I’m Not Lazy, I’m Allergic

This has been a hell of a past few months for me.  Thus far, science has vindicated me in that my slovenly lifestyle means I’m a genius, my wine consumption will let me live forever, and now my favorite so far:  I am allergic to exercise.

click to read the Popular Science article (which has way more actual facts than mine)

I always suspected it, to be honest.  Once I rise from the couch, my heart rate soars, I feel the blood rushing to my head, and I crave a chocolate bar.  Classic signs of exercise allergies (it’s true, I swear).  Apparently, exercise-related allergies are worsened when combined with some foods.  For me, eating a Kit Kat on the treadmill has tragic consequences. And not in the way you’d suspect. So of course, to protect myself, I gave up the treadmill.

I can just see my next doctor’s appointment.  I imagine it will go something like this:

Doctor:  So, you’ve gained 55 pounds in the last two months since you’ve been here.

Me:  I’ve had to abstain from all exercise.  I’m allergic.

Doctor:  I’m sorry, what?

Me:  I read it on the internet, so it must be true.  Just to be safe, I’ve installed lift chairs on my stairs.

Doctor:  Well, I think that you…

Me:  And I call a taxi to drive me to the mailbox daily.

Doctor:  Let me guess; you call a taxi to take the trash out?

Me:  Don’t be ridiculous.

Doctor:  Well, that’s good because I…

Me:  I use Lyft for that.

Doctor:  I see you are wearing a Medic Alert necklace.

Me:  Sometimes I need to get off the couch suddenly.  I like to be prepared.

Doctor:  What are you eating?

Me:  Oh, I eat a variety of foods.

Doctor:  Well, that’s good.

Me:  Pizza on Mondays, lo mein and fried rice on Tuesdays, eggplant parm on Wednesdays, pasta Alfredo on Thursdays…

Doctor (interrupting):  That sounds like it’s all delivery food…

Me:  Hey, Doc, I’m not taking any chances.

Ok, so this sounds like a real cop out, I admit, but now that people are coming forward with their exercise allergies, I am ready to come forward with some of my own personal allergies. (Yes, I know being allergic to exercise is a real thing, and my heart goes out to anyone who suffers from such a condition, but that’s not going to stop me from using this scientific finding to my advantage. I mean, come on.)

  1. Laundry: I am filled with an intense feeling of dread whenever I see a pile of laundry.  I have trouble catching my breath, and my eyes water.  This could be because of my kid’s gym socks, but I’m playing it safe.
  2. Dishes: I cringe when I see a sink full of dirty dishes. I find that after doing dishes for an extended period of time, my hands develop a strange, prune-y type skin reaction.  To avoid this, I choose to use paper plates (biodegradable!).  It is a sacrifice I must make for my own good.
  3. Driving: Strange feelings of rage envelop me when I am driving around idiots.  I feel almost blinded by anger, and my mouth makes very odd noises that my friends call “cursing.”  It is very stressful and frightening.
  4. Mirrors and Scales: This is a strange allergy where I cannot recognize the old lady in the mirror and I don’t trust scales.  I live with the mirror allergy, but I avoid the scale allergy at all costs.
  5. Healthy Eating: Tofu makes my stomach heave oddly, as does soy milk.  I find the only cure for this allergy is an immediate stop at a Dairy Queen for a chocolate-dipped ice-cream cone.
  6. Wearing a Bra: Somehow, I get through this one daily with no lasting ill effects.  I have mastered the art of removing the offending garment without taking off my shirt as soon as I walk in the door, just before any lasting harm can be done.
  7. Newscasts: I get sick to my stomach whenever I see any newscasts any more.  I’m afraid this is one allergy that will only get worse, and one that I share with a lot of people. For at least the foreseeable future, there is no known cure.

Vindication is a sweet, sweet word.  I have been proven correct on so many of my theories that I feel unstoppable. What’s next?  Proof that lettuce and rice cakes cause weight gain?  Just wait for it, loyal friends, I haven’t been wrong yet.

Truth in Advertising

Somewhere in my internet excursions, I came across this little gem as a profile for an internet dating site:

The first thing I had to do was to check and see if I’ve been sleep-posting to dating sites again.  The second thing I needed to do was to install security cameras to catch whoever is spying on me, because really, this is just plain creepy.  The third thing I did was to ponder this poignant missive, and wonder why there is rarely any truth to online dating profiles.  As a service to you, my loyal readers and followers, I have decided to create a list of common dating profile phrases and define them for you.  You’re welcome in advance.

  • Average Body Type: This is a phrase that needs further clarification in so many ways
  • Must love pets: Crazy cat lady
  • Currently caring for parents: Lives at home
  • Friendly, outgoing personality: Starts bar room brawls at noon at the local saloon
  • People person: See above
  • Loves video games: Basement dweller
  • Occasional smoker: Closet chain-smoker
  • Investor: Buys scratch-off tickets at the local gas station
  • Loves working out: Loves working out what’s for dinner and whether to watch Maury or Dr. Phil
  • Loves hiking: Parks the car at the far end of Wal-Mart once weekly
  • Enjoys quiet afternoons antiquing: Hoarder
  • I enjoy fine wine by candlelight: Lush and possible arsonist
  • I’m laid back and easygoing: Neurosis still to be diagnosed
  • My friends say I’m fun: They have to, it’s what I’m paying them for
  • Seeking a partner in crime:   My last one is doing ten years because s/he didn’t run fast enough
  • Seeking a causal relationship: Married
  • Looking for friendship: See above
  • Love romantic dinners by candlelight: Will stick a candle in the napkin holder at McDonald’s
  • Very open minded: To my own ideas

Ok, I may seem a little harsh, but if you must know, my own online dating stories have been pretty much epic fails.  From the guy in the questionable hairpiece (I swear it was moving) to the one who claimed he was 6’4” and was actually a circus midget in real life (no really, he was in the circus, born and raised), I have been stalked, the recipient of highly inappropriate pictures (which I didn’t ask for, I’ll have you know), and otherwise disappointed to the point that I hardly even change out of sweatpants for dates anymore.  I have the escape text pre-programmed into my phone, and I carry mace in my purse.  Not the spray; an actual mace.

What if online profiles just said what they mean?  Read this one I recently posted on a dating site:

I’m just putting this profile up to get likes on the cute picture of me and my dog.  I hate to go anywhere, and doing things is usually too much of a bother.  My main profile picture is from eighty years ago when I was a cheerleader in high school.  I may have gained five, ten, a hundred and ninety pounds since then.  I hate people.  I especially hate people anywhere near me.  Ever.  I enjoy the quiet comfort of my couch and a healthy dinner of chocolate cake and Captain Crunch.  I snort when I laugh and have been known to belch at a funeral.  I think I look sexy in my fuzzy sweatshirt with the coffee stain on the sleeve.  Ok, on the sleeves.  Ok, on the sleeves and collar. I think I look sexy in my fuzzy sweatshirt covered in coffee stains and chocolate sauce. I really want to find someone who loves me unconditionally and gives me the attention I need while leaving me alone 99% of the time.  If you want to get back to me, that’s fine.  I don’t really care either way.  If we end up going on a date I’ll have to get dressed and leave the house, so it’s okay if you don’t contact me.  In fact, don’t bother. I’m kind of a bitch anyway. 

Still waiting on the right swipes to start rolling in. They’re coming though, any day now.

What if there was a dating site that matched you with pet profiles?  What do you think? Wow, I wasn’t even thinking THAT, you guys are sick.  Seriously. Ewww.

What I meant was, you could look at their profile and see their pets and connect through your love of animals.  They could call it Puppy Love, and the motto would be:

“Who cares about the owner, check out this adorable kitten.”

It’s impossible to be disappointed with the outcome of any date that included a fantastic pet encounter as well. Heck, I’d suffer through a bad date just to hang out with a kitten or pupper. You just can’t go wrong meeting a cute bundle of fluff. The guy (or gal) might be an asshole, but hey, at least you met a new doggo! Can you imagine the break-up? Yeah, so, I don’t think this is going to work. You’re an asshole. But I can still visit Caden the Corgi, right?  Right!?

The Original Cat Burglars Unveiled

Tucked in between “news articles” about alien abductions and man-eating butterflies on the World News Daily Report, I found this gem hidden away.   Long story short, it claims that an elderly lady trained her cats to steal jewelry from her neighbors; the epitome of “cat burglars.”

click photo for story

I admit, there is a part of me that wishes this was a true story.  I could absolutely get on board with training my cats to do cool things other than bringing me dead bugs. Let’s face it, though; cats only do what they want to do, and it always involves a smug, self-serving attitude and a “what’s in it for me” end goal.

I can see me, 20 years from now, in full Crazy Cat Lady mode.  I’d train my cats to do things like weed my garden, mow my lawn, put away the dishes, and fold the laundry.  In my fantasy, I am the ruler of the roost, the commander of the cats, the kitty whisperer.  The truth is, I live to serve my cats.  They have me so well trained that I respond to the smallest puking noises they make, even from a dead sleep.  I have given all of my furniture to them to use as thrones, perches, or beds.  I believe all of the cat food commercials I see, and my cats eat better than I do.  I clean litter boxes religiously and keep lint rollers to clean off the clothing that my cats allow me to wear when they aren’t using it as a bed.

On that note, the article makes me laugh when it references that these cats were voluntarily malnourished; apparently, according to the report, they deliberately made themselves seem skinny and underfed so that people would take them in to their homes to feed them.  After the neighbors opened their hearts and homes to the skeletal felines, the cats would abscond with anything of value.  Only then would the elderly cat-keeper reward them with food.

Really?  If I tried to train my cats this way, they would laugh at me.  “What’s in it for me? Better make it worth my while. And don’t even think about not feeding us, we know where the treats are. More important, we know where you sleep.”

Now I have no doubt that a cat COULD think of this clever scheme.  The only thing that keeps cats from taking over the world is the lack of opposable thumbs.  But would they really want to?  And perhaps therein lies the real reason cats don’t rule world…they simply can’t be bothered.

Let’s review the cons against this whole organized feline crime spree:

  • The scheme cuts into the most important time of the day: Nap time.  That rare 20 out of 24 hours they spend napping would suffer if they were involved in such a time-consuming racket.
  • Ignoring humans: The burglary idea would definitely require freely interacting with humans for something other than dinner, and seriously, what cat wants that?
  • Movement: To fully realize the potential of this scheme, cats would have to move.  More than from one end of the bed to the other.  This is an instant disqualifier.
  • Potentially uncovering plans to rule the world: Cats cannot have their plot revealed.  While it is no secret that cats plan to take over the world, the exact plans cannot be revealed until the perfect time.
  • A drop in Facebook and You Tube ratings: The cat community doesn’t like to talk about it, but it thrives on internet ratings.  If cats are implicated in robberies, it’s very possible that cute kitten video viewings will drop to dangerously low levels, resulting in a complete breakdown of the internet as we know it today.

Now, let’s review the reasons cats would voluntarily choose to do something, heck anything, at all:

None

Lastly, let’s consider the odds of a cat being trained by a human to do something that he does not already want to do:

 None

As much as I wish this story could be true, I think this will forever be relegated to the land of satire.

And that’s probably a good thing.

Memory Lapses

I am creative.  I am powerful.  I am woman, hear me roar.  I am also just a tad forgetful.  Like “forget what I had for breakfast while the fork is still in my hand” forgetful.  I need to document my thoughts while I am out and about or they will be forever forgotten in the vast jungle of my mind.

What do you do if your mind is a sieve?  If you’re anything like me, you send notes via text to yourself to remember ideas, appointments, and events.  If it’s not written down, I can forget a thought quicker than anyone else I know.  I was going to suggest an Olympic Sport called Speed Forgetting, but I forgot to mail the letter.

Yesterday evening, I was looking through my text messages for something and came across this message I sent myself over a week ago.  Check this out:

“The eyes are the windows to the soul. Sometimes they reflect a vision of hell.”

Wow.  What a deep thought.  What a great lead in to an unforgettable blog post.

Too bad I cannot recall for the life of me what I was thinking when I wrote it.  Or where I was, or what I was doing.

This cryptic line seems to be the beginning of a wonderful biopic journal of my life’s journey.  It is a cool line for the first sentence of a horror story.  It could have been what I thought when I woke up one morning and saw bags and dark circles under my eyes after spending a sleepless night trying to remember my Great-Grandmother’s middle name.

I have absolutely no idea why I sent that to myself. At all. Was it because of an instance of animal cruelty that I’ve seen? People suck, I’ve said that often…because they do, and it’s very possible that an incident of animal cruelty prompted that comment to myself. It’s equally possible that the stories about school shootings or perhaps a news story of a child abuse victim or domestic abuse victim set me off.  Or, the amazing line could have come to me as I was watching a poor retailer slog through a transaction with a customer who was acting like a complete asshole, or a woman who realized she was wearing white after Labor Day.

The world may never know.

The way my swiss cheese brain works is a mystery, even to myself.  There are just so many versions of hell, and everyone you meet everywhere has their own personal hell.  For some, hell might be driving to work.  Someone else’s hell may be dealing with their cable company (and I suspect the cable guy has a few versions of hell as well).  The upper class may think it is hell dealing with the butler, and the butler sure as heck knows it’s hell dealing with his snobby boss.  The lower class sees the hell of poverty and sadness every day, and the middle class thinks it is hell to have to pay taxes to help the poor through that particular hell. A child thinks hell is when school is not cancelled for a snow day; the teachers probably agree with that version of hell and the parents may, too. Hell is not being able to use that amazing word in Words with Friends that you really want to use, or my personal favorite, forgetting why I walked into a room.

So many meanings of hell.  So many possible reasons for my amazingly creative phrase.  Such a shame to have such severe short term…and long term, apparently…memory loss that I cannot recall the moment this profound statement was imagined.

Think about it.  “The eyes are the windows to the soul. Sometimes they reflect a vision of hell.”  I want you to consider this phrase carefully.  I want you to ponder it deeply.  Repeat it over and over.

And then, can you please tell me what the hell I was thinking!?

It’s a Mad, Mad World

A Nifty Look at Firsts in the Self-Service Industry

This may be an older topic, but I’d like to visit it for a moment.  For the first time ever (yes, ever), the people of Oregon are pumping their very own gasoline into their very own cars, and it is Armageddon out there (read here). The concept is hardly new – as the rest of us know all too well, and it doesn’t affect everyone within the state; the angst is, however, very real.

Some people are claiming that only qualified people can pump gasoline (I guess those that have that rare Masters’ Degree in Pumpology), others are claiming it will end jobs in the illustrious gas pumping job markets, and others are somehow incorporating this into the global warming argument.

In the spirit of this, I’d like to point out a few other “self-service areas” that we, as modern technological wizards, have overcome.

  1. The Slurpee Machine

How his hands must have trembled in fear, rattling his plastic Slurpee cup, as Maurice Von Slurper stepped before the intimidating machine in his local 7-11.  Could he?  Couldn’t he?  What if he spilled?  Did he dare take on the challenge of mixing two flavors into the same cup?  Would it overflow?  What if he under-filled it, and ended up still having to pay full price? I cannot imagine the thoughts flowing through this man’s mind as he pulled that lever for the very first time.

  1. The ATM

Maude Moola stared at the ATM on the wall in abject fear.  It not only sucked her card away from view, but it was asking VERY personal questions.  She drew a deep breath and reached out a shaking finger to push “Enter.”  There were whirring sounds from deep within the machinery, and she jumped back in terror.  Then, suddenly, cash spit out at her through a narrow opening, and her card reappeared magically before her eyes.  In a later in-depth interview with her local paper, Maude was quoted as saying, “I truly hope they give that tiny little man in that machine a break now and then. I feel for him, I really do.”

  1. Redbox

Cindy Ma was a risk taker, it’s true, and she boldly punched that touch-screen to explore the cinematic options as they unfolded before her.  She snatched the movie from the slot and held it triumphantly over her head as the spectators cheered.  It is rumored her first words after dominating the Redbox and opening the clear plastic case to her movie were, “Blue Ray?  What in the world is a Blue Ray?”

  1. The Library

Not only can you now check out books via self-serve in some libraries, you can return them that way as well.  Henry McHermit was thrilled, absolutely thrilled, that he now only had to wear pants one time per library visit; the book return was done with a machine built into the outer wall of the library. He didn’t even have to exit his car. Joy of joys! Unfortunately for McHermit, he decided to celebrate by going through a drive through Burger King where the cashier was, in fact, a person and who sat up much higher than our pantless McHermit realized.  Charges are pending.  McHermit assures us that he is planning on wearing pants to the hearing. Everyone involved breathed a sigh of relief.

  1. Self-Check-Out Lanes

Poor Barry Scanner was stuck in the endless loop of “unexpected item in bagging area” and “item removed from bagging area, please replace the item” for nearly twenty minutes as the first user of the self-check-out lane at the Piggly Wiggly.  In that twenty minutes, Mr. Scanner developed intense feelings for the register.  “Her voice,” Mr. Scanner explained, “just droned on and on, repeating the same two phrases over and over in a nagging way.  It reminded me so much of my ex-wife.”  His heart was broken, however, when he found that the love of his life was also working at Wal Mart, Home Depot, and three other grocery stores at the same time.  “I had to break up with her,” he sobbed.  “So many people scanning items, over and over…and who knows how many items were scanned before mine?”  The self-service register was unavailable for comment, but a source close to her says that the machine kept repeating “Item not found” when informed of Mr. Scanner’s intention to break up with her.

So, Oregonians, take heart.  You will overcome your current situation, I swear.  Get out and pump that gas with confidence and swagger; just not with a lit cigarette. Or a cell phone.

Driver’s Ed

Okay, so, when navigating a parking lot, for how long must one be actually in a moving car, before the onus of accountability falls on those who suddenly zip into the previously clear aisle? Or, for that matter, how long does one’s car need to be in motion before it becomes acceptable to squash the pedestrian who clearly sees you from across the way, but in what can only be described as a desire to play chicken sullenly reinforce their right of way as a pedestrian, decides to significantly speed up their gait so as to walk in front of your car?

Just asking for a friend.