As if it wasn’t bad enough that I suddenly developed a highly unwelcome allergy to shrimp in my forties, it seems I’m now also allergic to some other mystery ingredient found in this new “detoxifying” hair treatment I tried today. Because THIS happened.
Yup, just like that other time when I was worried I might drop dead (rather inconveniently, I thought) in the middle of a busy commercial area…
Except this time I was at a salon and probably wouldn’t have caused as much of a commotion.
So yeah, there I was, happily having a hair treatment at lunch break… because I think midday visits to the parlor are a good diet distraction…
WTH?? Was there SHRIMP in this hair treatment???
And possibly imagined - but possibly real! - throat closing…
Which of course was pretty stressful, so…
Horrors!!! Well obviously I survived (I love you, Claritin) but MAN, what a bummer! And I don’t even know what caused the reaction! I took a look at the ingredients, but they really didn’t tell me much.
So if anyone can shed any light, that would be greatly appreciated. Anyway, lesson learned — never go out without an antihistamine. (Maybe I should get an EpiPen too.) You never know what new allergy might be lurking undetected - or where it may strike. Damn you, age and evil allergens.
Oh well. Cheers, people! May your new and amazing discovery of the day be happier (and considerably less itchy) than mine. ;)
A lot of articles have come out in recent weeks about how sex can cure migraines, and while this seems like useful info, I’d like to ask the cheery researchers and reporters… OMG! HAVE YOU EVER HAD A MIGRAINE??
One side of your head feels like Thor and his mighty hammer have taken residence. You react to light like a vampire about to be incinerated by the sun. Annoying sounds make you want to destroy the earth with a hastily handcrafted bomb. Except you really, really want to hurl so you can’t make one. Believe me, sex is the last thing on your mind.
Because while alcohol may relax uterine muscles - thereby (probably) relieving pain - I know from experience that this whole “muscle relaxing due to alcohol” scenario has OTHER effects that I’d rather not discuss here. Just think raging rapids. or Niagara Falls. Except a really gross version of that. Enough said. Ew.
I am much more likely to try out these cures I found for one of the most common ailments of all… a bad mood.
The 30-second "Write and Throw" technique seems worth a shot…
… but this crazy Mini-Sombrero cure really sounds like a winner.
This really cracked me up. And I swear I’m not making it up (though I do feel pretty bad that I didn’t invent it). It’s recommended by a life coach and everything, and when you read the explanation on Women’s Health, it makes great sense.
"Whether or not you like to wear a tiny hat, there’s a moral to the mini sombrero: We must move away from rash reaction and into a place of observation. Doing so clears us of judgement, sweeps the clouds from our thoughts, and allows us to see a situation for what it is and not the complicated story we’ve created in our minds.
This silly little hat is a physical reminder that our best option is always to smile. Sitting in the negative only buries us deeper, but infiltrating a sense of humor pulls us out of the gutter and back into our naturally optimistic state.
Next time you feel a meltdown coming on, stop, and breathe. Step outside of the situation and observe. Then slap a mini sombrero on your head and remember that laughter cures all.”
Amen to that. And cheers to laughter, which I really do think is the best cure for everything that ails us.
Happy weekend folks! :)
Woohoo, Tumblr’s back! If you read my post about Tumblr being down yesterday, you might be wondering how my ME DAY went. Well, let’s just say it wasn’t as glorious as I thought, even though it started out pretty great when I met my friend Chary for lunch at a nice Thai restaurant at the Fort.
Hey, it was a ME day. The definition of that expands to “ME EAT LIKE A PIG.” Everyone knows this. Get with the program.
So yeah, great food and a gabfest with a gal pal — how could it possibly go wrong, you might ask? Well hmm. We may have made a couple of bad decisions.
Bad decision #1:
Bad move, Chinie. (Here’s why)
Bad decision #2:
Bad move, Chary.
And then we mixed those bad decisions with a ridiculously large amount of food, and capped them off with super milky Thai Iced Coffee — which we drank with straws.. you know, just to supercharge any possible ill effects that might arise.
I’ll spare you (and Chary) the details of the penance Chary had to pay for that later. But about halfway through guzzling that damn industrial-strength milky coffee, I began to feel decidedly ill. Seriously, there was all sorts of stuff going on my body that I didn’t understand.
I don’t know if it was the expired generic antihistamine I took before the meal to try and counteract the shrimp allergy… or maybe there was MSG in the food? Could’ve been the milk.. or the coffee through a straw, or my body just freaking out from being overfed. Maybe all of the above. Whatever. I just felt like I might be dying.
I tried not to make a big deal out of it because when I insisted against all good reason to gorge on copious amounts of rice mixed with shrimp paste, I’d PROMISED Chary that she wouldn’t have to rush me to the hospital. So basically I just tried to suck it up and just pray I didn’t die on the spot - or on my way back to my car - because frankly, that would’ve been pretty embarrassing, and I hate to inconvenience people.
By the time I got home, the possibly imagined shortness of breath and heart palpitations had long passed (I guess prayer really helps) but for some bizarre reason I still felt super HOT inside. And then the hives started to appear.
And when I woke up from a 4-hour “please don’t let me die in my sleep and OMG I’m so itchy!” nap, they were still there!!!
So yeah, I’m an idiot, and I ruined my own glorious me day with my stupid inability to accept once and for all, that I am really and truly allergic to shrimp. And possibly Thai iced coffee.
BAH! I guess it really is true that there are some things you just really have to let go of as you age. Some things are easier to give up. Some things are super difficult. Sometimes it’s people. Sometimes it’s shrimp. But the point is that if you insist on hanging on to what’s obviously bad for you, you’re bound to get hurt.
So au revoir once again, shrimp. This time, we’re breaking up for real.
I’m in mourning. But you go right ahead and have a great Sunday, folks. :)
Help! Eek! I woke up this morning to the nerve-wracking discovery that there’s something wrong with my eye. It’s all red and swollen!
It could be just a sore eye - or some irritation. But of course since I’m cursed with a wild imagination I have all these scenarios in my head now… most of them ending like this:
… which of course means I’ll have no choice but to switch careers…
Because really.. what else does a one-eyed person do? Well, I suppose I’m in the right country for this new and potentially lucrative career… but STILL!
Anyway I suppose I should make an appointment with the doctor before jumping to conclusions and buying a ship and so forth…
Wish me luck!
Update (6 hours later): Eye’s still red. Can’t see the doctor til tomorrow but I have DROPS! Also, people who suspect I have sore eyes are acting a little cray cray.
They’re so gonna walk the plank when I’m a pirate.
It’s a long weekend again here, so even if it’s actually Monday, it feels a lot like Sunday… which means SUNDAY SADNESS SYNDROME should be setting in shortly.
“WTH is SSS? And why are you inventing ailments again???" you may be wondering.
Allow me to illustrate.
You know that joy you feel when you wake up early on a Saturday morning, thinking “Eek! I have to get to work!” and then realize “OMG! It’s Saturday!! WHEEE!!!”?
I know you know what I’m talking about…even if you probably spend your Saturdays in a much less lame manner…
Yeah well Sunday Sadness Syndrome is the progressive OPPOSITE of that.
NOW tell me I’m inventing!!!
Sunday Sadness Syndrome. It’s a thing. For real.
Never doubt me again.
And enjoy what’s left of the long weekend, everyone! :)
I’m convinced I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I’m so depressed by this nonstop rain we’ve been having the past couple of weeks that I don’t even care how I look anymore. Yesterday I went to the office pretty much dressed like a bag lady.
And I’m not alone in this. (Okay maybe I’m alone in the bag lady department, but not the depression.) My Twitter and Facebook feeds are littered with people in varying states of distress over this goddamn rain.
That’s the thing with tropical islanders, you see. We need sunlight to thrive and be happy! (We’re kinda like vampires that way - except TOTALLY OPPOSITE.)
I mean a little rain is nice. Pleasant, even. We get all excited that it’s a little cooler than usual (ahem…some a little more excited than others) — BUT TWO WEEKS IS JUST TOO MUCH!!!
I’m a mess, seriously. I’m actually considering stealing a shopping cart from the grocery to complete my next bag lady ensemble. And maybe a hat to cover some of my steadily mushrooming hair.
Because really…whatever. Who cares… I don’t care. I’m SAD. And I have S.A.D., I just know it. In fact, I looked it up on the Internet to make sure, and here’s what I found:
According to MayoClinic.com, symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder include:
- Depressed mood - check.
- Irritability - BAH!
- Hopelessness - Did you SEE the bag lady outfit??? Check.
- Loss of energy - check. (yawn)
- Oversleeping (feeling like you want to hibernate) - check. (BIGGER YAWN)
- A craving for foods high in carbohydrates such as pastas, rice, bread and cereal. Also, WEIGHT GAIN….
OMG. It’s official.
Bring on the happy pills.
On a more serious note: It’s pretty bad out there today, folks. Stay safe, stay dry, and if you can, lend a hand to those with much bigger problems than just a silly little case of S.A.D.
I’m kind of still in denial about the whole sudden-onset shrimp allergy thing, so when I came upon a pack of Oishi prawn crackers today, I was all “HA! Snack from my childhood! Cool! Let’s reminisce… and break my diet…AND ignore the big ol’ shrimp on the packaging!”
Sigh. I guess that’s it for me and Oishi (now a.k.a. O-ITCHY).
I’m so sad… :(
Up yours, shrimp allergy. I hate you.
Gah. I gained a couple of pounds. (And by ‘a couple’ I really mean more like five. I’m just trying to make myself feel better. And by ‘trying to make myself feel better’ I obviously mean lying.)
When I told my husband about it, he sort of half-smirked (no doubt remembering the pizza and cupcakes I’ve been scarfing down lately and thinking “Well DUH???”) — then immediately remembered his training.
I saw that smirk, mister. But no worries. I laughed in that sheepish way we guilty cupcake-and-pizza devourers do when our excesses catch up with us, and let it go.
It occurred to me however that if this little scenario had happened during another time of the month, things would not have ended quite as well…
….aaaand that would be the beginning of the Apocalypse.
Because believe me, when PMS strikes, there is nothing the hubby can say or do that will satisfy the bloodthirst of my inner Medusa.
So BE WARNED, menfolk, and mark your calendars accordingly. Then just run for cover. Maybe not all women are like me, but when it comes to the PMS-afflicted… trust me. As Yoda would say, “There is no try.”
There is only FAIL. ;)
I’m sure there’s a proper medical term for what I call “desert throat” because I can’t be the only one it happens to. You know when all your saliva cells just randomly decide to BOYCOTT one spot at the back of your throat??
It’s a MENACE, I tell you.
I’m not exactly sure what causes it (not enough water? talking too much? diabolical saliva?) but it used to happen to me a lot back when I was teaching.
Recently it’s been flaring up again, and I’m convinced it’s on some sort of “Hey! Let’s make things awkward!” agenda because it has a conspicuous history of hitting during the WORST POSSIBLE TIMES…
5 seconds later…
Awkward. Super awkward.
It’s amazing how in like 0-5 seconds, one tiny little dry spot on your throat can transform you from your usual cool confident self — into a hacking, red-faced, tears-streaming-from-your-eyes DISASTER.
And no matter how valiantly you attempt to redirect your saliva towards the dry spot, your saliva’s all ”Nope. Not going there! HAHA! Catch me if you can! LOL!!!”
And so if you don’t happen to have any water handy, you’re forced to try and alleviate it by coughing. And not just ANY coughing…
I’m talking scary, violent MAN-COUGHING, punctuated by the occasional retch.
With tears streaming down your face.
And everyone looking at you all horrified and/or trying not to laugh.
It’s a MENACE, I tell you!
Please tell me I’m not the only one this happens to, because if I am, I’ll just die. Life can’t be that unfair.
I have a new bump on my head. It’s my own fault (as usual). Last night I was sneaking a bit of ice cream out the freezer, and being the klutz that I am, I dropped it. I bent to retrieve it, straightened up …and crashed my head into the still-open freezer door.
This is not an unusual occurrence for me. I have a long and sordid history of klutziness. I’m actually surprised I still have all my teeth. And limbs.
Basically if there’s anything to bump/walk/crash into - I will.
And my intrinsic clumsiness isn’t even always to blame. Sometimes, things find a way to crash into ME, even when I’m just standing there doing nothing…
True story. This happened to me at my friend Angie’s Sweet Sixteen party.
And let’s not forget how at formal occasions waiters with full trays always seem to trip when in my immediate vicinity.
Okay, maybe not always, but this has happened twice. TWICE!!!
A lot of the time, though, I have to admit that my klutzy moments are really my own fault, because I rarely heed the time-tested warning to STOP, LOOK and LISTEN.
Exhibit A: NOT STOPPING
(This resulted in my very first sprain at the age of 11.)
Exhibit B: NOT LOOKING
(This led to a cut on my chin - which kind of looked like a second mouth - and a not-so-fun trip to the E.R. with my Pop.)
Exhibit C: NOT LISTENING
(This led to a lifetime of mocking by my brother Joey - who to this day insists I landed on the table teeth-first.)
These are the more extreme cases but for the most part, I’m not even aware of what’s going on anymore. I have a pretty high threshold for pain, so I often just find myself bruised and have no recollection of how it even happened. But my klutziness really stresses my paranoid husband out. If he had his way I’d probably go out of the house every day looking something like this:
And you know what?
As I nurse my latest throbbing head bump, I’m starting to think he has a point.