisis. When we realize life is no longer as comfy as it used to be. Where we realize we have responsibilities. Where we know we need to grow up but we remember too vividly the life we lived when our parents took care of everything. Where I realize I need to move out of my parents' house already and stop relying on them for a job whenever I run out of money whilst drinking tequila gallivanting around the world. Where I realize that I may not have gluten free food galore at my finger tips.
But I don't want to realize that! Yes I will move out of my parents' house. Yes I will start paying my own bills. Yes I will get a real job - even if it has to be a 9 to 5 (but I would much prefer to be a florist and make my own hours...). But no, no I do not want to give up the gluten free goodies. Is it asking too much to be able to drink tea and eat gluten free cookies at work? All the time? I don't think so. I don't to think so! What kind of life would that be??
Alright I am being a little dramatic.

Then Madic says, I will bake you gluten free cookies if you will just shut up already.
And this is why we are best friends.

Also, absolutely calling my grandmother this afternoon to see if she will apprentice me in her flower shop. You can eat cookies in flower shops all day right?

If you have celiac disease, do not eat Nacho Cheese Doritos.
Cool Ranch Doritos, on the other hand, are fine.
What's with that?