WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK FUCK?!?!?!?!

I would like to preface this post by stating that I, for all intents and purposes, am an intelligent young woman. I spent 12 years in one of the country's best public school systems. I went to a great college. I graduated with honors. I watch Jeopardy at the gym with the captions on. I'm in a book club. Clearly, I'm a highly enlightened individual.

That being said, I learned something yesterday that blew my fucking mind.

Narwhals. Really. Exist.


WHAT THE FUCK?!!?!??!!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! I can't even put into words how completely disturbed and shaken up I am by this revelation. Do you understand that I've spent my entire adult life thinking that narwhals are mythical creatures on par with unicorns, fairies, centaurs and cherubs? My entire fucking life. But guess what? They're as real as you and me! They are real creatures of the sea. They're fucking mammals for Christ's sake! They've been classified—that is how real they are! Do you know what blows my mind? I could be swimming in the Arctic Ocean and feasibly, out of nowhere, I could get impaled by the horn of a narwhal. And when news of my death reaches home, the baffling part won't be that a narwhal killed me, it will be why was I in the Arctic Ocean in the first place?" That's the troubling part. WHAT THE FUCK?! You know that scene in A Beautiful Mind when Russell Crow is standing before his intricate wall of magazine clippings and it suddenly dawns on him that there's no connection between the articles because he made the entire thing up and he's totally Schizophrenic? That is what I feel like right now. I've been google image searching narwhals for the past three hours now and the only thing standing between me and a panic attack is this comical illustration of Barack Obama riding one:


Allow me put you in my shoes for a moment. Let's talk about Dragons. Dragons are not real. Furthermore, it is widely accepted among all of Planet Earth that they're not real. Correct? Correct. Now, imagine that one day a friend casually drops into conversation that Dragons are real! But not only are they real, their population is thriving by the thousands in the Arctic and everybody knows this but you. It's common knowledge. You're the dumb-fuck for thinking they're mythological creatures. You're the weirdo. You're the one people look at with a concerned look in their eyes. You call your parents in shock and they just sigh heavily because this is one more thing that you've managed to let escape you. THAT'S ME! I'M THE DRAGON DUMB-FUCK!

This all started last Saturday night when it somehow came up in pre-Jäger Ball conversation with the Tulane Chris and Co-Blogger Chris that Narwhals "exist." Frankly, I 100% didn't believe them. My friends, bless their hearts, are assholes who think it's hilarious to misinform me about things so I look like an idiot when I repeat it later. Kind of like the time at the Cheesecake Factory when Helena—fully knowing I was on the Atkins Diet—told me that everybody knows whipped cream doesn't have carbs! so I face-raped like three plates full while she watched and silently laughed. Or the time Helena told me a "pundit" was a medieval council of elders who decide the fate of heretics and those who speak ill of the King. Or the time Helena told me it was a totally awesome idea to buy and wear a John Deere baby-tee. In retrospect, Helena is an asshole, but either way I totally thought the Chris's were fucking with me. I was randomly musing about this yesterday, giving myself a pat on the back for being so clever and out-smarting the Chris's when I made the horrible decision to google "Narwhal" for funsies. (And let's not lie, because management is here all week and I'm desperate to look like I'm actually doing something.) I clicked on Images. And there they were: NARWHALS. HONEST-TO-GOD NARWHALS. And thousands of educational websites about narwhals! And videos! And books! And a Twitter account! (@common_narwhal!)

Facts I learned about narwhals that blow my mind:
- They are real
- They can not talk
- Their horn is actually an incisor tooth
- They are predators
- SOME MALES HAVE DUAL TUSKS:
http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/narwhal-hunt.jpg
- There is only a single recorded case of a female narwhal with dual tusks
- They eat shrimp
- They can dive 4,500 feet under the sea and stay there for 25 minutes!
- Male narwhals rub one another's tusks together in an activity called "tusking," which makes me want to vomit
- Their tusks were sold in medieval times as unicorn horns and were worth up to twice their weight in gold
- Nobody knows the function of their tusks; they serve no evolutionary purpose!

BAHHHH WTF?!?!?! But you know what concerns me most? That I managed to get through 16 years of school without learning that narwhals are real animals. That in and of itself is baffling. I mean, I took college level biology and evolution. (Although the lowest grade I got in my entire college career was in evolution. In my defense, I took it with Alex and Helena and we spent the entire class making up comical mini-quizzes for each other about the random personal facts our professor would inject into his lectures and instead of studying, got drunk and free-styled about trilobites...so I guess that didn't help.) And! Apparently there's an entire chapter in Moby Dick on narwhals! I read that in AP Lit! And by I read that, I mean I read selected portions of the Cliffs Notes before giving up and asking my dad to write my paper for me because he loves that book and I'm a stupid, spoiled sack of shit. God damnit! I'm always looking for the easy way out.

I also feel a certain sense of betrayal that nobody bothered to tell me the truth about narwhals. I seriously sat at my computer yesterday slowly scrolling through my gchat contacts thinking, "All of you know that narwhals are real animals and not a single one of you told me...you are all TRAITORS!!!!1" Then I sent an email to my dad about my revelation and asked him why he never bothered to tell me. All I got in return was this incredibly snarky and condescending and email:

We were just talking about Narwhals at dinner last night (again!!!). We were going to get you one for Christmas but we were worried about the horn (in reality a big tooth - paging Dr. Aroyo) getting caught in your clothes when you hugged it. Which you would do all the time because they are soooo huggable. We'll get you a My-Little Narwhal instead.

You never see anything about Narwhals on TV so you just don’t think about them. What a shame.

Next we’ll have to talk about the Jackalope, the mystical half Jack Rabbit and half antelope that roams free around the great American Southwest. Or Vampire Squid! Or flying snakes! Or Voles and Lemmings! Or Tasmanian Devils! And don’t get me started about the Amazonian insects the enter your skin through cuts and lay eggs there and then the larvae starts moving around so you can see your skin ripple. Or an Amazonian fish that swims up your “you know what.” So many great but little known animals that we just don’t talk about over dinner and a drink. Remember when you once thought of badgers like that?

Love,
DAD

God damnit. I did used to think of badgers like that. I also thought that wolverines were just lady wolves for an embarrassing amount of time. But none of my animal enlightenments have disturbed me quite as much as this whole narwhal brouhaha. Why am I so clueless about animals? I've been to the zoo like 900 times. And the Natural History museum. And, you know, 16 years of fucking school. This is just so incredibly unsettling. I called my mom yesterday and told her I felt like I was going to have a panic attack and she barked at me to "get over it." "Why are you being so mean?!" I asked her. "[sigh] Meghan, there are plenty of things in life to get anxious about," she explained, "NARWHALS are not one of them."

I, madam, beg to differ. I leave you now with this education NatGeo video on narwhals that in my mind is just as disturbing as watching a snuff film. Enjoy:

The Girl Who Cried Bullshit

Over the weekend I finally caught The Girl Who Cries Blood on my new favorite channel/boyfriend/what?/it's questionable, NatGeo. Regarding it's abrupt and anti-climactic ending, I only have this to say: BULLSHIT! It was BULLSHIT! And it's BULLSHIT! has lit a fire deep within, the likes not seen since Suzy Soro kicked me square in the metaphorical balls.

First a disclaimer: this rant obviously divulges the end of TGWCB, so if you're about to curl up on the couch with a big bowl of Kashi and watch it, I highly recommend you don't read this first. EXCEPT I DO, because the ending was BULLSHIT! and this rant will prepare you for the inevitable pain and anguish of which nobody prepared me. And you're welcome.

Now, in case you haven't seen the 5,000 commercials NatGeo hyped up the show with, TGWCB is about a 13-year-old Indian girl named Twinkle who spontaneously bleeds from her eyes, scalp, hands and "other body parts." There's no physical injury and she feels no pain. She just spontaneously starts bleeding.

A quick little recap: the first part of the documentary follows Twinkle and her mother, Nandani, as they trek around India trying to find answers from various holy men and holistic healers. When that doesn't help, they decide to meet with top American pediatric hematologist Dr. George Buchanan, who has traveled to India take their case.

Dr. George meets her, examines her, does lots of tests, beakers beakers beakers, coagulate coagulate coagulate until he reaches his final diagnosis: a bad case of Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire. The bleeding isn't coming from an injury, the blood from her eyes isn't even coming from the tear ducts, her platelets are fine, she's otherwise perfectly healthy and most importantly, nobody besides her or her mother have seen the bleeding start. She's always conveniently on the john or having super-secret-happy-alone-playtime when she starts a-bleedin'. Therefore Dr. George says, "I've seen the movie Heartbreakers, I know what mother/daughter teams are capable of and I say good day to the both of you." But then Twinkle starts to cry and he feels badly for her, so he tells them that the only way anyone will know for sure if they're telling the truth is if they see the bleeding start, so they'll need to set her up in a sleep study situation and monitor her on a 24-hour basis. Twinkle and her mother not only agree, but are relieved that this will finally prove the truth and get Twinkle the help she needs.

THE END.

What happens? FUCK IF I KNOW! Oh wait, was there a second part on after that you missed? NOPE! World's Smallest Girl was on next. Oh, well was she at least adorable? Nope, wanted to punt her across a football field and celebrate with wings and a beer.

MOST UNSATISFYING END OF ANYTHING EVER! And the thing is, I could handle it if the answer to the mystery was, "Welp! She's a liar!" Because that wouldn't be so bad, it was still an interesting documentary. I could even handle it if the doctor was like, "Fuck if I know! Guess she's a Medical Marvel! GLAVEN!" Because it's not the not knowing that's so frustrating, it's the fact that a simple test is all that lies between knowing and not knowing, and yet it never gets done. And not because Twinkle or her mom don't want it to happen, but just because. Just because it never gets done. Like when you go get a physical and half-mention to your doctor that you've been tired recently, so he or she tells you that you should really get your iron level tested and you're like, "yea...that'll totally happen..." but never do and your doctor never follows up because who really gives a shit and everything is fine in the end because you just needed to stop staying up to watch reruns of South Park and go to bed on time. That's how everyone handles the situation. Except Twinkle hasn't been feeling more tired than usual—she's been bleeding out of her fucking face holes. And this isn't just a physical—a doctor traveled to India with a camera crew for the sole purpose of figuring out why this is happening. Don't you think everyone involved, including the documentary crew, has a vested interest in finding out what's up?? I mean, I'm the Queen of not following through with things, so I guess I get it, but this seems like one thing that even I might want to put in the time and energy into actually getting done. You know, what with the stigmata and all.

You may be tempted to point out that if this is just a hoax, than of course Twinkle and her mom would be hesitant to go get the test done. But that's just it! They were the ones who were actually the most psyched about doing it in the first place! Her mom literally says, "This test is exactly what we want to happen. Sooooooo...how do we contact you about doing this...?" But Dr. George is all, "Yyyyeaaahh...I've got a game of squash next Tuesday that I've already rescheduled twice and really can't move again...umm...yiiiiiikes...let me wait to get back to the States and take a look at the old google calendar and then you look at yours and I'll chat ya and we'll work it out. Mmk? Kay. BYE NOW!" and high-tails it out of the country.

And the most infuriating part is that it really isn't even a test that needs to be done! They just need to film her for 24-hours or until she starts bleeding, whichever happens first! And then they'll know for sure whether or not she's lying! AND THEY BLATANTLY ALREADY HAVE A GIANT CAMERA CREW WITH THEM. The hard part's already done! What? Are you trying to tell me there isn't one single tripod in the entire country of India? Not one motherfucker willing to sit in a chair, drink coffee and make sure the little REC light is blinking? And not one single person in India has insomnia and can poke that guy with a stick if he starts to nod off? I mean, I'm not a medical doctor, but that sounds like a pretty fail-proof system to me.

So now we're in our first fight, NatGeo. Good job. How dare you flood the TV with intriguing and provocative commercials for The Girl Who Cires Blood and then have it fail so monumentally? Tonight I will only watch you on the couch, not in my bed. Suffer.