First of all, I just wanted to thank you all for the outpouring of sympathy on the Chelsea’s death. I was a bit awed by just how many comments, guestbook and message board entries, diary shoutouts, emails and e-cards we received yesterday. I can’t even begin to tell you how much it comforted me to know that I had so many friends, even if I haven’t actually met some of you. I cried each time I read a new one, but good crying, not bad crying. That’s probably crazy girl logic, but so it is. Regardless, it just goes to prove once again that the internet is a truly wonderful thing and I’m a very lucky girl to have so many great friends and readers.
So thank you. You’ve warmed my heart and given me a great deal of comfort during a rather miserable day.
I have hives again. I had purchased some new “sensitive” sunscreen and used it on my face, neck and upper chest for the Journey concert. Now everything itches. I have a big red face. It’s like I’m the daughter of the Kool Aid Man. What is more, apparently because my face is one big hive, the heat and irritation causes swelling. I look like I’ve got mumps or maybe am on anabolic steroids. Yesterday and this morning, I woke up with these enormous pouchy things under my eyes. Think English Bull Dog. I looked strikingly like a 50-year-old man, actually. Something about a red swollen face underlines all of your worst features. My goofy sorority girl pug nose looks very pig-like. It’s a snout. I’m now a member of Bovine Kappa Swiney. You should hear our song. There is much oinking. Luckily, once I’m upright, the swelling goes down. Regardless, itching I can stand, but I’m far too vain to let that go on for much longer, so I called and made an appointment with Dr. Perky over my lunch hour.
I had the same nurse as last week, the nurse who had rejoiced with me when the scale said that Operation Hottie had resulted in a 20 pound two-week loss. Yes. It was extreme, and for good reason. I got back on the scale and up it went.
“What??!?!” We both exclaimed. I knew, though, that I had been partying too quickly last week.
“It’s the other scale. I was weighed on the other scale last week.” We both scurried over to the other scale. Mentally, I was adding up the Wispa bar, the two Oreos and Junior Whopper I had partaken in yesterday during my slight episode of depressed comfort eating. And then I had to admit that the two deep-fried corndogs and gargantuan cream puff, not to mention the fact that a veritable bucket of Absolut, Kahlua and Baileys wasn’t exactly a healthy eating choice. With dismay, I watched as the second scale crept up past last week’s weight. Then Cute Friendly Nurse mentions to the Scale Nazi, “Did you recalibrate this one?” “Oh, yeah, we had to raise it.” the Scale Nazi replied nonchalantly.
Well, maybe you should just recalibrate it back? I mean, I like the other world, the world in which I had lost 20 pounds in two weeks. The world in which all of that water and fruit made a difference. However, Cute Friendly Nurse then noticed that if you compare it to my June 25 weight, I still lost 10 pounds, which is 2.5 pounds a week, the recommended amount. Way to spin it, Cute Friendly Nurse!
Dr. Perky took a look at my face and declared that it made her itch to look at me. Apparently, I am just one big allergic reaction. She suggested that I wear a Grandma hat in the sun from now on and stay out of it as much as possible. And wear Waterbabies, the only sunscreen that I have proven I do not have a reaction. And she gave me a new cream. Go me and my crazy histamines. Meanwhile, I’m one itching, pulsating, big red moon face with Samsonite under my eyes.
Maybe if I’m really cool, I’ll start some kind of trend. Seriously. I can see it now… J.Lo madly scratching her face during her next video. Maybe Britney wearing nothing but scaly hives. Perhaps marketing some jeweled glam back scratchers and hydrocortisone mixed with red body glitter to enhance the natural color. It might become all the rage.
I just wish my ears would stop itching. I keep rubbing my back against door frames and wishing that I had a nice wire brush to scratch off all the skin. Sure, it would hurt, but it would be a glorious, non-itching kind of pain. And to make matters worse, Esteban finds his hands drawn automatically to my face recently and there is nothing more annoying than a feather soft caress when your skin is absolutely crawling, eh?
Ooops. Been reading Marn too much, I think. Nah… there’s no such thing as too much Marn.
