You know that person who gets a headache and immediately Googles "brain tumor" only to have the headache subside by the time she has convinced herself that she totally has all the symptoms?
Hi there.
My lips have been really dry and chapped and peeling and even bleeding a little (I know - eww) and I have no idea what prompted this. And nothing seems to work. The only thing I can think of is that I am dehydrated, but stepping up the water intake (thanks for the suggestion Habesha Child - I have been hydrating) hasn't really made a difference one way or the other. On the bright side, my lips are a little darker and pinker so I don't need to apply gloss or anything. Um...Yay?
I feel like a tool for looking up this kind of stuff on WebMD, but what if I am ignoring a common symptom of malaria or Avian bone syndrome or the Ebola virus? I have an English degree and I watch House so clearly I should be diagnosing this stuff with info cribbed from Wikipedia.
When I hear about women who don't realize they are pregnant until they are giving birth into a toilet, I am absolutely shocked someone could be so disconnected from her body because the slightest change and BLAMMO! my ass is consulting websites and frantically emailing doctor friends for free advice and reassurance.
For now, I am placing a bit of the blame on one of my parents who shall remain Dave because he is the king of the Worst Case Scenario. Allergic reaction to some funky peanut sauce? It's probably West Nile. Bump on my neck? Unborn twin tumor baby. No wonder I'm a mess.
UPDATE: Guess what is all better? Yeah. Turns out constant application of Kiehl's and Aquaphor AND drinking a shit-ton of water (shout out Habesha Child!) did work. Oh, and some patience.
Showing posts with label sickie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sickie. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Exciting News from Lingering Cold Central: Now with Super-Attractive Cold Sore AND Period Acne!
(Are you totally turned on right now? It's OK. Don't fight it.)
Not long after writing yesterday's bitchy-ass post about HOW DIFFICULT my life is, what with having the sniffles (oh, the humanity!), help and relief showed up miraculously. This put things into better perspective for me. I mean, it's a COLD. There are people everywhere dealing with way worse. Hell, I have dealt with way worse (what's up, pneumonia and various lung infections that made me cough so hard I vomit in public?) in the past. Sack up.
Katie is also sick and we decided that we needed pedicures to a.) get our whiny selves out of our homes and b.) help us feel like pretty pretty princesses. The pedis worked, yes, and we showed good judgment by sipping juice rather than our traditional mimosas. But Katie had a little surprise for me that perked me up like none other: a visit from the cutest little puppy ever. (Oh, he was accompanied by his "dad" and all that. It's not like he just called up and asked if we were doing anything. He's a puppy.)
Anyway, Riggs, the puppy, was so well-behaved and sweet and snuggly and soft...I did my best not to go all Lenny on him, but it took serious restraint, y'all. This kind of made me feel like a child. Despite all the Stranger Danger stuff I had drilled in to me, I'm pretty sure a kidnapper could easily - to this day - lure me into a sketchy van with a "Will you help me find my lost puppy/kitten?" story because sweet Jesus, I am a sucker for animals. And baby animals? Oy. Don't get me started.
This kind of got me thinking that while I may look like a grown-up and manage to fake it on most days, I really should not be allowed to live without adult supervision. I submit the following evidence:
-I have had to take a little break from my 24 viewing. You'd think this break was inspired by a desire for real human interaction, or to eat some cheese. Nope. This little self-imposed break is due to the new appearace of nightmares...24-inspired nightmares. Now the assassins don't want to hurt David Palmer or Jack Bauer: they are after ME. I know. I KNOW. There are first graders who can probably watch that show before bedtime and be completely fine, but I am a delicate flower. A fucking mental delicate flower, so please treat me with care.
-Last night while watching the Academy Awards I found myself hoarsely yelling "I NEED MORE COWBELL" the entire time Christopher Walken was on the stage to present...something. I don't even know. I was too busy repeating a joke that was funny seven years ago, and cracking myself up in the process. Sure, there may have been a little cold medicine cocktail involved here, but dude. Come on.
-The aforementioned puppy incident. Most normal people reach down and pet a dog. Me? I roll around on the floor with it with zero regard to social norms, ladylike behavior or the pitch of my voice.
I'm choosing to take some comfort in the fact that I act like a full-on child, rather than a tween. I mean, I'm not parading around in a glittery shirt and my pants cover my ass. I'm taking my victories where I can get them. Back off.
Now, I need to cure my fever with MORE COWBELL. Hahahaha! Ah, never gets old for me...
Not long after writing yesterday's bitchy-ass post about HOW DIFFICULT my life is, what with having the sniffles (oh, the humanity!), help and relief showed up miraculously. This put things into better perspective for me. I mean, it's a COLD. There are people everywhere dealing with way worse. Hell, I have dealt with way worse (what's up, pneumonia and various lung infections that made me cough so hard I vomit in public?) in the past. Sack up.
Katie is also sick and we decided that we needed pedicures to a.) get our whiny selves out of our homes and b.) help us feel like pretty pretty princesses. The pedis worked, yes, and we showed good judgment by sipping juice rather than our traditional mimosas. But Katie had a little surprise for me that perked me up like none other: a visit from the cutest little puppy ever. (Oh, he was accompanied by his "dad" and all that. It's not like he just called up and asked if we were doing anything. He's a puppy.)
Anyway, Riggs, the puppy, was so well-behaved and sweet and snuggly and soft...I did my best not to go all Lenny on him, but it took serious restraint, y'all. This kind of made me feel like a child. Despite all the Stranger Danger stuff I had drilled in to me, I'm pretty sure a kidnapper could easily - to this day - lure me into a sketchy van with a "Will you help me find my lost puppy/kitten?" story because sweet Jesus, I am a sucker for animals. And baby animals? Oy. Don't get me started.
This kind of got me thinking that while I may look like a grown-up and manage to fake it on most days, I really should not be allowed to live without adult supervision. I submit the following evidence:
-I have had to take a little break from my 24 viewing. You'd think this break was inspired by a desire for real human interaction, or to eat some cheese. Nope. This little self-imposed break is due to the new appearace of nightmares...24-inspired nightmares. Now the assassins don't want to hurt David Palmer or Jack Bauer: they are after ME. I know. I KNOW. There are first graders who can probably watch that show before bedtime and be completely fine, but I am a delicate flower. A fucking mental delicate flower, so please treat me with care.
-Last night while watching the Academy Awards I found myself hoarsely yelling "I NEED MORE COWBELL" the entire time Christopher Walken was on the stage to present...something. I don't even know. I was too busy repeating a joke that was funny seven years ago, and cracking myself up in the process. Sure, there may have been a little cold medicine cocktail involved here, but dude. Come on.
-The aforementioned puppy incident. Most normal people reach down and pet a dog. Me? I roll around on the floor with it with zero regard to social norms, ladylike behavior or the pitch of my voice.
I'm choosing to take some comfort in the fact that I act like a full-on child, rather than a tween. I mean, I'm not parading around in a glittery shirt and my pants cover my ass. I'm taking my victories where I can get them. Back off.
Now, I need to cure my fever with MORE COWBELL. Hahahaha! Ah, never gets old for me...
Sunday, February 22, 2009
It's Raining, It's Pouring, This Post is Really Boring
And whiny.
It's the 2009 edition of "Being Sick is for Crap" so settle on in for some bitching and moaning because OH MY GOD I HATE HATE HATE BEING SICK.
You know that stereotype that men are the worst when it comes to illness? All helpless and baby-like? Well, I challenge all the males of the world to a showdown in that department. Something about sleep deprivation coupled with an inability to breathe brings out my most charming qualities: self-pity mixed with exhaustion and hint of "fuck-off-no-not-really-can-you-get-me-some-soup-please-don't-leave-meeeeee." I'm hungry, but I don't know what I want. I'm thirsty, but I don't want water, juice or tea, damn it. I'm tired but can't relax and get to sleep. It's adorable, really.
The weather is most definitely conducive to a day of staying inside under a blanket. At the same time, the weather is depressing me because if I'm sick on a nice day, I somehow muster the energy to face the world and that seems to help my mental health, if not the physical. If you have any hints on feeling better in a hurry, please send them my way. Along with some soup. And an US magazine, if it's not too much trouble. Thanks.
I think the only thing that can help me is a hot toddy and a pedicure. Ladies?
It's the 2009 edition of "Being Sick is for Crap" so settle on in for some bitching and moaning because OH MY GOD I HATE HATE HATE BEING SICK.
You know that stereotype that men are the worst when it comes to illness? All helpless and baby-like? Well, I challenge all the males of the world to a showdown in that department. Something about sleep deprivation coupled with an inability to breathe brings out my most charming qualities: self-pity mixed with exhaustion and hint of "fuck-off-no-not-really-can-you-get-me-some-soup-please-don't-leave-meeeeee." I'm hungry, but I don't know what I want. I'm thirsty, but I don't want water, juice or tea, damn it. I'm tired but can't relax and get to sleep. It's adorable, really.
The weather is most definitely conducive to a day of staying inside under a blanket. At the same time, the weather is depressing me because if I'm sick on a nice day, I somehow muster the energy to face the world and that seems to help my mental health, if not the physical. If you have any hints on feeling better in a hurry, please send them my way. Along with some soup. And an US magazine, if it's not too much trouble. Thanks.
I think the only thing that can help me is a hot toddy and a pedicure. Ladies?
Monday, December 22, 2008
Being Sick is for Crap 2: Electric Boogaloo
Hey, remember when I could breathe out of my nose? And talk for more than two sentences without coughing uncontrollably? Ah, those were good times.
This is total bullshit, people. The timing really couldn't be worse. Today is my dear mother's birthday (I would do a birthday tribute, but there's no way I could sum up my mom in one post. Plus, she doesn't read this.) and Dave is whipping up a feast unlike any other. As of now it's uncertain if I will be a.) awake and able to partake and b.) able to taste anything should I be able to rally.
Oh, and there's this thing called "Christmas" this week. Heard of it? The stores have been advertising it since August. Anyway, I had kick-ass plans in the Bay Area to see my dad and the fam, Elisabeth and HER family, and various other awesome friends who are in town. I have been looking forward to the gifts, eggnog (and Bushmills, oh the Bushmills!), wine, laughter, chubby baby hands, and time with loved ones. But I'm pretty sure no one really wants to be around me at the moment. It's like having Amy Winehouse over: I'm either drugged up and incoherent and passing out at random, OR I'm freaking out, looking for more drugs, anything to make me feel better. Just substiture "Alka Seltzer cold medicine" for "heroin" in my scenario, OK? Being in this state makes things like operating a car damn near impossible, what with the matter of needing to be not asleep.
Silver lining: my voice is starting to take on a sexy, smoky quality. So, I might start up a phone sex service for the next week to bring in some extra cash. We'll see how many people have a coughing fetish.
This is total bullshit, people. The timing really couldn't be worse. Today is my dear mother's birthday (I would do a birthday tribute, but there's no way I could sum up my mom in one post. Plus, she doesn't read this.) and Dave is whipping up a feast unlike any other. As of now it's uncertain if I will be a.) awake and able to partake and b.) able to taste anything should I be able to rally.
Oh, and there's this thing called "Christmas" this week. Heard of it? The stores have been advertising it since August. Anyway, I had kick-ass plans in the Bay Area to see my dad and the fam, Elisabeth and HER family, and various other awesome friends who are in town. I have been looking forward to the gifts, eggnog (and Bushmills, oh the Bushmills!), wine, laughter, chubby baby hands, and time with loved ones. But I'm pretty sure no one really wants to be around me at the moment. It's like having Amy Winehouse over: I'm either drugged up and incoherent and passing out at random, OR I'm freaking out, looking for more drugs, anything to make me feel better. Just substiture "Alka Seltzer cold medicine" for "heroin" in my scenario, OK? Being in this state makes things like operating a car damn near impossible, what with the matter of needing to be not asleep.
Silver lining: my voice is starting to take on a sexy, smoky quality. So, I might start up a phone sex service for the next week to bring in some extra cash. We'll see how many people have a coughing fetish.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Being Sick is for Crap
Seriously.
For months co-workers have breathed on me and tried to get me sick and my mighty immune system has resisted. One flight without some Airborne and my ass is out for the count. I am seriously concerned that since I am getting worse rather than better with time (and rest and juice and soup and every other damn thing that is supposed to make it all better) that my Christmas plans will be derailed. So help me if I miss out on quality Evan or Juno time there will be HELL TO PAY.
My method of dealing with illness is relatively simple and foolproof. I generally just need some juice, drugs and rest. Maybe some movies. For the most part I just want to be left alone and sleep it off. But maybe if I shout my will to be breathe again from the rooftops (or, you know, this blog) good health will once again be mine.
If you'll excuse me now I'm going to cough into my pillow and watch Talladega Nights.
For months co-workers have breathed on me and tried to get me sick and my mighty immune system has resisted. One flight without some Airborne and my ass is out for the count. I am seriously concerned that since I am getting worse rather than better with time (and rest and juice and soup and every other damn thing that is supposed to make it all better) that my Christmas plans will be derailed. So help me if I miss out on quality Evan or Juno time there will be HELL TO PAY.
My method of dealing with illness is relatively simple and foolproof. I generally just need some juice, drugs and rest. Maybe some movies. For the most part I just want to be left alone and sleep it off. But maybe if I shout my will to be breathe again from the rooftops (or, you know, this blog) good health will once again be mine.
If you'll excuse me now I'm going to cough into my pillow and watch Talladega Nights.
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