So, either 1) My mother was right and it was just gas trapped in my rib/chest area. Which, after using the Googles, I did find that trapped gas can indeed feel like a heart attack.
Or 2) I was having a mild heart attack and the Bayer I took because I was in pain did the job and saved my life while also making me much more comfortable.
Given scenario 2, I think I fail at that whole knowing what to do in emergencies and my family fails at ensuring my safety.
Anyways, not dead.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Universe M.D....of DOOM!
So why am I awake at 2 am on a grad school night (which btw is totally different from a normal school night) when I have to wake up in less than 5 hours to make an excruciatingly boring 45 minute drive to sit through 6 hours of classes?
Because I fully believe I'm having a heart attack.
Why do I believe this?
Web MD.
Yes, Web MD is another one of those agents that I've talked about. The hateful universe created it in order to make those of us with high anxiety even more anxious about unnecessary ailments. And when those of us start to panic and look at Web MD, all rational thought goes out the window. Let me break it down for you in this little chart.
Who do we believe here? Logic? No. Our mother who birthed us, raised and continues to feed us at the ripe age of 24 because student loans keep us from effectively launching into normal, functional adult lives? No. Web MD? YES!
Because if it's on the internet, it's true!
Oh and for the record, all of those symptoms are signs of some form of cancer. Which I will fully convince myself I have by the end of the week if this keeps up.
I'm going to go finish having my ravioli induced heart attack now.
Universe: 6. Me: 1
Because I fully believe I'm having a heart attack.
Why do I believe this?
Web MD.
Yes, Web MD is another one of those agents that I've talked about. The hateful universe created it in order to make those of us with high anxiety even more anxious about unnecessary ailments. And when those of us start to panic and look at Web MD, all rational thought goes out the window. Let me break it down for you in this little chart.
Ailment | Logical Explanation | Mother says | Web MD says |
Throat hurts | Allergies | Take Benadryl | You have AIDS |
Chest Pain | Trapped gas | Go fart, chew Maalox | Heart attack call 911 |
Fever | It’s winter | Take Advil | Death Flu |
Upset Stomach | Nervousness | Pepto | Ebola |
Who do we believe here? Logic? No. Our mother who birthed us, raised and continues to feed us at the ripe age of 24 because student loans keep us from effectively launching into normal, functional adult lives? No. Web MD? YES!
Because if it's on the internet, it's true!
Oh and for the record, all of those symptoms are signs of some form of cancer. Which I will fully convince myself I have by the end of the week if this keeps up.
I'm going to go finish having my ravioli induced heart attack now.
Universe: 6. Me: 1
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Schnarchen. (verb) To Snore: The Second
So last time we all learned that I was a paranoid only child afraid of DemonBearHog at night who grew up to be a hyper vigilant adult who swears you shouldn't eat soup if the date on the can is at all in the past lest you'll get botulism. Same goes for ketchup.
Oh wait, while we're on it, this whole "Best if used by" thing tends to be a bit of a struggle in the house. I refuse to eat things that are more than just a few days past that day, but my parents are all "It ain't gonna hurt ya! I been eating things past the date since I was little and I ain't dead am I?" The universe tended to avoid messing with me on this, until we bought French's Zesty Brown Mustard. I'm not exactly sure if we've ever purchased a new one or not, so I don't know how long the one that's in the fridge has been there, but I avoid it like the plague until I'm making a sandwich. Then I want something spicy and I look all over the stupid bottle like a date is going to magically appear knowing that I'm never going to find one. So after searching for the El Dorado of use by dates, I realize my quest for a spicy turkey on white just isn't realistic and I place it, sadly, back in the fridge for the cycle to happen a good month point five later.
I digress, back to etymological adversities.
Well, turns out, there are few more issues I've had with things that start with SNOR-.
First is the inevitable snorting of things you don't ever want to snort. No I'm not some cocaine addict. I'm already crazy enough as it is, I don't need substances to make it worse.
Exhibit A: We all know soap burns if it gets in your eyes and your nose. So what do we do? We make an effort to ensure our eyes and nostrils are safe. Whatever you do in the shower is your business, I won't judge.
So here I am, all excited because I'm about to make my hair daily clarified (as opposed to all-day volumized which I've done before). I lather, massage thoroughly through hair and begin to rinse when this rogue asteroid of suds flies from my hair and lands right under my nose. What does the universe do then? Well, it makes me have to sneeze so of course I inhale, asteroid included, and sneeze the single most fiery and painful sneeze I've ever sneezed. You are not supposed to daily clarify your nose hairs. EVER! I don't even like when water goes up my nose, let alone Sodium Laureth Sulfate and Ammonium Chloride! This burned for so long, it made my eyes water and my head hurt. I would imagine snorting Tabasco would be more pleasant. Seriously.
After all this nonsense, I sure as hell am not going to do the "Repeat" part.
And this is a general occurrence with me. If something is going to burn when snorted by accident, I'm probably going to snort it by accident.
But the Snorture doesn't stop there. Oh no.
Imagine the beach. Nice white sand. Clear blue water. So clear, you can see fish and coral and downed planes and more fish. It's so nice, it makes you want to be able to dive deep and look at all the shiny fish and possible lost flights that took off 75 miles away and became confused and went down in a blaze of glory.
And what sort of thing allows you to do this? Well, for the fancy, there's scuba diving. For the tourist who is only staying for about 7 hours before getting back on a giant boat, there's snorkeling.
Oh snorkeling. What an awesome idea.
No.
I'm all 16 and excited to try something new and I like oceans that I can see my feet in. Underpaid college drop out hands my friends, my dad, and me our snorkeling gear. Very simple gear: Goggles (I got these down pat), snorkel (should be easy), vest with emergency "Help I'm dying" feature (yay safety!) and flippers (they were yellow and I looked like a retard duck). By the way, he gave us no instructions.
We get out to the now craniate infested small plane and decide, it's time to snorkel. This should be simple. You put your face down, you breathe like normal, you don't let the tube get submerged.
Not if the universe hates you.
You put your face down, you swim 7 inches, you take one breath and your body panics and is like "YOU ARE NOT FISH! UNDERWATER BREATHING NOT OKAY!" so you emerge in a stupor of "why did I just fail at that?" You continue to go through this cycle of face in water hyperventilation for a good 8 rounds until you're tired.
And by you, I mean me.
After this, I'm sort of over this whole snorkeling thing. As I work my way back to shore with my retard duck feet, I realize shore keeps getting everything but closer. I eventually resigned myself to floating until I died all the while thinking "If I pull this Oh shit string, they'll save me but then I'll look lame". No 16 year old wants to look lame. All I wanted was just some way to inflate this freaking vest to help me out, but the only way I knew how was to pull the string. So, I rested in the water, too tired to kick my feet and barely keep my head up so I can breathe. At this point goggles and snorkel are all weighing down on random parts of my face. It was a mess.
I do make it to shore safely (as noted by my presence now) but I exclaim that I'm not doing this again. Two hours later, my dad walks up. He looks at me and goes, "Hey guess what we learned, you can use these and blow your vest up!" He proceeds to show me the tubes and inflate his vest.
Universe 5. Me. 1.
Oh wait, while we're on it, this whole "Best if used by" thing tends to be a bit of a struggle in the house. I refuse to eat things that are more than just a few days past that day, but my parents are all "It ain't gonna hurt ya! I been eating things past the date since I was little and I ain't dead am I?" The universe tended to avoid messing with me on this, until we bought French's Zesty Brown Mustard. I'm not exactly sure if we've ever purchased a new one or not, so I don't know how long the one that's in the fridge has been there, but I avoid it like the plague until I'm making a sandwich. Then I want something spicy and I look all over the stupid bottle like a date is going to magically appear knowing that I'm never going to find one. So after searching for the El Dorado of use by dates, I realize my quest for a spicy turkey on white just isn't realistic and I place it, sadly, back in the fridge for the cycle to happen a good month point five later.
I digress, back to etymological adversities.
Well, turns out, there are few more issues I've had with things that start with SNOR-.
First is the inevitable snorting of things you don't ever want to snort. No I'm not some cocaine addict. I'm already crazy enough as it is, I don't need substances to make it worse.
Exhibit A: We all know soap burns if it gets in your eyes and your nose. So what do we do? We make an effort to ensure our eyes and nostrils are safe. Whatever you do in the shower is your business, I won't judge.
So here I am, all excited because I'm about to make my hair daily clarified (as opposed to all-day volumized which I've done before). I lather, massage thoroughly through hair and begin to rinse when this rogue asteroid of suds flies from my hair and lands right under my nose. What does the universe do then? Well, it makes me have to sneeze so of course I inhale, asteroid included, and sneeze the single most fiery and painful sneeze I've ever sneezed. You are not supposed to daily clarify your nose hairs. EVER! I don't even like when water goes up my nose, let alone Sodium Laureth Sulfate and Ammonium Chloride! This burned for so long, it made my eyes water and my head hurt. I would imagine snorting Tabasco would be more pleasant. Seriously.
After all this nonsense, I sure as hell am not going to do the "Repeat" part.
And this is a general occurrence with me. If something is going to burn when snorted by accident, I'm probably going to snort it by accident.
But the Snorture doesn't stop there. Oh no.
Imagine the beach. Nice white sand. Clear blue water. So clear, you can see fish and coral and downed planes and more fish. It's so nice, it makes you want to be able to dive deep and look at all the shiny fish and possible lost flights that took off 75 miles away and became confused and went down in a blaze of glory.
And what sort of thing allows you to do this? Well, for the fancy, there's scuba diving. For the tourist who is only staying for about 7 hours before getting back on a giant boat, there's snorkeling.
Oh snorkeling. What an awesome idea.
No.
I'm all 16 and excited to try something new and I like oceans that I can see my feet in. Underpaid college drop out hands my friends, my dad, and me our snorkeling gear. Very simple gear: Goggles (I got these down pat), snorkel (should be easy), vest with emergency "Help I'm dying" feature (yay safety!) and flippers (they were yellow and I looked like a retard duck). By the way, he gave us no instructions.
We get out to the now craniate infested small plane and decide, it's time to snorkel. This should be simple. You put your face down, you breathe like normal, you don't let the tube get submerged.
Not if the universe hates you.
You put your face down, you swim 7 inches, you take one breath and your body panics and is like "YOU ARE NOT FISH! UNDERWATER BREATHING NOT OKAY!" so you emerge in a stupor of "why did I just fail at that?" You continue to go through this cycle of face in water hyperventilation for a good 8 rounds until you're tired.
And by you, I mean me.
After this, I'm sort of over this whole snorkeling thing. As I work my way back to shore with my retard duck feet, I realize shore keeps getting everything but closer. I eventually resigned myself to floating until I died all the while thinking "If I pull this Oh shit string, they'll save me but then I'll look lame". No 16 year old wants to look lame. All I wanted was just some way to inflate this freaking vest to help me out, but the only way I knew how was to pull the string. So, I rested in the water, too tired to kick my feet and barely keep my head up so I can breathe. At this point goggles and snorkel are all weighing down on random parts of my face. It was a mess.
I do make it to shore safely (as noted by my presence now) but I exclaim that I'm not doing this again. Two hours later, my dad walks up. He looks at me and goes, "Hey guess what we learned, you can use these and blow your vest up!" He proceeds to show me the tubes and inflate his vest.
Universe 5. Me. 1.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Schnarchen. (verb) To Snore.
When you grow up completely unaware that there is this is thing called "The Universe" which happens to be out to get you, you: 1) Become an overly anxious child who continues to be hyper anxious about trivial things in later life and 2) assume monsters are real. As you can see, these two create quite the paranoid six year old.
But why did I do this to myself? Oh maybe because, like all children do, I used my super awesome imagination—which by the way, I developed because I am an only child who had no one to play with until he was in third grade—to make sense of the world around me. What kind of things did I conjure from the depths of my mind?
Let's see, there was the evil gorilla man who always tried to watch me while I napped, but the blinds on my great grandma's door stopped him from doing so all I could ever see of him was his shadow being cast on the blinds. Yeah, he was pretty mean. I was positive he was going to strangle me in my sleep like all gorilla men are wont to do.
Turns out he was just a coat rack, some coats and a hat that hadn't moved since the 40's. I didn't learn that til I was like 10.
But then there were times where it wasn't so easy to close my eyes and make the bad things go away. Oh, no. Visuals you can get rid of but not sounds.
Snoring haunted me like...a ghost haunts a house? Whatever, go with it. Point is, it was there and I couldn't see it and it was getting on my nerves. Unfortunately at this hyper vigilant point in my life, I was oblivious to the direct product of nasal congestion and/or sleep apnea. I equated allergies with not being able to eat Oreo cookies or drink Hershey's chocolate milk as they would break me out into this weird red rash thing. I grew out of this, don't worry.
So there I am, trying to sleep at my grandparents' house (you see where this is going) and I hear this awful, vicious demon-bear-warthog with chainsaws for teeth standing outside my bedroom door. This DemonBearHog has obviously just finished running 3 kajillion miles from the depths of hell to torment me as not only is it snarling, but it has to exhale deeply from all the running. I mean, I couldn't even run down the street without getting tired so I could only imagine how tired this unsavory beast must have been.
I tried to make it go away, but it just never did. No amount of eye closing or singing to myself ever made the beast stop. So I just stayed there all curled up, eyes wide as I had resigned myself to my fate of being gnarled up by whatever this was. And because I was a good kid who prayed at night and got straight A's, I did not bother my family with my childish beasts of which I knew they would not be able to see or hear.
I eventually learned that this thing called snoring existed and my grandpa did it. However, I also began to learn that anything with the word "snore" as its root, was part of the universe's plan to take me out.
But I'll tell you the rest next time.
Universe: 4. Me: 1
Monday, June 27, 2011
A rectangle is not a square...
Or in this case, a bum is not a hobo, but a hobo could be a rectangle.
No wait, a hobo can be a bum just as a square can be a rectangle.
I was awful at Geometry. And osmosis. The stuff is on the outside so the water goes out? Or does the water go in? I know it all has to do with making things equal, but I only ever think about it now when I see my pruned up fingers for being in the shower or the pool too long. That confuses me even more. Because there's "stuff" in the water, but there's also way more water so I'm never really sure if I'm pruney because the water goes in and makes me super saturated or if the water goes out leaving me dry. If the latter is true, then I don't understand how because I am in enough water to sink a small boat (possibly a pirogue?). At least when I'm in the pool there's that much water as I do not have a 12000+ gallon tub. I think after a certain gallon-age, a tub becomes a pool. So, thinking about geometry, if a square is a rectangle, but a rectangle cannot be a square, does this mean a tub can be a pool but a pool cannot be a tub? Or can a pool be a tub and a tub be a pool? Whatever, I learned to recognize triangles in relation to Doritos and I put smiley faces on all my proofs. I made an A. Full on 100 to be exact. Don't hate.
Aside from the fact that the Universe invented things like Geometry and Osmosis to confuse me and make whine to my high school teachers, it also made homeless people. What harm can homeless people be you say? Plenty.
Prior to writing this, I wanted to make sure I was using correct terminology as to ensure as little backlash as possible. I looked up "hobo" as that's what I call 'em. Apparently a hobo is a traveling worker, where a tramp travels but doesn't work, and a bum neither travels nor works. Hobos even have codes to tell other hobos things and there's like a code of ethics. My worldview (at least of the homeless) has just been turned upside. They're more organized than a Kmart!
That being said, regardless of work ethic, organization, or distance travel/to be traveled, I will refer to the homeless as hobos still. At least for this post and in conversation with those around me.
I digressed, I apologize.
Hobos are secret agents of the universe. They don't inconvenience me, however, they scare me or make me more uncomfortable than watching a sex scene in a movie with my parents. And not only this, but either 1) the universe has painted a giant sign only visible to the crazy hobos above my head that says "Talk to this guy" or 2) it has equipped ALL of them with some sort of locator device that allows them to find me in a crowd of 9 million—or just 17— people. I have only seen this level of "spot the person" skill exhibited by two other folks: Batman and anyone from the IRS.
While there are many encounters with the homeless-kind, let me provide you with the more exciting examples.
Example # 1: I'm in a train station in Belgium. I'm drinking a sprite. My "someone is near you" sense went off to my rear left. I thought it was my friend who recently went to the restroom. Then, I did an inventory of those I was with. To my upper left, my mother and father. To my upper right, my aunt, my uncle, and my said friend. At this point, I become uncomfortable. I look to my side. There is a man, with a freakish grin and wide eyes looking at me. He motions the "drink motion" then nods and walks off.
AT NO POINT DID ANYONE IN MY PARTY WARN OR ASSIST ME IN THIS ENCOUNTER!
Example# 2: Recently (read Today), I was at a hospital. I stepped outside of the ER room and into the wilderness that is the parking lot to make a phone call. I like to follow some rules and not call people from cell phone restricted areas. Why? Because the universe will make it so that my one phone call will stop someone's pacemaker. I can't handle that kind of pressure. Too much responsibility. So, as I'm walking in, a hobo with his bags asks me if I can take him because he lives close by. I tell him (honestly) that I can't because I'm with a patient and have no idea when I'll be leaving. He asks me to consider it and I tell him again that this just isn't a realistic option because in theory he could wait for hours for me to leave when he could just walk and be there faster. As I start to walk away, he follows. And then loudly proclaims "I'm not making you do it!"
At this point in my day, I've had too much sass. I boldly turn around on one heel, tilt my head like a disgruntled yet confused bird of prey and say "You're right, you're not making me do it and I'm not going to consider the offer because I was nice about it at first but you continue to ask when I've said that I am unable to. So please, stop asking!" He then asks me for a light to which I reply "I do not smoke, therefore I do not have a light" and proceed to take my belongings out of my pocket and dangle/jingle them in the air like a true smart ass then walk back in. About 3 hours later, after leaving to get food I return to the hospital to find this man sitting the in ER room next to mine in hand cuffs and a hospital gown with 2 police officers. Poor man? Oh no, he should know you don't cause trouble outside of a hospital when you've had a bit too much brandy. Or whatever it is was on his breath.
Example #3: This one time I was walking down the streets of Knoxville wearing a Superman logo shirt. I like comics, don't judge me. Then I hear this deep, booming voice from my right say "HEY SUPAHMAN, HEY SUPAHMAN!" Imagine James Earl Jones but with a hint or two of vodka. Yeah, that. I look to my right to see a tall, scruffy, Dallas Cowboys jacketed African American male with blood shot eyes walking towards me to ask me if he could ask me a question. I tell the man I am in a hurry and we part ways.
While not an awful encounter, this man proved to be the Rain Man of the Hobos. Every time I was walking in Knoxville, I walked in fear of the Dallas Cowboys Jacket. You know how when you go in public and you see that person you don't want to talk to, you go out of your way to avoid them. Say you'll cross the street or go down the feminine hygiene and family planning aisle. Whatever it takes, your pride and/or safety are not a factor in avoiding this person. Well, that's how it was for me. I'd step out and look as far down the strip as possible to see if I could see the James Earl Hobo. If I spotted the jacket, I waited til later for food and found a back way. A few times I tried to hide myself in a group of people or by wearing a hoodie. Or both. In the cover of the moonless night. While using a cloaking device from the future.
He still found me. Every. Time. I'd hear from across the 4 lane road "HEY SUPAHMAN!" And no, I did not wear my ONE superman logo shirt every time I left the dorm. I was lazy in college, not dirty. How this man remembered and spotted me baffles me to this day. He always wanted to ask me a question. Every time I said I was in a hurry. He was like "that's cool". One time the universe was especially hateful and made me wait at a cross walk like after I said I was in a hurry. My theory is that this man was Jesus and he wanted to see if I was nice. I guess I failed that one.
I did help a homeless from time to time. One dude told me he was put on the wrong bus from jail in Louisiana and was hungry and diabetic and hadn't eaten in 3 days and had kidney issues (yes, he said all this without the punctuation). After I told him I was going to Wendy's and he could tag along for a burger, I assumed he'd stop talking but then he told me he was jail for assaulting a police officer. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel like if someone offers to buy you a meal, you stop talking about being a criminal. In the end, he got two cheeseburgers, some fries and a diet coke. Because diabetics are only allowed to drink Diet Coke.
So to recap:
1) Triangles are Doritos.
2) Osmosis is a hard concept to absorb.
3) Cloaking devices do not exist in this time period.
4) Don't play "Where's Waldo?" with hobo in a Dallas Cowboys Jacket. He'll always win.
Universe: 3. Me: 1
Yes, I get 1 point. .5 for buying the dude food, .25 for respecting cell phones and pacemakers, .25 because the sassy hobo got cuffed.
No wait, a hobo can be a bum just as a square can be a rectangle.
I was awful at Geometry. And osmosis. The stuff is on the outside so the water goes out? Or does the water go in? I know it all has to do with making things equal, but I only ever think about it now when I see my pruned up fingers for being in the shower or the pool too long. That confuses me even more. Because there's "stuff" in the water, but there's also way more water so I'm never really sure if I'm pruney because the water goes in and makes me super saturated or if the water goes out leaving me dry. If the latter is true, then I don't understand how because I am in enough water to sink a small boat (possibly a pirogue?). At least when I'm in the pool there's that much water as I do not have a 12000+ gallon tub. I think after a certain gallon-age, a tub becomes a pool. So, thinking about geometry, if a square is a rectangle, but a rectangle cannot be a square, does this mean a tub can be a pool but a pool cannot be a tub? Or can a pool be a tub and a tub be a pool? Whatever, I learned to recognize triangles in relation to Doritos and I put smiley faces on all my proofs. I made an A. Full on 100 to be exact. Don't hate.
Aside from the fact that the Universe invented things like Geometry and Osmosis to confuse me and make whine to my high school teachers, it also made homeless people. What harm can homeless people be you say? Plenty.
Prior to writing this, I wanted to make sure I was using correct terminology as to ensure as little backlash as possible. I looked up "hobo" as that's what I call 'em. Apparently a hobo is a traveling worker, where a tramp travels but doesn't work, and a bum neither travels nor works. Hobos even have codes to tell other hobos things and there's like a code of ethics. My worldview (at least of the homeless) has just been turned upside. They're more organized than a Kmart!
That being said, regardless of work ethic, organization, or distance travel/to be traveled, I will refer to the homeless as hobos still. At least for this post and in conversation with those around me.
I digressed, I apologize.
Hobos are secret agents of the universe. They don't inconvenience me, however, they scare me or make me more uncomfortable than watching a sex scene in a movie with my parents. And not only this, but either 1) the universe has painted a giant sign only visible to the crazy hobos above my head that says "Talk to this guy" or 2) it has equipped ALL of them with some sort of locator device that allows them to find me in a crowd of 9 million—or just 17— people. I have only seen this level of "spot the person" skill exhibited by two other folks: Batman and anyone from the IRS.
While there are many encounters with the homeless-kind, let me provide you with the more exciting examples.
Example # 1: I'm in a train station in Belgium. I'm drinking a sprite. My "someone is near you" sense went off to my rear left. I thought it was my friend who recently went to the restroom. Then, I did an inventory of those I was with. To my upper left, my mother and father. To my upper right, my aunt, my uncle, and my said friend. At this point, I become uncomfortable. I look to my side. There is a man, with a freakish grin and wide eyes looking at me. He motions the "drink motion" then nods and walks off.
AT NO POINT DID ANYONE IN MY PARTY WARN OR ASSIST ME IN THIS ENCOUNTER!
Example# 2: Recently (read Today), I was at a hospital. I stepped outside of the ER room and into the wilderness that is the parking lot to make a phone call. I like to follow some rules and not call people from cell phone restricted areas. Why? Because the universe will make it so that my one phone call will stop someone's pacemaker. I can't handle that kind of pressure. Too much responsibility. So, as I'm walking in, a hobo with his bags asks me if I can take him because he lives close by. I tell him (honestly) that I can't because I'm with a patient and have no idea when I'll be leaving. He asks me to consider it and I tell him again that this just isn't a realistic option because in theory he could wait for hours for me to leave when he could just walk and be there faster. As I start to walk away, he follows. And then loudly proclaims "I'm not making you do it!"
At this point in my day, I've had too much sass. I boldly turn around on one heel, tilt my head like a disgruntled yet confused bird of prey and say "You're right, you're not making me do it and I'm not going to consider the offer because I was nice about it at first but you continue to ask when I've said that I am unable to. So please, stop asking!" He then asks me for a light to which I reply "I do not smoke, therefore I do not have a light" and proceed to take my belongings out of my pocket and dangle/jingle them in the air like a true smart ass then walk back in. About 3 hours later, after leaving to get food I return to the hospital to find this man sitting the in ER room next to mine in hand cuffs and a hospital gown with 2 police officers. Poor man? Oh no, he should know you don't cause trouble outside of a hospital when you've had a bit too much brandy. Or whatever it is was on his breath.
Example #3: This one time I was walking down the streets of Knoxville wearing a Superman logo shirt. I like comics, don't judge me. Then I hear this deep, booming voice from my right say "HEY SUPAHMAN, HEY SUPAHMAN!" Imagine James Earl Jones but with a hint or two of vodka. Yeah, that. I look to my right to see a tall, scruffy, Dallas Cowboys jacketed African American male with blood shot eyes walking towards me to ask me if he could ask me a question. I tell the man I am in a hurry and we part ways.
While not an awful encounter, this man proved to be the Rain Man of the Hobos. Every time I was walking in Knoxville, I walked in fear of the Dallas Cowboys Jacket. You know how when you go in public and you see that person you don't want to talk to, you go out of your way to avoid them. Say you'll cross the street or go down the feminine hygiene and family planning aisle. Whatever it takes, your pride and/or safety are not a factor in avoiding this person. Well, that's how it was for me. I'd step out and look as far down the strip as possible to see if I could see the James Earl Hobo. If I spotted the jacket, I waited til later for food and found a back way. A few times I tried to hide myself in a group of people or by wearing a hoodie. Or both. In the cover of the moonless night. While using a cloaking device from the future.
He still found me. Every. Time. I'd hear from across the 4 lane road "HEY SUPAHMAN!" And no, I did not wear my ONE superman logo shirt every time I left the dorm. I was lazy in college, not dirty. How this man remembered and spotted me baffles me to this day. He always wanted to ask me a question. Every time I said I was in a hurry. He was like "that's cool". One time the universe was especially hateful and made me wait at a cross walk like after I said I was in a hurry. My theory is that this man was Jesus and he wanted to see if I was nice. I guess I failed that one.
I did help a homeless from time to time. One dude told me he was put on the wrong bus from jail in Louisiana and was hungry and diabetic and hadn't eaten in 3 days and had kidney issues (yes, he said all this without the punctuation). After I told him I was going to Wendy's and he could tag along for a burger, I assumed he'd stop talking but then he told me he was jail for assaulting a police officer. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I feel like if someone offers to buy you a meal, you stop talking about being a criminal. In the end, he got two cheeseburgers, some fries and a diet coke. Because diabetics are only allowed to drink Diet Coke.
So to recap:
1) Triangles are Doritos.
2) Osmosis is a hard concept to absorb.
3) Cloaking devices do not exist in this time period.
4) Don't play "Where's Waldo?" with hobo in a Dallas Cowboys Jacket. He'll always win.
Universe: 3. Me: 1
Yes, I get 1 point. .5 for buying the dude food, .25 for respecting cell phones and pacemakers, .25 because the sassy hobo got cuffed.
Friday, June 17, 2011
The Primal Itch. (No, it's not an STD)
So it begins innocently enough with a minor oversight: Forgetting to put on sunscreen...
...unless of course you're me on a week the universe has some spare time. Then it's not an oversight at all. It's an orchestrated event where the universe makes the pool look so damn inviting that I get all excited, throw on swim trunks, grab my goggles with the nose thing (we'll talk about attempts to breathe and not breathe underwater later), and dive right on in. Not once did the thought of "Oh, hey the sun is out and it's kind of hot and burny" ever cross my mind. Why? The universe took its cosmic phalanges and stirred my brain so I'd forget.
No, it wasn't my fault, I'm not (that) forgetful. This is my blog, I can shirk responsibility all I want to, stop judging me.
SO then I get in the pool and I'm all like OMG YAY WATER!
Two hours go by, I get out, I feel fine. I wash off, I do the necessary moisturize-the-burnt-area (my shoulders and back to about my shoulder blades) routine and move on. I believe I've won.
No.
The next evening, I feel this warmth on my back. It felt a little something like this.
Any sensible person would feel this and go, "Oh shit, this is painful." I'm a sensible person.
However, I'm also aware that this solar storm emitting from my back and shoulders is just a ploy. The universe wants me to use that blue aloe gel sunburn crack stuff. You put it on, you feel better, it wears off, you hurt, the cycle starts over. This is also the point where you or someone near you Googles and finds that you should take a hot shower while pouring vinegar and peanut butter with sea salt and peppermint lavender tea bags all over your burned areas. Because we all know if it's on Yahoo Answers, it MUST be right.
Don't lie, you've believed something on Yahoo Answers. I have too; we're in the same boat. What? They had sources, one of which was Wikipedia.
After realizing what the 'verse was up to, I gave it the finger and said "I'ma take a shower and use my Aveeno like always! I got this figured out."
Yeah, no. Shortly after the Aveeno is rinsed off, the most persistent, piercing, painful, itch begins. This is the itch I was trying to avoid by properly moisturizing and using colloidal oatmeal body wash. There's only one name for it: The Primal Itch. This feeling causes the inner beast to come out until it stops or I'm adequately medicated.
I grind my teeth as the feeling of a thousand ants crawling under my skin and biting away at the threads that keep my skin attached to my body begins to worsen and worsen. It's awful. Imagine the most irritating itch you've ever had (but please don't share, I'm not okay with knowing about your itching in personal areas) and then multiply it by 1000. Or divide by 0. Either way, it's an insane feeling.
First come the head convulsions. I shake my head all around because I have little options at this point.
Next, the seizing of the shoulders. Which effectively leads to the last resort : The dog-on-back roll.
These work for about 10.74 seconds, then the itching starts again. No lotion, cream, or gel will do. They just piss of the make-believe ants and it gets worse. Trust me, you think real ants are bad when angry, the make believe ones are hell.
After enough of this, I down a benadryl or two. Followed by some advil. This sort of staves off the pain until I can ease myself back into reality.
To summarize:
1) Don't give the universe the finger.
2) Oatmeal should be put in bowls, not shower gels. It's called oat-MEAL, not oat-WASH for a reason.
3) Make-believe ants are not friendly.
4) Too much Benadryl in one night can lead to some scary dreams.
Universe: 2. Me: 0.
...unless of course you're me on a week the universe has some spare time. Then it's not an oversight at all. It's an orchestrated event where the universe makes the pool look so damn inviting that I get all excited, throw on swim trunks, grab my goggles with the nose thing (we'll talk about attempts to breathe and not breathe underwater later), and dive right on in. Not once did the thought of "Oh, hey the sun is out and it's kind of hot and burny" ever cross my mind. Why? The universe took its cosmic phalanges and stirred my brain so I'd forget.
No, it wasn't my fault, I'm not (that) forgetful. This is my blog, I can shirk responsibility all I want to, stop judging me.
SO then I get in the pool and I'm all like OMG YAY WATER!
Two hours go by, I get out, I feel fine. I wash off, I do the necessary moisturize-the-burnt-area (my shoulders and back to about my shoulder blades) routine and move on. I believe I've won.
No.
The next evening, I feel this warmth on my back. It felt a little something like this.
Any sensible person would feel this and go, "Oh shit, this is painful." I'm a sensible person.
However, I'm also aware that this solar storm emitting from my back and shoulders is just a ploy. The universe wants me to use that blue aloe gel sunburn crack stuff. You put it on, you feel better, it wears off, you hurt, the cycle starts over. This is also the point where you or someone near you Googles and finds that you should take a hot shower while pouring vinegar and peanut butter with sea salt and peppermint lavender tea bags all over your burned areas. Because we all know if it's on Yahoo Answers, it MUST be right.
Don't lie, you've believed something on Yahoo Answers. I have too; we're in the same boat. What? They had sources, one of which was Wikipedia.
After realizing what the 'verse was up to, I gave it the finger and said "I'ma take a shower and use my Aveeno like always! I got this figured out."
Yeah, no. Shortly after the Aveeno is rinsed off, the most persistent, piercing, painful, itch begins. This is the itch I was trying to avoid by properly moisturizing and using colloidal oatmeal body wash. There's only one name for it: The Primal Itch. This feeling causes the inner beast to come out until it stops or I'm adequately medicated.
I grind my teeth as the feeling of a thousand ants crawling under my skin and biting away at the threads that keep my skin attached to my body begins to worsen and worsen. It's awful. Imagine the most irritating itch you've ever had (but please don't share, I'm not okay with knowing about your itching in personal areas) and then multiply it by 1000. Or divide by 0. Either way, it's an insane feeling.
First come the head convulsions. I shake my head all around because I have little options at this point.
Next, the seizing of the shoulders. Which effectively leads to the last resort : The dog-on-back roll.
These work for about 10.74 seconds, then the itching starts again. No lotion, cream, or gel will do. They just piss of the make-believe ants and it gets worse. Trust me, you think real ants are bad when angry, the make believe ones are hell.
After enough of this, I down a benadryl or two. Followed by some advil. This sort of staves off the pain until I can ease myself back into reality.
To summarize:
1) Don't give the universe the finger.
2) Oatmeal should be put in bowls, not shower gels. It's called oat-MEAL, not oat-WASH for a reason.
3) Make-believe ants are not friendly.
4) Too much Benadryl in one night can lead to some scary dreams.
Universe: 2. Me: 0.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Should there be a comma before "my ass"?
It got me.
Sneaky. Clever. Simple. Effective.
The universe momentarily killed the batteries in my remote. I was forced to watch an entire episode of The Electric Barbarellas.
Imagine if the Power Rangers were all female. And tragic.
It's not like I could change the channel. The universal remote that goes to the tv only changes the box channel. And the only way to have other watchable tv is to change the channel with the box.
Muting wasn't an option either. I don't have the original TV remote (also hateful universe).
I was comfortable and the universe knew that by turning the batteries off (yes, turned them off, don't argue) that the only way to save myself was to get out and turn the TV manually.
Thirty minutes later, the remote magically works.
Universal remote, my ass. More like Universe's remote.
Hell.
Universe: 1. Me: 0.
Sneaky. Clever. Simple. Effective.
The universe momentarily killed the batteries in my remote. I was forced to watch an entire episode of The Electric Barbarellas.
Imagine if the Power Rangers were all female. And tragic.
It's not like I could change the channel. The universal remote that goes to the tv only changes the box channel. And the only way to have other watchable tv is to change the channel with the box.
Muting wasn't an option either. I don't have the original TV remote (also hateful universe).
I was comfortable and the universe knew that by turning the batteries off (yes, turned them off, don't argue) that the only way to save myself was to get out and turn the TV manually.
Thirty minutes later, the remote magically works.
Universal remote, my ass. More like Universe's remote.
Hell.
Universe: 1. Me: 0.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Agent of The 'Verse # 1: Food. (Part 1)
An important part of knowing that the universe (also referred to as the 'verse or just 'verse from here on) is against me—and you too—is being able to identify the agents that the ‘verse has hired or unwillingly employed to inconvenience me…or us.
One of these agents is Food. It comes in many forms, but if the universe can use food against you, it will. The ‘verse is quite the culinary artist, so I’ll do my best to present some of what it hides in the picnic basket of doom. Well maybe not doom, more like disappointment. Yeah, picnic basket of disappointment!
The Lone Cuisine
Apparently this little agent of the 'verse is incredibly cheap to hire out or there is way more supply than there is demand (which is hard to believe) because it's all over the place. The Lone Cuisine is when you go to the fridge/pantry/spinny cabinet with snacks in it and there is only one thing left in said space. And usually this one thing is the one thing that you don't have a taste for.
For example, you go into the cabinet and you look around for something sweet. You know you bought some pop tarts, 3 boxes of Little Debbies because they were on sale and a huge bag of those flower shaped chocolate chip cookies with the holes in the middle that you used to put on your finger (and still usually do) when you were in Sunday School.
But lo and behold, none of those items are there! How in the world did you eat 36 fudge rounds, 16 pop tarts and all of those Sunday school cookies in two and a half weeks? Then you do the math. A pack of pop tarts for breakfast for 8 days, then fudge rounds when those ran out, plus a few for dessert because you bought the small fudge rounds and then those cookies just sort of disappear no matter what.
Yup, the only thing left in the cabinet is the granola bar. Do you want a granola bar? No, it's not sweet. It's salty and has hints of cinnamon.
And sometimes, this one is compounded in severity by....
The Gilligan's Island
This is more of a state of being made by the fact that you live in some sort of anomaly, but still, the universe is the culprit. Whenever The Lone Cuisine strikes, you can go out and get something to rectify the situation. However, if you exist in this tragic state caused by the 'verse, well, sucks for you. Because here, as the name implies, you're stranded. Not necessarily because you fail to have transportation (which by the way may or may not be the 'verse's fault), but because everything around you is what you've already had every other night this week and there's nothing left to choose from. You could try to alleviate this by getting something different from somewhere else, but the truth of the matter is that you are still eating a coconut (or a chicken finger or whatever).
But this agent tends to lock arms with...
The LDR (Long Distance Relationship)
So you've been hit by The Lone Cuisine and realize you're stuck in the Gilligan's Island anomaly. You think to yourself "Is there any way to fix this?" Well, you do some self-assessing. You realize you're in the mood for Chinese. Good Chinese. Not the New North Star Fancy King China Buffet. That shit's shady.
Where is the nearest good Chinese food? Oh yeah, it's like 37 minutes away which at this point is far too far away for you to commit. You love Happy Smile GO! Chinese Bistro, you do. It means the world to you and you would love to spend time with it, but you just can't find it in you to go THAT far. You struggle with it because you are hungry, you do miss it, but at the same time, you're tired, it's dinner, and all you really wanted from the beginning was a cookie.
So you mentally break up with Happy Smile GO! and grab the granola bar.
Universe 1. You 0.
One of these agents is Food. It comes in many forms, but if the universe can use food against you, it will. The ‘verse is quite the culinary artist, so I’ll do my best to present some of what it hides in the picnic basket of doom. Well maybe not doom, more like disappointment. Yeah, picnic basket of disappointment!
The Lone Cuisine
Apparently this little agent of the 'verse is incredibly cheap to hire out or there is way more supply than there is demand (which is hard to believe) because it's all over the place. The Lone Cuisine is when you go to the fridge/pantry/spinny cabinet with snacks in it and there is only one thing left in said space. And usually this one thing is the one thing that you don't have a taste for.
For example, you go into the cabinet and you look around for something sweet. You know you bought some pop tarts, 3 boxes of Little Debbies because they were on sale and a huge bag of those flower shaped chocolate chip cookies with the holes in the middle that you used to put on your finger (and still usually do) when you were in Sunday School.
But lo and behold, none of those items are there! How in the world did you eat 36 fudge rounds, 16 pop tarts and all of those Sunday school cookies in two and a half weeks? Then you do the math. A pack of pop tarts for breakfast for 8 days, then fudge rounds when those ran out, plus a few for dessert because you bought the small fudge rounds and then those cookies just sort of disappear no matter what.
Yup, the only thing left in the cabinet is the granola bar. Do you want a granola bar? No, it's not sweet. It's salty and has hints of cinnamon.
And sometimes, this one is compounded in severity by....
The Gilligan's Island
This is more of a state of being made by the fact that you live in some sort of anomaly, but still, the universe is the culprit. Whenever The Lone Cuisine strikes, you can go out and get something to rectify the situation. However, if you exist in this tragic state caused by the 'verse, well, sucks for you. Because here, as the name implies, you're stranded. Not necessarily because you fail to have transportation (which by the way may or may not be the 'verse's fault), but because everything around you is what you've already had every other night this week and there's nothing left to choose from. You could try to alleviate this by getting something different from somewhere else, but the truth of the matter is that you are still eating a coconut (or a chicken finger or whatever).
But this agent tends to lock arms with...
The LDR (Long Distance Relationship)
So you've been hit by The Lone Cuisine and realize you're stuck in the Gilligan's Island anomaly. You think to yourself "Is there any way to fix this?" Well, you do some self-assessing. You realize you're in the mood for Chinese. Good Chinese. Not the New North Star Fancy King China Buffet. That shit's shady.
Where is the nearest good Chinese food? Oh yeah, it's like 37 minutes away which at this point is far too far away for you to commit. You love Happy Smile GO! Chinese Bistro, you do. It means the world to you and you would love to spend time with it, but you just can't find it in you to go THAT far. You struggle with it because you are hungry, you do miss it, but at the same time, you're tired, it's dinner, and all you really wanted from the beginning was a cookie.
So you mentally break up with Happy Smile GO! and grab the granola bar.
Universe 1. You 0.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
One Big Galactic Gamble
Sometimes it doesn't necessarily happen with flashing lights and arrows, but it still happens and I still notice. Other times there is no questioning it no matter how I turn it or what sort of positive spin I put on it. I've watched, observed, and taken notes. My conclusion is very clear: There are spans of time (ranging from the insignificant hour to a grueling month) where the universe is undoubtedly—and unabashedly—out to get me.
How do I know you say? Just observe and you will see it's out to get you too. Remember that time all you wanted to do was take a nap because you had a headache but for some reason everyone you have ever known needed you in that one hour of the entire day when every analgesic you can find in the local pharmacy suddenly became ineffective at getting rid of simple yet pounding headache that you've had all day?
That, my friends, is how you know the universe is out to get you. It lines everything up just to inconvenience you for however long it has arbitrarily decided. Personally, I like to picture a giant arm made of a cosmic dust and gas forming and rolling an equally large and gaseous pair of dice; whatever number comes up is plugged into a formula scientists have yet to understand and BOOM the universe now knows how long it's going to annoy you.
Now, don't confuse the universe's strange fetish of toying with us for just really bad things happening at really inconvenient times. Those are some other force at work, but the universe probably has its dice-rolling nebulous hand in it and most definitely gets a kick out of the discord, however it still isn't the instigator.
Let's break it down with more examples to help you out.
Road construction when you have to pee: Hateful universe
Your favorite pet having a terrible illness: Other forces
Realizing the sunblock you put on was tanning oil: Hateful universe
The resulting hospitalization for your burns: Other forces
The entirety of that song Ironic by Alanis Morissette: Hateful universe
Those little green peas they put in everything: Other forces (of which I've determined was probably an act of Satan, but we'll go there later).
Any questions?
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