For all of my faults—and there are about a baker's dozen of them in total—I'm not the kind of person who's afraid to admit when they're wrong or apologize if need be. Which is why, today, I'd like to do both. Because allergies: fuck. me. in. the ASS. They're horrible! For the first time in my life, I understand the plight of the allergy sufferer and I am drunk on guilt for spending the past 25 26 years thinking that you people are the biggest pussies on the planet.
To me, "allergies" have always been synonymous with "a nasty wittle case of the sniffles". Because in my experience, that's all allergies have ever been. Sometimes in the spring my eyes get a little dry and scratchy. Occasionally I'll cough. One time my right eye got puffy and I had to wear sunglasses to class and felt like a giant asshole. But that was really the worst of it. Washington, DC is a notoriously god awful place for allergies and it's all anyone ever wants to talk about. And if there's anything I hate more than small talk, it's small talk that involves a pollen count. Your nose is stuffed up, good for you. My skin is slightly dry. I over-tweezed my left eyebrow last night. Despite just switching to a 36-dollar conditioner, I have a few split ends. If you'd like to have a conversation about minor body irritations, two can play at this game.
But really allergies are so much more than that. I feel sick all the time. I'm stuffed up, my nose is constantly running, my eyes feel like I'm wearing sandpaper contacts, my throat hurts, I'm tired all the time, I catch myself audibly wheezing in public, and the sneezing—MY GOD, the sneezing! I've sneezed before (obviously, as I am a human being) and it feels good, but this kind of sneezing is on a whole other level. It feels so fucking good and I really can not stress that enough. My body isn't just sneezing for sneezing's sake; it's getting a job done. And it's such a process: there's this huge 30-second build up filled with wave after wave of —OH, I'M GONNA SNEEZE, —AH, HERE IT COMES, —HERE IT, —OH GOD, —I, and then BAM! I sneeze. And it lasts so long and feels so good and snot goes flying everywhere and it's dirty and it's wrong and it's amazing. It's essentially a nose orgasm and frankly when it comes to orgasms, beggars can't be choosers. I get legitimately excited when I know it's about to happen. I feel a sneeze coming on and I get down on all fours, shove a carrot in my mouth, whip my hair around like I'm in a Whitesnake video, sneeze, and fuck yes—afterglow.
On the less glamorous side, I woke myself up last week scratching the hell out of the hives that magically popped up all over my arms. Now I'm left covered in these bruises that makes me look like I straight-up have the Bubonic plague. Seriously. This is a gentleman suffering from the plague: And this is my left arm: Don't want to have sex with me? PFFFF, fine! There's a "House Hunters International" marathon on and Lisa LaPorta just started following me on Twitter; my dance card is FULL.
The worst part about having allergies is that nothing helps. Nothing. Somehow the scientific community has figured out a way to make seedless watermelon and boner bills, yet there's not a single thing in CVS that can help me breath again. Also, when you're sick with a cold or something, it sucks, yes, but at least you know it's going to go away in a week or so. When is this shit going to go away? WINTER. It's fucking mid-April! That's insanity! Like, if I got pregnant today, by the time my allergies are feeling better, I could deliver my baby and it would be premature and the size of a Snickers bar probably, but odds are it would live. I don't know. That comparison actually wasn't as strong as it was when I made it in my head. My point is: shit's nuts. And I know the obvious answer is "go see an allergist, Meg!" but need I remind you that I don't have health insurance and my job is cracking fart jokes for PayPal donations. Remember when Carrie Bradshaw got her book advance and went on a shopping spree at Dior? Well, when I got mine, I splurged on name-brand toilet paper and I am in no way saying that just to be funny. (I got Cottonelle. And it was worth every extra penny.) Alex swears by his neti pot but...it scares the hell out of me. Nothing in the world would surprise me less than if I panicked right when the water started going into my sinuses and I choked and drown on my bathroom floor. I'm tempted to ask Alex to be my "spotter". He's already coming over tomorrow for autoerotic asphyxiation night, so I guess two birds, one belt.
More than anything though, I want to apologize to Helena. Devotees will remember that almost exactly a year ago, I gave Helena a lot of shit on the blog because she said she would consume a parasite if it meant never having to suffer from allergies again. While I'm not conceding completely and saying that I'd eat a parasite for allergy relief, I am saying that I can now see where she's coming from. I re-read that post and yeah, I had some good points, it was funny, I had a good laugh, I'm clearly a charming person, I'm stacked like a game of Jenga, good for me, blah blah blah, but I was wrong to judge her that harshly. So Helena, old friend and trusted confidant: I'm sorry. I hope you forgive me. Because I love you. And because we have plans to go to the DMV tomorrow and my license has been expired for three days now. And I hope that you want to go to the one in Georgetown and not Brentwood or South Capitol because I live in Dupont one of these things is closer than the other, WINK! I don't know how this apology turned into me being a giant selfish whore, and yet, here we are.
If it's any consolation, I think I know why I've always been so harsh to judge allergy sufferers. Growing up, whenever my sister or I complained to our mom about not feeling well, she always told us it was just allergies. Always. Like, if I had a nickel for every time my mom has told me, "It's probably just allergies" and then walked away, I would have enough money to...afford...allergy shots. Well, this is ironic. It was always just so frustrating though because allergies weren't a legitimate excuse to stay home from school. And to my mom's credit, I'm sure nine times out of ten I really was just trying to stay home for funsies, but it sucked that one time when I was legitimately sick. Because she wouldn't even consider that it wasn't allergies.
"Mom, a moderate-sized demon just clawed its way out of my lower intestine, told me he was the son of God, and went cackling off into the darkness."
"It's just allergies. Gargle with saltwater and go set the table."
And it's not like I could prove that I didn't have allergies because really the only difference between allergies and the flu is a fever and who outside of the Oregon Trail gets a fever? So, I think it was ingrained in me at a young age to equate allergies with "HA HA, you!" So really, this humble apology has turned into I BLAME MY MOTHER! And I urge you to as well. Blame her! Or ask her for advice (AskYoMama@2birds1blog.com). Either way, I've sneezed at least six times since I started writing this and I've never needed a cigarette and a nap so badly in my entire life. Enjoy your Monday.
A: I have nothing but faith that it's going to be great when we're done, but getting there has been exponentially harder than last time. Like, if writing a book is like giving birth to a baby, we delivered the first one when we bent over to pick up a dinner mint and sneezed at the same time and it slid right out of us. This second book, however, has been hard labor and delivery. And we keep getting our room changed, and it's been 14 hours and we're only dilated to three, and the doctor wants to do a C-section but that wasn't part of our birth plan and we're really adamant about delivering it naturally and our husband is in the hall fighting with the doctor and we can hear everything and it's like, this isn't the environment we wanted to welcome our baby into the world in, you know? But I mean, either way we get a healthy baby in the end, so it's not a big deal.
Q: Bent over...and sneezed.
A: Right.
Q: And it "slid" right out of you.
A: Accurate.
Q: Well, I'm very sorry you have to work hard.
A: I'm not complaining, I'm just explaining.
Q: Oh yeah? Are you also straining? While doing some weight training? Careful, it looks like you're waning!
A: So you saw Happy Gilmore on ABC Family the other night too?
Q: ...Yes. Alright, so you're writing a second book and you'll be done in a few weeks, good for you.
A: Thank you.
Q: I still think you're just horrible.
A: Well, I thought you might.
Q: Just to keep you in your place, here's an alphabetized list of reasons why you and your blog suck:
Q: Well, I couldn't think of anything else that started with a Z.
A: What about, "Zero talent"?
Q: 'Eh. It doesn't really pack the same punch as "Zootechnics", does it?
A: Yeah, but at least it's relevant.
Q: Look, are you aware that you suck?
A: Yes.
Q: Than my job is done here.
A: What does "Zootechnics" even mean?
Q: It's the art of managing domestic or captive animals.
A: Is it really?
Q: Swear to God.
A: Huh. Well. That's good to know.
Q: So will you go back to blogging regularly after you turn in the manuscript?
A: Of course.
Q: What about between now and then?
A: I'll try to be better about getting some stuff up, but you have to understand that Adams's got our balls in a vice (God bless them). (Adams Media, that is. Not our balls.) (Although bless them too.)
Q: Speaking of us, where's Tulane Chris in all of this?
A: He's finishing his last few weeks of grad school and has a part-time job and is writing the book with me.
Q: Is he going to come back after the manuscript is done?
A: Yes. After May 3rd, everything goes back to normal.
Q: I miss him. What's new with him?
A: WELL, he's really excited about writing the second book and texts me a lot to say as much. Which is awkward because my texts to him are primarily about how I keep waking up having panic attacks.
Q: God, you must be fun to work with.
A: Well, I also text him about my bowel movements.
Q: Speaking of working with you, I applied to be your intern and haven't heard back. What gives?
A: Yeah, we're getting back to people this weekend. I'm sorry about that.
Q: SPEAKING OF THIS WEEKEND, what's tomorrow little missy?!?!!??!!
A: Sigh. My birthday.
Q: And how old are you turning?
A: Sigh. 26.
Q: Why can't that be a good thing? Why does everything have to be so sad and hard and horrible for you, Meghan?
A: I don't know. 26 sounds so old. And not like "ahhh, my eggs have been in the back of the refrigerator for two months and now we can't make french toast!" old, but like, mature old. Like I should have my shit together by now but I don't. I mean, don't you think it's kind of pathetic that I'm a 26-year-old single blogger who sucks dick to pay her cable bill?
Q: Of course I think that's pathetic. That is pathetic. Everything you do is pathetic. That's why I read this blog.
A: Well, at least I have that. I guess.
Q: So what are you doing for your birthday?
A: Hopefully my granddaughter will take me to Stein Mart and I can get a new pair of slacks.
Q: Is she driving already??
A: Can you believe it? She also just got the lead in her school play.
Q: You don't say! What production is it?
A: Damn Yankees!
Q: Ohhhhh, so she's Lola? How fun!
A: No, actually she's The Devil.
Q: Isn't that a boy's part?
A: Well she's aggressive for her age.
Q: Do you think people will know that that last joke was a page from your real life?
A: Uh, I hope so. I was proud of that performance. Besides, Lola's overrated and if The Devil was good enough for Jerry Lewis, it's good enough for me.
Q: Yes, who needs the role of a sexy temptress when you can be Jerry Lewis for a night in a tweed suit and a pair of children's Spanx.
A: Look, I could have done Lola. I could done the hell out of Lola. But Monica Stein was a year older than me and had drama camp seniority, so she got to be Lola and I got the next lead which was The Devil. Besides, The Devil is a heavily nuanced character and requires the comedic timing and improv skills of someone like myself.
Q: Oh, really?? Well tell you what, why don't I just get on the horn with SNL and let them know that there's a soon-to-be published comedy writer who did a mean nuanced gender-neutral Devil at drama camp when she was 13, so they should probably get on that before "The Daily Show" snags her first.
A: I don't think that's the worst idea you've ever had.
Q: Oh, didn't you have some hippie announcement to make?
A: Yes! Freshman Roommate Rachel, who is one of my favorite human beings on the planet (and gave me a mood ring last night, so you know she's legit), needs your help. Rachel volunteers as a volunteer coordinator (META!) for Hands on DC. Hands on DC is an all volunteer non-profit that beautifies shitty, run-down DC schools so kids are motivated to actually go to school and get an education. (My words, not theirs.) HODC is holding their 17th annual Work-a-Thon Sunday Saturday April 30th, and they're in desperate need of volunteers and general donations. If you're looking for some good karma this Spring, you can join an existing team, register your own team, or make a general contribution on their website. For more information you can go to Hands on DC's website, Facebook page, or email me and I'll get you in touch with Rachel. I wish I could make a 2b1b team, but Chris and I will be hopped up on Adderall and meth at my parent's house trying to finish the manuscript on April 30th, and there's just no two ways about it. But just because I'm a horrible human being doesn't mean you have to be! Empower DC's youth! Make love not war! Kumbaya and such and such!
Q: Rachel is such a good person.
A: Oh my God, I know.
Q: It seems kind of odd that she likes you so much...
A: Alright, alright. Any more questions?
Q: Uh....none that I can think of. Oh! What do you want for your birthday?
A: Electrolysis.
Q: Electrolysis? That's...oddly specific. And...odd. Didn't your mom get you that Bliss at-home strip-free waxing kit from The Q a couple weeks ago?
A: Yes.
Q: Did you try it?
A: Yes.
Q: How'd it go?
A: HORRIBLY. It was so horribly horrible. I wrote an entire post about it but realized as I re-read it at 4 o'clock in the morning that people probably don't give a shit about my personal waxing debacle.
Q: What went so wrong?
A: Oh, God. It's such a long story.
Q: Well, give us the long and short of it.
A: I tried to multi-task and read the waxing directions, eat a club sandwich, and watch a documentary about the Mothman that Netflix keeps recommending to me at the same time, and ended up missing the directions stressing the importance of using the Pre-Waxing Oil. It was a show. I couldn't get any of the wax off and it was all over my face and left arm pit, so I tried taking a gently-used Chipotle napkin, sticking it on the wax and ripping it off, but that obviously didn't work, so I still had hunks of blue wax stuck on me everywhere, just with bits of guac-soaked napkin in it and finally I had to take a bath and soak it off in hot water and scrub my face but I was too scared to close my eyes from watching the fucking Mothman documentary, so I got acne scrub in my eyes and that made me have to close my eyes even more and I almost had a panic attack and there's still blue wax all over my person and my bathroom.
Q: ..............I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?
A: I don't know.
Q: I think we should end this here.
A: Are you sure? I have some thoughts on Eminem/Dr. Dre's 1999 hit "Guilty Conscious" that I'd like to explore, if I could.
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