The Future of Food, Drink, and Drugs…forget what you know

As I was writing a rant about planned parenthood and local ordinances against freedom of speech in front of

I asked a beautiful brunette who’s name escapes me…

I’ll never forget good ole What’s-Her-Name

-my dad

I asked her what it’s called when a bunch of people get together and do some stupid dance or stand still for a while in a predetermined location.

She said, “Flash Mob” she is equally smart and gorgeous. She invited me to St. Joe's

For a “networking get together.” When a young lass like her invites you to a bar across the street, you go.

Upon entering St Joe’s I saw a couple sitting at a table. I looked at the woven fedora and had Déjà vu…the Native American belief in déjà vu is by far my favorite. They say it means you’re in the right time at the right place…its more likely just short term memory moving to the long term memory section of your brain bits.

Meh.

What do I know.

I approached the couple and mentioned that the hat looked comfortable and I wondered if I could sit where it was. The couple didn’t seemed freaked out by my request, despite the fact that all, literally all of the other seats in the bar were empty. And a girl I should clearly be hitting on that invited me was standing with other gorgeous women 6 feet away.

I take a load off and we get to work. We blow through the general get to know you ice break shit that conversationalists can navigate through quickly, just to see if we will get along…and if our crazies compliment each other’s crazy.

The conversation quickly flowed to the company they’re involved in. I can’t tell you all about it yet but MicroBiome quickly became the star of our story that was unfolding.

A few laughs, emails, texts, and days later, I meet with this brilliant and passionate couple again. Back to St. Joe’s.

I offer my body to science. They give me samples of their powdered drink. They suggest I go to…AnyLabTest

I overhear the awkward request of the couple in front of me asking for a DNA test. The vibe in the waiting room is awkward wrapped in dread. And here I sit, starving due to the fasting I’ve done in order to get blood work done. All I can think of is all the food being cooked back at the kitchen I’m supposed to be in.

I’m starving and trying not to let my empath side feel bad for the couple that can’t even look at each other as they await their Maury Povitch Show style head and heartaches. (How is that his name? I mean, really Norma Jean got the importance of a name…his game proves that anyone can be whatever they want.)

Find our more about why I paid someone to stab me after I starved myself.