Thursday, September 4, 2008
You know? NO nose knows what I know.
I have allergies. BAD allergies.
Yes, here we are again.
Imaginary cockroaches crawling in your sinuses, scratching at your eyeballs like a meth head, worried your brain is leaking out of your nostrils bad allergies.
You know this, I've mentioned it before, it is not the least bit interesting. Feel free to stop reading now and go do something fun like clipping your dog's toenails, renewing your driver's license, or waxing your uncle Bruce's back.
But, since my life for the last week or so has revolved around predicting exactly when wet snot may fly out of my nose and land on your face whilst laughing or, you know...breathing, I thought I'd fill you in on a few things.
#1) All tissues are not created equal. Puffs brand sucks as they have more "dust" than Rue McClanahan's cooch. Kind of like Charmin tissue, they leave behind "particles"- only in your nostrils rather than your pubes. I find that Kleenex brand with lotion are the strongest, able to withstand seven or eight blows and being wadded up in my purse or pocket for eight hours in a single bound. The BEST EVER tissues, however, are those little designer packs that you buy at gift stores for $2 for ten. Seriously. You can blow 27 times in one and you will have not so much as a single breach of integrity in the tissue structure.
#2) Your non-allergic friends will find it gross that you keep wadded up, used, snotty tissues in your purse and/or pocket. These people have no understanding of how precious tissues are outside of your home. You have a limited quantity, and by golly you're going to make them last. Once you've been forced to blow your nose in newspaper or a t-shirt you've come to terms with the fact that you will now never, ever wear again, you get this.
#3) When your eyes are red and watery all of the time despite the prescription drops, people/coworkers/subordinates will inevitably think you are stoned. You will consider getting stoned since it won't matter anyways, but worry about the affect of the smoke on your already fucked up sinuses. Decide to start huffing paint instead.
#4) Only missionary while allergy ridden. ONLY missionary. Trust me and my knowledge of dripping snot. TRUST ME. No one on the planet loves you enough to pretend to be o.k. with your nose mucus on their face.
#5) Bats in the cave are inevitable. Keep a vigilant watch and a mirror handy always. Rule of thumb: Wiggly or whistly = visible boogs. Learn it, live it, obsess over it.
#6) Come to terms with the fact that you will never, ever have a chance to be cool. Any moment where you can look sleek, sexy and/or normal will be interrupted by sniffling, sneezing and the haunting honking that is unique to the Whiskeymarie blow. Even if you can control the oozing- the red, flaky, and oddly shiny nose will always trump your cute new heels. The random allergy zit on your nose will only add to the "wonder" that is you.
#7) Wadding tissues and/or tampons and stuffing them up your nostrils is never really an option. Even home alone while drowning her allergy sorrows in cheese and doritos, a girl needs her dignity, right? That girl has never, EVER done this, right? Right?
Once again I offer this: a one-pound bag of peanut M&M's, a nice bundt cake, a fine sticker collection, two pairs of never worn (well, not technically worn) thong underwear and a song written expressly for you and sung by me for anyone willing to donate their sinuses. I'll even pay for the back-alley transplant.
Think about it, will you? Haiti is nice this time of year, or so I hear at my visits to the prison. They're willing to do medical procedures there CHEAP, no questions asked. I'm pretty sure morphine is like Advil there, and twice as cheap. I'll buy you cocktails and hookers, I promise. I'll make the STD worth your time.
It's time to prove your love, people.
And, we all know that the only true declaration of love is by donating valuable body tissue, so here's your big chance. The winning donor will enjoy a brief mention in one of my lesser posts, providing it's a slow news day.
You'll be a freaking hero.