Dear Crabby

Well, no rest for the wise and all-knowing, I guess! Here are a few more responses to your burning questions!

Hi,

I was searching online to find more info about massage therapy and I came across your information.
Can you tell me, are you still involved with massage therapy services? If you are, how are things going for you?
Please let me know as I may be able to help you get a lot more customers in a very short period of time.

Sincerely,
Chris

Dear “Chris”,
Thanks for your spam inquiry. Okay, I am still involved with massage therapy services. And by “am still involved” I, of course, mean “have never been involved”. I once got a gift certificate for a massage at a fancy spa place from an old boyfriend. I hated it, if I’m being honest with you, Chris. I spent the whole time praying the woman wouldn’t touch my feet and feeling bad for her as she kneaded my back fat. So, Chris, things are really NOT going anywhere with my massage therapy information you apparently found somewhere. But hey! Thanks for promising to get me more customers to my non-existent business! Let me know how that works for you…

Pharon Square,
Have you ever used something like Proactiv? I’m a 25 year-old girl who hates breaking out, but I don’t know if I should go to such extreme measures as ordering something the TV tells me to order.
Thanks!
-Good Skin to Win

Dear Good Skin to Win,
I am currently suffering through an odd phase of Post Adolescent Adolescence in terms of complexion. Last night, I had broken out on my cheek so quickly that I convinced myself I had the mumps. So, I’m not your go-to gal for this one. Yes, I tried Proactiv once in my early twenties, mostly because I loved Jessica Simpson, and happily did anything SHE told me to do (Note: I usually follow any advice given to me by the TV. It’s almost never steered me wrong, so I wouldn’t call listening to TV’s advice “extreme”). Two weeks later, my face was all red and itchy and, well, SO not Jessica Simpson-y. I cancelled the auto-refilling nightmare post haste. Blech. I don’t know WHAT you should do, GSW. I’m the kind of girl who will have blemishes until the day AFTER I start getting wrinkles. So if YOU find a solution, let ME know.

Dear PharonSquare,
I really want to make the most out of this Spring and Summer. Every winter I swear I'll do more fun things outside but then I get lazy and sweaty and before you know it, it's snowing again. Any tips on how to stay active and entertained with the good weather that is upon our doorstep?
Signed,
Waitin' For Spring

Dear Waitin’ for Spring,

I’m with you. I’m lazy and I hate being sweaty. That said, Spring and Summer are awesome times of year to camouflage that lazy/sweaty thing. My most important tip is to get a hammock. You can enjoy the weather while lying down and/or napping in the middle of the day. But because you’re on a HAMMOCK, no one can say squat about it. Secondly? There are lots of ways to hang out outside while also enjoying cocktails, so that’s definitely a way to get me off the couch. I suggest doing activities that combine those two things. Activities like: Golfing, happy hours, going to the park with your kids, BBQs at a lake, walking to the bar, rollerblading, reading on your hammock, going to the Farmer's Market (put a margarita in your travel mug and the Farmer's Market will turn into a Mercado Fiesta!), or just laying out catching some rays. Summer is pretty much the only time people make PLANS to go LAY DOWN, so I like to take advantage of that. As long as you try and do one of those things almost every day, you'll feel great!

Listen, people, I know you guys has some burning questions. I know you have problems, because you tell them to me all the time on the phone, or on gchat, or you post incessantly about your problemos on Facebook. So, make it easier on yourself (and all your friends) and shoot me an email at pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll fix your problem, no charge. Unless it's like a crazy-weird problem. Then it's like $0.50 cents a sentence.

Gimme a Break!

The current count of my friends who have had the flu in the past week or so is up to about five now. I should count myself lucky. I woke up on Friday, sure I was getting sick. Sore throat, congested beyond all get out, and just generally yucky. I called in sick to work and braced myself for a weekend of whining and crying and overall pukiness. Alas, I made it through the weekend flu-less (thanks, flu shot!) But it didn't change the fact that I am, in fact, sick. Of this winter crap. And now everyone is talking about their Spring Break, which is something I desperately need. A week in a hot climate with not a care in the world.

The last time I went on Spring Break, Geo, Perek and his wife Leah, our friend Chad and his girlfriend Angie, and I went to Puerto Vallarta. It was glorious. We sat in the pool, swam in waterfalls, rode horses (that were very malnourished, I should add), went on a booze cruise, and spent a whole week in flip flops. In the middle of February. It was like an alternate universe. I want to go there again. The sad thing was that that was my first actual vacation that I had ever taken without parental supervision.

I went to Puerto Vallarta for the first time with my family as a freshman in college. I was 19, and of legal drinking age in Mexico. Yet, every time I'd be out to eat with my parents, I'd have to order a Coca-Cola light. Nope, no cerveza for this chica. Boo. But I returned home with a wicked tan and a zillion braids in my hair (against my better judgement), so that's all that counts.

In high school, I went to Hong Kong with our high school band for our annual tour. Yeah, when most seniors were perfecting their pre-tans and buying new bikinis getting ready to go Cabo San Lucas together, I was packing up my flute and getting my band uniform dry cleaned. But THAT was a fun trip. We visited night markets, went sightseeing, lived it up in our fancy hotel robes, and, get this, they put corn on their pizza! EXOTIC!

Before that, we never really did too much on Spring Break. My parents and Perek and I visited Gulf Shores, Alabama one year and I was about 5 yards away from a crocodile (alligator? I don't know. What's the diff?) on a golf course and drank my first "Sweet Tea". But everyone else was brushing up on their Spanish or Balinese or whatever and going somewhere real tropical-like. The contiguous 48 states aren't exactly "tropical".

I used to watch "MTV's Spring Break" every year and be all, "Aw man, I want to be in that disgusting mess of drunk people trying to eat 50 jalapeno peppers while being dowsed in foam!" It all seemed so fun...so magical. Now, I just want endless margaritas, a forced absence of internet access, and a quick dip in a cool pool after baking in the hot sun. Plus, now that I'm old enough to drink beer in every corner of the world, I'd like to go there. Anywhere. Now.

I need a break. I need a Spring. I would love to take off for a week and leave my cares behind, but I haven't got a thing planned. Today, I got a manicure with Claire and I chose the brightest, most obnoxious pink color I could find, as if that would suffice. But now I'm looking at my nails as they peek out of my fingerless gloves and, alas, it's not enough. They would look beautiful if they were building sand castles. What can a girl do, though? With no vacation in sight, and no relief from the 6 foot drifts of snow still hindering my walk to the bus, what can I do to feel all spring-breaky? The answer, of course, is to just wallow and hope for some sun. I should also consider doubling-up on the tequila.

I Didn't Realize Mars Could Be So Cold

If you could have seen me 10 minutes ago, you'd fall off your bar stool laughing, guaranteed. I just finished playing Kinect, wearing sweatpants, fleece socks, a long sleeved tshirt, fleece sweatshirt, giant abominable snowman jacket, and mittens. The good news is, I obviously look AMAZING. The bad news? It's all because our heater went out AGAIN. I grabbed the bull by the horns and called our maintenance man posthaste this morning. Good news? He came out right away. Bad news? He couldn't fix it. A "specialist" is coming...TOMORROW MORNING. So, it's a brisk 55 degrees in my stupid, old, drafty house. Sometimes I hate this place so much I would consider moving back in with my parents. But I'm not leaving tonight out of pure stubbornness.

The heater was a, uh, point of contention between Geo and me this morning. He was home when the maintenance man came, and was the unfortunate messenger of the bad news via text to me. "Heater's broken. Specialist coming tomorrow tomorrow to fix it."

Being the calm, cool, collected woman I am, I shot back "That is NOT OKAY. We can't NOT HAVE HEAT FOR A WHOLE NIGHT!" (Yes, the all caps was necessary because I was screaming inside my calm, cool, collected head.) Here's the thing: Geo is very laid back and believes there's not point in complaining about something you can't fix. I, on the other hand, believe that COMPLAINING has historically FIXED a number of problems.

Then here's where the fighting came in. Geo says "If it's too cold and you can't handle it, go to your parents house." Well, I never! I'm sorry. I must have missed the Biology class when it was explained that men's skin is made of steel and Snuggies, and women's skin is made of tissue paper and butterfly wings. (Hence, the reason I'm determined to tough it out at my house all night tonight.) Okay, so I respond to him: "Yeah, thanks for the advice." He replied with a (seemingly) patronizing explanation of how a heater works, to which I replied, "Thanks for the explanation." He told me to stop being a jerk, and I told him to stop talking to me like I was four years-old.

We had reached a stalemate. His insistence that he was just trying to make me calm down fell on deaf ears. I told him that all he needed to say was "I feel your pain" and let the whole "Hey, Crazy, you're sooooooooooo freaking out right now!" fall by the wayside. Men! I immediately dialed up Kim to vent, and SHE got it! She was all "OMG, I'd be so mad at the heater guy if I were you! I said "All I wanted was for him to just side with me and say it sucks and then act like he's upset too." She laughed and said "This whole idea was JUST on Modern Family the other night. Men just can't even PRETEND to empathize when a woman complains. A guy just launches into ways he'd fix it, or reasons why the problem wouldn't bother him like that."



I get that Geo doesn't understand the point of venting about something I can't do anything about. But what he (and the entire male population, apparently) doesn't get, is that SOMETIMES IT FEELS GOOD. I do it to express my disappointment and frustration. I like to commiserate with other people. It's fun and it makes me feel better. So I have one, teeny little outburst over a totally sucky situation, and he goes all "Operation: Immediately Point Out the Futility of Complaining".

Why, Men? WHY must you do this? Here's a hint to you: You don't sound smarter or more practical or more effective when you try to rationalize with a woman who is ranting. Sometimes, you sound like a jerk. Sometimes, it's OKAY to not have an answer/solution/response to everything I complain about. Sometimes? It's okay to just say "Ugh, that is so lame. I feel bad you have to deal with it." Or even, "I know..." paired with a sympathetic nod and maybe then like a pair of diamond earrings or something. I dunno, I'm just brainstorming here. The point is: I'm not trying to start a fight WITH you, I'm trying to get you on my side so WE can fight whatever abstract thing is ruining my day. Get on my side, would ya?

Well, Geo came home and started a fire (in the fireplace - which is, arguably, a better idea than the one I had of setting our couches on fire and breakin' out my shorts), and it's helping a great deal. I've been able to unzip my giant coat a couple inches (although he's still struttin' around in a pair of jeans and a thin hoodie, insisting it's "just not that cold"). I guess, given the great temperature gap, it only makes sense that men are indeed from Mars and women from Venus.

Future's so Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades

Halleluiah! You guys? The SUN...was OUT...TODAY. I dug around in my purse, and had to take out my Kindle, my planner, my phone charger, my Kate Spade card holder/wallet, my keys, my iPod, a coin purse, a pair of mittens, and a pack of gum, but I finally found them. My Sunglasses. I haven't gotten to use my sunglasses in, well, many many moons. But oh! The glorious sun has decided to make a much anticipated cameo in Minnesota. And believe you me, I was in desperate need of the Vitamin D. I ran outside during lunch, with my mittens on, my full-length, down, enormo-coat zipped up, and the hood pulled up over my head, and just stared straight up at the sun. I willed the 4 square inches of my visible face skin to absorb all the vitamins and warmth and loveliness possible. I put my sunglasses on and it felt almost alien to have them on my face again. But there they sat, for 7 glorious minutes before I had to run back inside and thaw out my eyelashes.

That's something I always forget about in winter: sunglasses. I NEVER need to use my sunglasses in winter, unless I'm driving and the hazy sun somehow still manages to bounce right off the snow and directly into my corneas like I'm an ant at the mercy of some bratty kid with a microscope. But that almost never happens anyway. Usually I'm tucked inside work or my house or a bar, far away from the bitter cold of the ruthless Outdoors. So when I put my sunglasses on today, I was finally convinced that Spring is definitely right around the corner.

I need to buy new sunglasses, though. The ones I have now are, obviously, Kate Spade. And though I love them, due to my habit of tossing them into my purse with keys, pens, and apparently open switchblades, the lenses of the glasses are totally scratched beyond repair. There is nothing, in this blogger's humble opinion, dumber than dropping a huge chunk of dough on sunglasses. Sure, they may be cute or cool or like 3-D or something, but unless it says "Will not Break When Your Friend Ally Sits on the Them" or "Lenses Are Made Out Of Diamond", it's such a waste. I love the $5 sunglasses at Heartbreaker. Soooooo cheap! Sooooo cute! And somehow, they NEVER BREAK. I just straight up lose them. I'd go into cardiac arrest if I bought like a $750 pair of sunglasses and accidentally left them in the bathroom McDonald's. Good bye, money. Good bye, useless status symbol.

I bought Geo a pair of sunglasses for Christmas. He is a legit sunglasses hoarder. He has at least 6 pairs just in his car at any given time. Anyway, so Geo and I watch this show called Sons of Anarchy on FX (if you aren't watching this show, you are bad at life). It's about a motorcycle gang who have hearts of gold. (Sort of. They like deal drugs and run guns and hang out with, eh hem, ladies of the night, but it's SOOOOOOO good.) Whatever, the main character, Jax - played by the very yummy and drool-worthy Charlie Hunnum, wears these sunglasses on the show whenever he's on his Harley. Geo wanted them soooo badly. So one day, I looked them up. I found them, and they are legit. They are old-school authentic motorcycle glasses that have been around since the 50's. The best part? Eight dollars. Eight little bitty dollars. So, I ordered them and was ready to lie my face off and tell Geo they were mad expensive. However, apparently he had already done some of his OWN research, and confessed that he was already planning on ordering like 10 pairs of them so he had them every where at all times.

For all intents and purposes, sunglasses are basically disposable, though. That's why I think spending a ton of hard-earned cash on something you're just going to sit on anyway is crazy. That doesn't change the fact, though, that I need some new ones. I like the obnoxiously large ones, too. Geo says they make my freakishly small head look smaller. I'm pretty sure that's an insult, but whatever. They also leave horrible sunglasses tans in the summer. But I just figure it's a highly effective way of preventing premature aging of my eyes, and also hiding hangovers . And Punxutawney Phil basically guaranteed that I'll be laying out and drinking Mojitos by the Lakes in no time, so I need to be ready!

Alright, loveys. I'm signing off for now. I hope you have a bright, sunny, and wonderful weekend!

Cold Feet

I've waited as long as possible. I've held my tongue, I've waited for it to change, I've tried to see the bright side. And yet, there is no denying it any more. It's really effing cold out. Like: surface of Pluto cold. I know, I know. Back in November I talked about how people need to get over the coldness of Minnesota because it's MINNESOTA. But we are barely (if even) halfway through the winter, and my eyelashes froze together this morning. Very uncool.

So, okay so you know how the heat and humidity remind me of swimming in pea soup and being punched in the face with mayonnaise? Well the cold, man. This crazy frigid cold. It's like standing in a wind tunnel while shards of glass fly at my face at light speed I while wear a suit made out freezer burn and my blood has turned into a Coke slushie...or Rumpleminz. It's all sharp and jagged and unyielding. So yes, I'm officially complaining about the weather.

It's not the snow that gets me. It's not the impossible parking restrictions, it's not even the slippery sidewalks. It's the absolute PAIN of freezing from the outside in. It's the crickly crackly frozen feeling of my skin, the fear that my nose will snap right off my face, and the sadness I get when I lose all the feeling in my toes. Sometimes I worry about whether or not toe-amputees can still wear peep-toe heels.

Despite the frigidity outside, I've been living in a 65 degree house too - for those who don't know, that's COLD. But tonight, I got gutsy and turned the thermostat up to Sixty Seven Degrees. Then I pulled out some duct tape and fixed the little tears in our window plastic that fancies up our house. (Okay, so I understand that putting plastic on your drafty windows keeps your house warm, but why can't someone make window plastic that doesn't tear and come off with the slightest breeze? Come on, Science.) I've got some bedazzled Vikings sweatpants on, a pink furry fleece sweatshirt, and wool socks tucked into fleece-lined slippers. I do NOT look good. But I'm warm. That's the main problemo with winter. I don't care how many pairs of tights you have, or how many sweaters you layer, or how inconspicuous you think your long underwear is, NO ONE LOOKS HOT IN THE FREEZING COLD.

I once heard of a girl in middle school who walked outside in winter with wet hair, and when she brushed her fingers through her hair, all her hair just snapped right off. So, you can imagine my horror when I was walking to work this morning, and the homocidal, stabbing cold wind started smacking me in my face until my eyes watered. I tried to not blink. I stared into that bitter wind like it stole my purse. I felt my tears smearing my makeup, but I didn't want to blink. I willed my eyes to stay open. I felt my contacts freeze to my eyeballs, and all of a sudden I just did it. I blinked. The corners of my lashes stuck together like a tongue on a lamp post. I started to panic, imagining that girl snapping off her own frozen hair. I wondered what I'd look like without eyelashes. It wasn't pretty.

As soon as I walked into our building, though, my frozen tears mercifully thawed and my fears subsided. That, my friends, means it is officially too cold. The disturbingly tan weather man has been throwing around words like "tundra", "icy" and "permafrost" lately. That's not weather, people, that's uninhabitable terrain. I'm not complaining about a little chilly weather, you guys. I'm not all "Oh no! I can see my breath!" It's more like "I'm afraid of losing appendages while I'm waiting for the bus".

I guess I just have to focus on July, when it's BOUND to be warmer. Though, by then it's all back to pea soup and mayonnaise punches. You just can't win here, huh?

Well, (try to) stay warm, kids, and have a wonderful weekend!

Oooh! FACE!

Okay, so do you guys remember yesterday when I was all haughty and proud of myself for neglecting tedious, but necessary, tasks around the house? I was all "Who CARES if I sit around on the couch all day? I'm not HURTING anyone, am I?" Well, color me pwned. This morning, back in full swing of a work week, I woke up when it was still dark out. I finished getting ready and was on my way out of my room so I turned off the light, then remembered I needed my purse. I started to feel around for it in the pitch black room, when I tripped on a pair of jeans tossed on the ground, and SLAMMED my face into my door. "Slammed" as in: Ran into it at full speed, square in the kisser. That's right, people. The person I ended up hurting by my laziness, was in fact, MYSELF. And consider it a lesson learned, because my face still hurts (Well it's KILLING ME!) and the developing egg above my eyebrow is just noticeable enough to make me clean my stupes room out of fear that it will happen again.

How totally appropriate, don't you think? I was all parading around on my high horse because I hadn't had ONE major accident in 2010, which is quite a feat when you're as clutzy as I am. Then BAM! Face in a door. And not even like the front or back of the door. No, my face went smack into the side - that one inch death trap. I felt like a Looney Tunes character, what with all the stars I was seeing.

As my friend Allyson helpfully pointed out though, at least my latest face injury is not the worst. A few years back, I tripped on one of those enormous IKEA bags on the floor of my room (Seriously?! When will I learn to just keep my room clean?!) and skidded my face on the carpet. I had HUGE rug burns on the right side of my face. It was all scabby and gross. Gnarlesville. When I left my job at a magazine shortly afterwards, the staff made a mock up of an issue, with my mangled face on the cover, giving a big ol' thumbs up. I still keep it in my room because, well, it's pretty hysterical.

I suppose I can track all this crazy face-violence back to when I was about 5 years old. I was at the pool. My mom was wrangling us five kids to get home, but of course I was dawdling, eating ants or something. My mom said "Pharon! Come on! We're LEAVING!" She wrapped an enormous towel around me and I padded after her as fast as I could. Kids? There is a reason they tell you not to run at the pool. My bare feet were no match for the slippery cement, and, duh, I slipped. I crashed down, face-first on the cement. My arms were wrapped in my towel, so I just toppled over. I ripped up my chin, and I still have a teeny scar to prove it.

So, I guess in the grand scheme of all my facial mishaps, this latest one isn't so bad. There's no blood, no need for stitches. Nah, it's actually pretty minor. But frazzle! It hurt so freaky bad. It was the kind of pain that it takes like 3 full seconds to actually register in your brain.

Besides spending the night cleaning my room, I also chugged like 4 glasses of milk. A girl can't have too much calcium when she needs to keep her face bones strong. And despite the promises I make to myself to be more careful, there's no telling what kind of risk I run by boldly wearing high heels in Minnesota icy winters. Though, in hindsight, none of my facial boo-boos have had anything to do with wearing heels. In fact, it's almost like when I DON'T wear heels, I leave myself open to the perils that lurk at ground level. Mix that with my natural lack of grace and we've got an accident waiting to happen, folks.

Hopefully I got my annual Injury out of the way. I'd consider it a win for me if the worst thing I have to deal with is a cartoony bonk on the face. And, this might be a neural hematoma talking, but it was pretty funny.

Footsie

Had dinner with Kim tonight. It took forever to meet up because of all the snow and cars and idiots. First and foremost, let me tell you that Minnesota drivers are, far and away, the dumbest people on the planet. When there is snow piled on snow, piled on cars, piled on top of more snow, the solution to finding a parking spot on the street is NOT just parking in the middle of the street. I mean, I don’t know if that’s for sure on the driving test, but you’d just assume that’s a bad solution.

So, finally I meet up with Kim. She was halfway done with a beer by the time I took my coat off. It had been a loooooong day for her. She just had one of those generally really crap-filled days. She texted me this afternoon, and was frustrated and stressed out. My response? I sent her a very detailed text about how much my feet smelled. Yeah, she laughed. I was glad to have helped her out a bit.

At dinner, we both kind of loudly dumped our respective bad stories onto each other. After we had purged our bad news, we went back to discussing my feet. I explained to Kim that it is a little disturbing when you’re sitting there, wearing socks and winter boots, and you can still smell your own feet. At the time, it seemed like a bigger problem than work drama. Kim disagreed.

I don’t know what’s better, though: Enjoying a good dinner with a friend, or discussing the validity of whether or not people’s feet and armpits are in any way connected with each other, thereby distributing a finite amount of the smell glands. I explained to Kim that I must have all my sweat glands in my feet because I don't have ANY in my arms. I don’t sweat there, and I don’t smell (Perek once helpfully suggested, during an extended period of me living the single life, that maybe THAT’S why I didn’t have a boyfriend. No pheromones or something. Jerk). There are people you can smell a mile away because of their armpits. I’ve moved away from these people on the bus. Ew. No thanks. But I wonder if they sit around at home wearing their boots all night because they don’t want to offend people’s olfactory glands by taking them off. I think it just might be a trade off, then. Armpits or feet…choose your stinky weapon.

Chances are, if you’ve got cartoon stink lines coming from your armpits, you probably walk around barefoot like it’s no biggie. Is that right? Does anyone know if there’s any science behind it?

Well, back to dinner. I wish I went out to girl dinners more often. Usually, I’ll go out with a few girls, and we all get tangled up in different conversations, talking over each other, and recapping stories when one of us goes to the bathroom. But the one-on-one girly dinners are easier to manage. You’re either talking or listening. You give and take. There’s not as much interrupting, and you can end up having a really good, solid conversation about whether or not people sweat the same from their feet as they do from their armpits. We departed company and made promises to hang out again this weekend. See? That’s what I love about friends like Kim. We sat together for a couple hours, complaining and whining, and talking candidly about how much we smell, and yet? We make plans to hang out AGAIN in under 48 hours. I’m hoping by then, she’ll have had a better day at work. She’s probably hoping that by then, I will have showered.

Well, you guys? That’s all she wrote this week! Hope you all have a fabulous and fresh weekend!

P.S. No plans this weekend? How about spending some time writing an award-winning script?! Check out the current Lifetime Write Off Challenge for your shot at winning pride, glory, and your very own Pharon Square t-shirt!

Snow Place Like Home

I don’t think I need to tell anyone that, well, it snowed a little bit in Minnesota on Saturday. And by “a little bit”, I of course mean that it is Armageddon. On Saturday morning, I made the very genius decision to go to the grocery store. By then it had only snowed about 12 out of the total 20 inches. I thought to myself, as I lay in bed with grumbling stomach, “Should I go to the grocery store NOW or LATER? The answer should have been “anorexia”. It was way too dangerous for me to be driving. All that crazy snow was blowing around like the inside of a Dyson vacuum. After the most treacherous 2 hours of my driving career, I pulled up at home to park in front of my house. I got stuck. I had to have Geo come outside and dig and push me into a spot.

As soon as I crawled my way up to my front door and dragged the groceries inside, I swore I wasn’t going back out there for the whole rest of the weekend. Unfortunately, I forgot that I had parked my car on the wrong side of the street, and hours later I was back outside, digging my car out AGAIN to move it to the other side so the plows could get through. It took a snowblower, 2 fully grown men, 2 shovels, and some creative driving, but I got out (also? All-Wheel Drive is a total lie. Total. Bold-faced. Lie). Then we dug out Sanna’s car, and our other neighbors truck, and some strangers car down the road. We hauled probably 100 tons of snow, but I believe I lost 5 pounds in sweat, so I guess that was okay.

Besides all the shoveling and shivering and tire-spinning, I just holed up in various different pairs of sweatpants all weekend. At one point, I asked Geo if it disturbed him that I had so many pairs of sweatpants, and that I just kept wearing different pairs. Luckily for everyone involved, he said it did not. But I mean, what else was I going to do? I couldn’t go out, nobody could come over, and I figured I may as well be warm.

I was, however, excited for the Vikings game today. Sanna came up with a couple extra tickets, and Geo and I were going to brave the snow to scream at people and cheer on our boys. Then this happened: Metrodome Roof Caves In. Needless to say, there was no game. But I luckily had a fresh pair of Vikings sweatpants to get me through all the naps.

Then, because I had gone through so much to get to the grocery store, I decided I’d just cook all weekend. Sweet potato fries, cornbread from scratch, cookies, and so much more. Instead, I found myself googling “Why won’t my oven turn on?” and “What is a pilot light”? And “How can I tell if I have renter’s insurance?” No oven + no clue how to turn on over + fear of blowing myself up so close to Christmas = sloppy joes and peanut butter sandwiches all weekend. Flurrrg.

But my God! I felt suffocated all weekend. I like to choose to be lazy. When the choice is taken away from me, I get a headache and start having thoughts like “I think I could look really good in bangs.” Luckily, our scissors were too dull from me using them to cut pizza and using them as a hammer.

Going to work tomorrow will be a mixed blessing, then. I’ll get out of this hellhole, yes. But I don’t think I’m allowed to wear sweatpants to work. Or CAN I? No, no I can't.

Ugh. Okay, well, if you have a heart, the least you guys could do is cheer on the Vikings tomorrow night when they play their rescheduled game in Detroit. Minnesota is hurtin’ pretty bad, and they have no home field anymore. And we really just need the pick-me-up before Round 2 of Doomsday hits us this week.

Well, stay safe and warm, everyone!

Under my Umbrella. Ella. Ella.

Yesterday, my mom inquired as to what was on our Christmas wish lists. I’m kind of the Queen of Christmas Wish Lists. I’ll send my mom a huge long list of everything from a Dyson vacuum to refrigerator magnets. And I include links to the exact items. I cover every size, price range, and availability. I think my success of Christmas lists is due to a combination of my love for making lists and my need for everything under the sun. Anyway, my mom asks what we want. I say “I really want a nice, sturdy, adorable umbrella.” She scoffed at the suggestion, and said “An umbrella? In winter? That seems highly unnecessary.” I countered by explaining that standing at the bus stop in winter is a wet job, and sometimes it’s easier to hold an umbrella over my head than worry about ruining the 5-minute hairstyling job I’ve done by putting on a hat. Again, she dismissed the suggestion.

Then, today it rained. Behold! I needed an umbrella. I had to resort to using my super adorable green umbrella. Unfortunately, one of the little sprongy things that holds the umbrella up broke, and now one side limps down over me like sad, soggy bread. And suprisingly, the Scotch tape method I used to repair it has proven to be highly ineffective. I returned from my lunchtime trip to the library with a soaking wet right shoulder. Good thing I didn’t do my hair this morning…

Umbrellas are wonderful and horrible contraptions. They are a great accessory. And I like spinning them around in my hands, spraying water all over unsuspecting passersby. Huh. I typed that and just now realized how rude that must be. But just try carrying books, a purse, a shoulder bag, a cup of coffee and an umbrella through gale force winds and torrential downpours. It doesn’t work. I have considered, a number of times, buying a hands-free umbrella. You know…the kind that you wear on your head? They are a little small, though. Someone should work on improving on that concept. Plus, I don’t know if you know this or not, but umbrellas get wet. Trying to fold it back up without dripping all over yourself is a science I have not yet mastered.

Back when I was living with the boys, Perek, Geo and I were standing at the front door, getting ready to go somewhere. Perek decided to play with one of those spring-loaded umbrellas and he held the bottom of it at his shoulder like a shotgun. He positioned the top of the fully-extended umbrella millimeters away from Geo’s nose. Then, he pushed the top backwards to reclick it closed. He pressed the button to shoot the umbrella forward. Success! It stopped at the same dangerously close distance to Geo’s nose.

Then Geo grabbed the umbrella from Perek, and wanted to do the same thing. He held it up to his shoulder in the same shotgun-style way Perek had, and positioned the tip of it right at Perek’s nose. But when Geo started to push the umbrella closed to "cock it", he secretly inched it forward so he could really "scare Perek". He ended up shooting the umbrella full-force into Perek’s face. Perek screamed “YOU DIDN'T CALIBRATE! YOU DIDN’T CALIBRATE!” One: What a stupid game for guys to play. Two: Who uses the phrase “calibrate” in this kind of situation? Three: I almost wet my pants from laughing so hard.

Oh, BOYS. What would we do without them? I would have never gotten over the laughing fit if Geo had actually broken Perek's nose. But the resulting trip to the hospital would definitely have made us late for whatever we were on our way to do, and I have every reason to suspect we were on our way to the bar or something similarly pressing.

Anyhoozle, the moral of this story is that I need a new umbrella. That, or I need to wear a plastic bag over my right shoulder. Mom – I’ll revise my wishlist. I’d like EITHER an umbrella OR a plastic bag.

Have An Ice Day!

So, how was your weekend? Lovely? Fun? Boring? Horrible? Well, I hope it was fabulous. It’s getting to that time of year when weekends are uber-crazy. Everything is just wacky, everyone is busy, and there’s always something going on. I’m okay with that, I think. Yes, I love sleeping in (and did so on Saturday until about 10:30 a.m.) and killing time in the kitchen by trying out new recipes (I did THAT on Sunday. Sweet potato fries with fancy dip, breakfast tartlets, and brownies). But there’s nothing wrong with hanging out and seeing friends (did that on Friday night after going to the Timberwolves game with Geo) or spending time with family (yup, did that tonight. Had dinner at my parents house and helped my mom construct a collage-y type thing of family photos).

The one major kink in the chain this weekend, though, was the rando ice storm that jacked up Minnesota on Saturday night. I spent the day running errands and cooking above-average tasting stuff. Then at about 11 p.m., Geo had this genius idea to go to Perkins in our pajamas. For pretty much no reason. Again: Rando. I brushed my hair for the first time that day and we bundled up to go out for unlimited diet Cokes and probably a Chocolate Chipper Sundae or something. Zummy! We walked outside and I came thisclose to wiping out on our front steps. In the past few hours, the rain had turned into a deadly ice trap and there was like 1/2 inch of ice covering everything. Still determined, we started driving away, but my car slid right through the first stop sign. Strike one. Then we slipped right through a second one. Strike two. Then, after deciding that driving to a ghetto Perkins in our pajamas during an ice storm was just not a sane plan, we turned around to go home. I barely had to turn the wheel to pull an impromptu U-turn because my car just skidded to wherever it wanted. Strike three. We’re out. Totally crazy-fun Saturday night ruined.

Then this morning, Geo asked me if I wanted to go run around the street sliding around on the ice. Normal people ask that, right? No. No, DOGS want to do those kinds of things. Anyway, I politely declined, noting my inherent ability for tripping and falling at the mere SIGHT of slippery surfaces. To tempt those icy fates would be dental suicide. I keep having these visions of me slipping face-first onto some ice and knocking out my front teeth, and I’m particularly fond of those particular teeth. In response to that fear, Geo said, “Well, Pharon, that’s why you don’t fall ON YOUR FACE. You fall BACKWARDS.” Really? Gee, thanks Isaac Newton for explaining that to me. All these years, I missed that basic concept.

Historically, I don’t do well “walking” in the “winter”. There was that time I slipped on the ice outside a hotel in Iowa City in front of a massive post-bar close crowd. I slipped while trying to get over a huge mound of snow to get to my car and fell face-first into a snow bank, dumping all the contents of my purse into the snowy gutter. And in general, I just look like a dog on a skating rink whenever I go anywhere. I’m uncomfortable. I’m uneasy. I’m an accident waiting to happen.

So besides the ice in a vodka tonic, I prefer to keep far away from the frozen death trap. I hate that feeling I get right BEFORE I slam onto my tailbone and/or face. You know the one: the momentary airiness of your legs, the reflex to try and stabilize yourself with the other foot, only to do a little awkward shuffle before becoming all too aware of the weight of your own body and that evil, evil beyotch that is Gravity. Well, call me crazy, but I’ll do whatever I can to, eh hem, sidestep that landmine.

Okay, folks. Let’s keep our feet firmly planted on the ground this week, shall we? We’ve only got a few more days before the holiday season really kicks off, and I’d like to make it through 2010 with all my original teeth.

Baby It's Cold Outside (DUH!)

Brrrrr! Minnesota is cold today. In other news, people are breathing air. Every single winter it gets cold here. Frigid, some would say. Yet every year, people seem to be shocked at the chilly temps. And then they’ll inevitably say something like “It’s soooo cold! Why do I live here?!” Sheesh. It’s not like it’s snowing in July, people. It’s winter, it’s Minnesota. It’s going to be cold.

I say that, however, after talking nonstop about how cold I was at work today. Some fluke accident thing happened and we had no heat all day. It was in the low 60s inside our office. But since it was INSIDE that was so cold, I can complain all I want. I wore a sweater, fleece, jacket, blanket, hood, and mittens for most of the day. Note: It is difficult to type emails in mittens.

Typically, Winter and I tend to get along just fine. I’m not a hater. Yes, every single task takes longer. Driving can be a nightmare, and downright scary sometimes, but I don’t have to shovel any sidewalks or driveways and I’m typically chauffeured around the town by means of public transportation. So, most days I am unaffected. Plus, I love chili and that’s only socially acceptable to make in the winter.

There was this one winter when I cursed the weather, the gods, the snowplows and everything else “Minnesota Winter”. It was when I lived alone in Uptown Minneapolis. There was a ginormous bizzard, that pounded the city with roughly 100 feet of snow in like 5 minutes or something like that. I had a parking spot in the lot behind the building. I also had an automatic car starter. So, I peeked out my window 15 minutes before I had to leave for work, pressed the little button on my keychain, and my car started right up. Yay! So, I threw everything in my purse, pulled on my snow boots and trudged out to my toasty car.

Okay, so I must explain something here. When you have an auto-starter, the car turns on and runs without the keys in the ignition. When you are ready to go, you put the key in the ignition, turn it half way and you’re off. However, my car also had this Auto Lock “FEATURE” that would engage after being started with the key.

So, I put the key in, turned it, and popped out of my car to brush off the top and back windows real quick. I shut my door so I didn’t let any snow in, and heard the car lock. While it was still running. I peeked in the passenger side window and saw my purse sitting there, with my phone and apartment keys inside it. I had locked myself out of a running car while it was still blizzarding. I, dear readers, am an idiot.

Long story short, I used a strangers phone to call Maintenance, who came and unlocked my apartment so I could get my spare car keys and could finally get in my car. It had been running for about an hour, and I had used like 1/4 tank of gas. Whoops! Sorry, Earth! But! It was definitely WARM inside. I used my phone to call work and explain what had happened, and that I was on my way through the treacherous roads. At that time, I learned that the weather had knocked the power out at work so I didn’t need to go in. I COULDN’T go in, as a matter of fact. Cue the cursing of winter weather.

Outside of that one stupes mistake, I feel like I’ve had a pretty drama-free relationship with the cold weather. I say that NOW, of course, right at the beginning. I give myself 3 weeks until a blog ranting against the ridiculous cold comes up. Feel free to set me straight at that time.

Rainbows and Unicorns and Ice Cream!

When I woke up this morning, birds may as well have flown into my room and helped me get dressed. A deer could have poked its little venison-y head into my window and served me my coffee. It’s one of those days, people. A Disney fairy land. All was right in the world today. One of those days when I didn’t want to slump home and just eat my feelings.

I’ve basically been skating by all day in a haze of anticipation and positivity. Tonight: NFL starts. (Skol Vikes!). Tomorrow: I’ll be in Iowa City with my best girl friends for the Iowa Hawkeye game (On, Iowa!). Every annoyance, every stressful situation, everything between this morning and tomorrow is but a blip on my rose-colored radar. I can’t be fazed. “Pharon, is this a good time to tell you a long, boring story about a tree stump?” Absolutely!

It all comes down to perspective. I forgot to bring my lunch to work, and instead of running madly to Subway and back, I strolled briskly through the crisp fall air, smelled the aromas of the Farmer’s Market, and cared not when BOTH my iPod ear buds malfunctioned and shut down completely. I saw what I usually would have assumed to be a drug deal in broad daylight, but today I decided one man was giving the other man money for his help with cleaning his gutters. And during a particularly irritating conversation at work today, I zoned out and daydreamed about what a ray of sunshine would smell like.

After determining that a ray of sunshine would smell cinnamony, but taste like lemon cotton candy, I closed up shop and headed home, satisfied. I almost made myself sick with how much I was in love with the weather. Just chilly enough to wear my new coat! What an incredibly wonderful time of year! Wait, is that…? Yes! It’s a strip club flyer just blowing effortlessly through the prickly breeze! Look at how beautifully it bops around!

It’s saccharine gooeyness, I know. I’m on the verge of grossing myself out. And the proverbial cherry on top was when Madeline sent me a link to a Tumblr blog called the pursuit of happyness (typo on purpose). Basically it’s a blog full of inspirational quotes, sappy cutesy pictures, and hopeful insights for hard times and tough lessons. I spent waaaaaay too much time on that blog. I leaned my chin on my left hand and smiled continuously as I scrolled through cheesy post after cheesy post.

Yup, all is right in the world folks. I’m coasting through the day on the wings of an animated toucan through a city made of rubies. Now, if only that deer would poke its head in my front door and serve me a beer…

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Do You Remember?

Finally! The Labor Day weekend can begin! I’ve treated myself to taking Friday off, and look forward to filling my long weekend with hours upon hours of not Laboring. I did some research (a.k.a. briefly breezed through the Wikipedia entry) on Labor Day. Much as the name suggests, Labor Day is a day to celebrate the “working man”. To give rest to those who build the foundation on which this country stands. Also, it’s the official start to the NFL season. w00t.

When I was little I thought Labor Day had something to do with babies. You know, the whole “she’s going into labor!” thing? Yeah, I thought that’s what this weekend was all about. I don’t remember what I must have thought happened to spark the annual federal holiday in terms of a pregnant woman about to give birth, but I imagine it had something to do with the stork. Maybe it was his only day off. Or, his busiest day of the year. Who can say? The fact of the matter is, all things about that thought process were wrong. Such is life…

So Labor Day. The finest holiday I do not understand. According to sources (Wikipedia), there is a declaration that there are supposed to be parades and speeches by prominent leaders. Sounds, uh, fun? I’ll pass on those things. Instead, I will celebrate my love and appreciation for fellow workers by sleeping late, drinking beer, painting my nails, and decorating for my niece’s 5th birthday party. I can’t believe they didn’t include ANY of those national pastimes in the original declaration. Fools.

I do know one thing for sure. Labor Day is the day I start listening to Earth, Wind and Fire’s September on repeat. It’s pretty much the world’s greatest song of all time. I dare you to listen to it and not feel warm inside your bones. There was a perfect Labor Day a couple years ago when my friend Ally, Geo, Perek, and I hung out and played games all day and listened to the song on repeat. For like 3 hours. The best song for the best time of year. Now, I’m going back to watching the final pre-season Vikings game and gearing up for a delicious weekend of relaxing, enjoying the weather, and a whole lotta this:

(Happy Labor Day, kids. Be smart. Be safe. Be Youtiful.)

Cabin Fever

I finally got a tan. All summer long, the weekends have either been rainy and gross, or suffocatingly hot. So outdoors has not been my friend. But after spending the weekend at my sister's cabin in the sunshiney perfectness, my shoulders are burnt, my nose hurts when I crinkle it in disgust, and life is very good. In said sunshiney perfectness, I spent the days learning that I am good at both shooting a BB gun and fishing. I was as surprised as your are…

I love cabins. I am very disappointed that at this point in my life, I myself do not have a cabin. Though I am not a fan of bugs, the outdoors, or doing a lot of work, there is something about cabin life that agrees with me. Cabin life is much better than home life. Both mornings, I woke up with a very awesome alarm clock. My niece, Eve, would come and put her face right next to mine and just wait for me to open my eyes. Also, the lax showering rules are great, there’s always something to do, and having a beer with breakfast is not out of the question.

And no matter which cabin I’m visiting, there are things about each one that makes me feel at home. Every bathroom has the AIM toothpaste that is in the process of expiring and the one-ply toilet paper. Every living room has a handful of year-old Good Housekeeping magazines and some crossword puzzles, and it‘s decorated with wooden-carved signs that say things like We Don‘t Skinny Dip, We Chunky Dunk. And outside has the reclining lounge chairs, the fire pits, the yard games, the giant grill, and a dock leading out to a boat. Everything at a cabin suggests relaxation at any cost.

Like cabins, I also looooove me a boat. I still don’t know how to drive one, or how I would dock it, but I am a great boat passenger. What is better than a boat? You can lay around in it, catching some rays, then just roll overboard into the water for a little relief from the heat. You can sip on a beer while towing a wake boarder through the double ups. And, like this weekend, you can just hang out, listen to music, and occasionally catch huge fish. Boats are the greatest. I really need to find a way to get a sick boat, and then I’ll just need to find a place to dock it. And learn how to drive it. And save my money for gas.

So now I’m home, my skin feels like fried chicken, all my clothes smell like a bonfire, and I’ve got more bug bites than I can count (who gets a bug bite on the outside of their pinky toe!? It’s the worst place, hands down). And I’m too pooped to write too many clever, witty remarks, but I’m definitely okay with that. Maybe I should be glad I don’t have my own cabin. I’d never get anything done, and I’d probably be too relaxed all the time to care about anything other than whether or not I should bring the hammock inside at night in case of rain.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

OMG, today was soooooo fun! I spent the day with Geo, the cutest boy at school. He’s really good at sports, and so we went kayaking (no parents!) and even shared a kayak. We went to three different lakes, and saw homeless people living near the bridges! Sad :(. But we also saw a boy who tipped his kayak and ended up in the grody lake. LOL! It was super funny, Diary. And Geo was sooooo nice! He held my keys in the kayak and didn’t even make fun of me when I got out of the boat and my butt was all wet. I was SO embarrassed, but he said you couldn't even tell, so that’s good.



Then we went shopping in Uptown. OMG, we BOTH got sunglasses! I couldn’t decide which ones I liked at first, and Geo helpfully reminded me how hard it must be for me to find sunglasses ‘cause I have such a tiny head. But I got a super cool pair anyway.


When we got home, Geo made me a romantic lunch of burgers and homemade fries and we ate while we watched ESPN. The food was sooooooooooo good. The ESPN was so NOT good.

Anyway, I took a nap and now I’m all ready to go see my brother and his friend play at a real live BAR! They are REALLY good at singing and playing guitar. They could totally be famous. Boys in bands are soooooo cool, aren’t they? Maybe Justin Bieber will show up. I would DIE! OMG, seriously!


Okay, Diary, I gotta go put on some frosted lip gloss and leggings, and then find something for Justin Bieber to autograph if I see him.

Xoxo,
Pharon

P.T.Oh Yeah!

Here’s the difference between me and Sanna. I came home from Book Club tonight, and she says, “Did you know it’s only 6 hours from here to Iceland?” No, Sanna. No, I did NOT know that. “I’m thinking about going there to do some farming sometime.”

There is a strong possibility that she’ll do this, too. I, on the other hand, would NOT do this. I’m not exactly the “drop-everything-and-go-to-a-foreign-country” kind of girl. I am having a hard enough time deciding on what to do around here for the next two days. That’s right, folks. I’m officially taking my first two days off of the year! The world is my oyster. The possibilities are endless.

Example: Apparently there are all kinds of strange, melodramas on TV during the day. Soap operas, I believe they’re called. I’m thinking of maybe checking those out. I’ve also been curious to see what goes on inside Target during the weekdays. Instead of eating lunch at my desk in front of a computer, I might consider venturing out on the porch for a little picnic. And bring my computer. You know, get some stuff done.

Geo threw around a lot of ideas like “kayaking” and something called “going for a walk around the lakes”, so I may have to indulge him and participate in those things. But I’m mostly just looking forward to the sleep. That, however, brings more stress. Do I sleep in and enjoy it? Or do I wake up early and seize the day? Blurg, this is already harder than I thought.

Come to think of it, I have no business taking days off if I don’t even know what to do with them. I think I might actually be nervous. It is entirely possible that I could completely waste these days. What if I sleep until noon, watch TV until 5, and then have nothing to show for a whole two days spent away from work? I mean, yes, that does sound like a pretty ideal day for me. But having to tell everyone that THAT’S what my days off consisted of will only invite disparaging remarks like “Oh, but it was so nice out!” or “Can’t you just sleep during the weekend?” But these people would be, what I like to call, jerks.

But, because I’m such a people-pleaser, I suppose I’ll have to get out and enjoy the so-called beautiful weather. I’ll force myself to spend the hours upon hours of free time I have meandering around Uptown and popping in and out of shops, without worrying that they might be closing in the next 20 minutes. If I must, I must.

Or, hey, I might just jet off to Iceland. Word is, it’s only a 6-hour flight.

Weakend

We have this phrase we use in our house when someone is acting just a little off. We call them Bizarro. Typically it happens after someone’s had a few too many wine coolers. Like, they're all normal, cleaning dishes, or making a midnight snack, but they're doing it without pants on. This weekend was Bizarro.

To start, instead of having a weekend, I worked all the way through Saturday night. We have an annual Sales Conference every year, and it’s a really big deal. So I spent Friday night, all day Saturday and Saturday night with 45 reps from around the country being Bizarro Pharon (B.P. wears chic black dresses and lipstick, and loves to talk Business). Instead of feeling all “worky”, Bizarro Pharon actually had a good time. Example: At one point, one of the older reps, she’s probably about 75, says to me, “I may be old, but I still loooove to dance!” and then shook her booty in my general direction. Bizarre. And a little bit awesome.

Nevertheless, it was 120% exhausting. I came home and plopped down on the couch, turned on the TV, propped my feet up, and had a few glasses of wine. Oddly, no one else was home, so I enjoyed a little TV mash-up of Hannah Montana and Locked Up: Raw. Yeah, that’s a normal combo.

So, Sunday morning I woke up early (bizarre), ready to take on the day and cram a whole weekend of relaxing into one day. I got up and decided to make some toast. All the knives were dirty, so I buttered my bread with a steak knife, which is more difficult than it sounds. Then I went to Barnes & Noble to buy the book for our book club this week (Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang by Chelsea Handler). But, my intentions were not entirely pure when I swiped my credit card at the register. I was planning on reading the book then returning it. Twenty-five bucks for a book!? No thanks.

I packed up some water, a beach towel, and my soon-to-not-be-mine book (careful to leave the dust jacket in the car so I didn’t ruin it) and I headed down the block to read near the lake. I know of a little “secret spot” that no one knows about and was thus unoccupado. I spread out my towel and got down to business. It was wonderful. For 15 minutes. Then a couple with 2 of the whiniest babies ever came and set up camp next to me. Rude! And Bizarro! So, I left and read the entire book in the comfort of my own hammock.

Yeah, I finished the book, so what? So, I got in my car to return the book. I had a bulletproof response. “Of COURSE it’s never been read. I just bought it today. Who could read a whole book in one afternoon?!” As I gingerly slipped on the dust jacket, I somehow managed to rip it. Rather than risking looking like a Bizarro jerk trying to return a clearly-used book, I sped past Barnes & Noble and went to Target instead.

I’m sorry, I meant that I went to Bizarro Target. My beloved Regular Target is great, except on Sundays when it turns Bizarro. People understand the rules of shopping on a Tuesday night. Not so on Sundays. Slow drivers, slow walkers, slow talkers, slow cashiers, no carts. UGH! I got out of there in 10 minutes flat.

It’s like all the elements of a great weekend were there, the perfect weather, the relaxing time on the hammock, the errands, and the wine. But none of it was normal. None of it happened the way I wanted, or the way it typically would have happened. It’s like I ordered a plate of spaghetti and got angel hair pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and extra meatballs. Sure, it may taste good, but it’s not exactly what I wanted and certainly not what I ordered.

Hot Mess

It’s extremely hot today. (How hot IS it?) It’s so hot that my car melted down to its basic elements and then the aluminum seeped into the ground and poisoned all the mice who thought it was water. It was crazy.

We don’t have air conditioning in our house. One of the pitfalls of living in an old house is the common lack of central air. I lived in an air conditionerless house from ages 1-18. On really hot nights, my brothers, sisters and I would go sleep down in the basement for a little relief. We had huge commercial-size fans that we’d point directly at our heads and drift off to sleep in a hot flash haze. It was like sleeping in pea soup sometimes.

I cannot function well when I’m hot. I get really cranky and frustrated. I get anxious and panicky and I can‘t stop moving around. When I get in a hot car, my lungs pretty much shut down, and I gasp “I can’t breathe…I can’t breathe!” until some air movement revives me. It’s like Heat Anxiety. I dread getting my hair cut, because no matter where I go, the stylist will always shoot the hot air of a hair dryer directly in my face, and I’ll hold my breath until it’s done. Sometimes they do it for a long time, and I truly fear that I will pass out.

So today, I had to leave the sweet comfort of my office building and brave the disgusting weather to get some lunch. I walked outside and it was like someone punched me in the face and then covered me in mayonnaise. It was horribly hot, humid, and there was no wind to relieve me. I alternated between struggling to breathe and just holding my breath. I was angry at everyone I walked by who didn’t look as hot as me. And the people who were running down Nicollet Mall? I wanted to trip them. Who works out in this madness?! Not me, that’s for sure.

I’ve never met anyone with this same affliction. This allergy to heat. When the air around me is hot and thick, something in my brain overheats and major body functions (like, oh, breathing) cease to cooperate.

I wonder if this is an actual disorder. I wonder if there’s a picture in the Mayo Clinic Health Bible of a girl standing outside wearing pants and a t-shirt, and it would show an x-ray of her chest and all the muscles and bones have collapsed inside of her. Next to her, there’d be a little clipart image of a sweating thermometer eating a popsicle, and bursting at the 100+ degree weather. And that girl would be me. And the disorder would be called Heatus Explosivitis.

I would host a fundraiser to provide all of the people suffering from H.E. with a personal igloo. I’d ask you to donate money. By donating just 30 cents a day, you could save a woman like me from living a life of struggle and despair.

I think I’ve entered into a heat-induced delirium. This is all starting to sound pretty good. Alright, stay cool guys!