Intolerant.

warning: there is a slight possibility this post may contain TMI. proceed at your own risk.

So, for a long, long, long time I was in denial about my lactose intolerance. It must have been all that laundry I did, I would moan as I curled up in a fetal position after consuming a milkshake. I think I'm allergic to going to the grocery store I'd conclude as I begged for the sweet release of death after having a simple bowl of cereal. It HAS to be from the weather I would desperately grasp at straws as I writhed in pain immediately following cookies and milk. I just didn't want to let go of something that gave me such pleasure!

I loved drinking milk! It was my comfort food! A little something chocolate with a lot of milk! Oh, and sweet, sweet ice cream...so so so good! And oh, don't get me started on milkshakes...

mmmmm milkshakes...

oh, I'm sorry, where was I? That's right. I didn't want to admit that the thing that was slowly killing me was the very thing I enjoyed. I was happy to give up mustard (bleck!) or vacuuming (oh, how I hate vacuuming!) or I'd be even willing to give up my cats if they were what were making me so very sick, but milk? oh, the inhumanity! Plus, I knew what was good for me. And I only had it in moderation. And I'm a grownup! I can have what I want!

and then one day it happened. I had one too many milkshakes. That night I found myself in a situation that is best left unblogged, but let's just say it was an entire evening of unpleasantness. every 20 minutes I had to experience such unpleasantness, until I was wadded up in a ball on my bathroom floor in tears with my usually compassionate husband standing above me in his best 'this is so ridiculous but I am trying to remain calm' voice: NOW WILL YOU ADMIT YOU ARE LACTOSE INTOLERANT?

I lifted my head, arms wrapped around my belly, tears streaming down my face and said... 'well maybe lactose sensitive' *cue huge eye roll from my husband* I finally conceded as he dragged me to bed something that I actually knew for a long, long time...

I guess I'm done with Milk.

And that was the last time I on purpose consumed any milk or icecream. Boy do I know it when Starbux forgets to make mine a soy Chai. It's not pretty, people. But a good reminder of why I stay away from the liquid evil.

my point... oh yes, I had a point.

Recently I went to see a movie with my husband. It was a literally last minute thing, so I quickly opened my computer and checked the listings for the local discount theater and saw a movie (The Ugly Truth) with Katherine Heigl, whom I think is very cute and whom I enjoyed in that movie 27 Dresses. My husband agreed to suffer through a chick flick, and out the door we ran.

Now, normally, I'm a fiend about checking listings for my kids. I normally go to this site or even this site or a couple of others to make sure the content of a movie that I'm allowing my kids to sit through is appropriate to watch. I'll even use it to check for myself from time to time. I've found out the hard way that since I never catch movie previews on TV, some movies are not what they appear, and so I generally try to at least give it a peek before I end up watching something remarkably dumb.

So, anyway, because of the hurry, not only did I neglect to look up reviews, I also neglected to look at the ratings. I also failed to look at the rating. Mistakes number one and two.

And here's the part where there's a confession: When we got there and I saw that there was a rating of R for sexual humor and language, I didn't give it a second thought. Honestly, I enjoy a little bawdy humor... I'm kind of a guttersnipe at heart and really, I supposed, a little language can't really hurt. I can totally handle it.

famous last words.

It's not just that the story was a formula chick flick. It's not just that it was SO SO SO not funny. It's the whole raunchy package. The language kept making me squirm in my seat. I kept feeling this gut-wrenching reaction as the foul words and the word pictures they were painting kept assaulting me over and over. At some point (waaaay too far into the movie), I finally whispered to my husband, do you want to get out of here? He grabbed my hand and we were just out of there as fast as humanly possible.

It made me think of the fact that, just like my milk denial, I am just being ridiculous when I think I can still partake in worldly things and it just won't effect me. Even if it doesn't make me feel all squirmy in the moment, it's not doing good things for my spirit. Am I allowed, as a Christian, to read smutty books? Am I permitted, as a child of God, to watch racy movies? As a believer, is it okay for me to hang out at bars? I suppose. But the real question is: am I using the moments God has given to accomplish His purpose for me (and through me) well? If I am ever asked to give an account for the minutes I spent here on earth, will I be proud of the time I spent in a darkened movie theater chuckling at inappropriate innuendo? Will I continue to press on pretending that enjoying ungodly humor is good for me? Or will I instead be glad I finally admitted...

I guess I'm done with rated R movies.

"Everything is permissible for me"—but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible for me"—but I will not be mastered by anything.
1 Cor 6:12