A Humble Apology

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.

Opening up a can of worms...

I'm going to level with you about something: I'm not always right. BOOM. There it is. It's something I've come to terms with over the years and frankly, I feel like a better person for having done so. Would I say I'm right about most things? Yes. Yes, I would. But! I acknowledge that there's always a chance that I could be wrong.

Here are some things that I've been wrong about recently:

- Thinking that wiping sitting down is weird and wiping standing up is normal. I was wrong. My mistake.

- Thinking that most little boys don't see their dad's junk outside of a molestery arena. Incorrect! After last week's Dr. Reuben post, a few readers pointed out that it's actually pretty common for a dad to pee next to his son while potty-training him to show how it's done. And upon further reflection, that completely makes sense. Point taken.

- Thinking that most men don't compare the size of their junk to their father's. Again, thanks to very kind and open readers, I've come to learn that as a result of the above, it's actually pretty common. And again, it totally makes sense.

- Thinking that Cal Ripken, Jr. is a known wife-beater. Which isn't true, but for years I thought it was and maybe kind of spread it around town like it was a known fact. It turns out that he's not though. I was actually thinking of Garth Brooks. And even that's not true. I was just thinking of the antagonist in his incendiary The Thunder Rolls video. My bad, guys.

My point here is that while I can be stubborn about some things, I'm genuinely not one of those people who always thinks they're right about everything and says good day to anyone who says otherwise. I like to keep an open mind, even when it comes to my own ignorance.

That being said, HELENA IS WRONG ABOUT SOMETHING AND I'M RIGHT AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT COULD BE ANY OTHER WAY. HELENA = WRONG. MEG = RIGHT. COULD I BE MISTAKEN? NO. CASE CLOSED.

Let me break it down for you. Helena and Laura came over last night to enjoy some rooftop wine and Chipotle action and somewhere along the line, Helena brought up an interesting This American Life piece she heard on NPR about a guy who got rid of his allergies by traveling to Africa and stomping around barefoot in a pile of scorching hot human poo, thereby picking up hookworms. Because apparently if you have a couple dozen hookworms camping out in your guts, allergies are a thing of the past. But it doesn't stop there! So content with this miracle cure, was he, that he starting selling the hookworms he shat out on the internet to help out other allergy sufferers! You can listen to the entire piece here. (10 minutes in.) (If you dare.)

Now, I thought Helena brought this up in a HA, HA CAN YOU BELIEVE THE WORLD WE LIVE IN?! KOOKY! kind of way, but after a few minutes of her defending this guy tooth to nail and snapping at me and Laura for being so grossed-out, it became increasingly clear that she brought this up because she thinks it's a good idea. To which I say no. Just, no. I say no to her, I say no to him, I say no to the hookworms, I say no to procuring hookworms on the internet from a man's asshole, I say no to parasites as an option for allergy relief, I say no to Ira Glass, I just say no to the entire situation. That's my entire argument: no. And I think it's pretty damn good one, if you ask me. And there's absolutely no chance that I could be wrong. I'm right. So there's that. Good day.

This fired Helena up like nothing I've ever seen before and she fought long and hard to persuade us to see her side of the worm. Did we? No. Of course we didn't. Why? Because, no.

"FINE! Then you go on your blog tomorrow and you ask your readers what they think! THEN WE'LL SEE WHO'S WRONG!" she challenged.

Oh, really? You sure you want to open those floodgates? Because we're not talking about the politics of ass-wiping, and I'm not mixing up my rednecks with blue eyes and shorn hair—WE'RE TALKING ABOUT PURPOSELY INGESTING WORMS WITH RAZOR SHARP FANGS TO KEEP THE SNIFFLES AWAY. Something tells me I might be right on this one. Sorry to get all cocky about it.

It blows my fucking mind that Helena, of all people, thinks this is a good idea and given the opportunity, she'd totally do this. Normally that would be enough to make me question myself and think something is wrong with me, but NO! Nothing is wrong with me. I'm right; she's wrong. And if she wants you guys to be the judge and jury on this one, then that's fine with me! I am more than comfortable with that.

Here's what she has to say for herself:

I've suffered from vicious allergies my entire life. The constantly runny nose, the leaking from every facial orifice, and general cranial discomfort. But I've come to accept it. UNTIL NOW.

Picture it: The Bus. 6:30 on a Monday morning en route to work. Listening to This American Life and suddenly I regain consciousness! Because there is a COMPELLING story re: allergies. Apparently there's a cure. HALLELUJAH.

Pros: NO MORE ZYRTEC.
Cons: living with hookworms.

Listen, as the world's biggest neat freak (seriously, I lost a BFF/roommate over this) I can respect the desire to not inject a parasite, but this is 1000% worth the trade-off. And I know that's not a real percentage. I'll take anything Radio Lab's Jad Abumrad says as gospel, but I think this is the most useful story he's done. Slash most upsetting. Essentially, getting comfortable with a few hookworms living inside you means you'll never have an allergy again. All they'll do is sing your immune system gentle lullabies and take a very small percentage of nutrients from your digestive system in return. Parasites are a part of life and in this part of the world, we've done a bit too much suffocation of the good stuff. All we need is a bit more action from our primordial partners.

Listen to the segment. In Ye Olde Western World, we're too clean and we've effed ourselves over. I'm not going to say I'm comfortable with mail ordering Jasper's excrements. BUT as soon as the FDA is on board with lab-approved treatments, I'm IN. Until then, sorry Jad/Jasper, I'm holding off. I really need a clean bill of health. I only hope it happens soon.

My rebuttal:

No.

OK, I'll expand slightly. (Although I don't think I have to.) Reasons why Helena, bless her heart, is bat-bird crazy:

- Let me get this straight, you don't think the word "poon" is civilized, but you're A-OK with a shanty town of hookworms living in you?? Shenanigans.

- I have allergies too. They blow. I've been on a steady IV drip of Mucinex and Claritin D for the past month. It's irritating. However, it is not irritating enough to INGEST WORMS! What's the big deal with taking a pill? Hookworms are like the IUD of allergies; they're invasive and creepy and I don't care how many doctors tell me you can't feel 'em—I'd just rather take a pill everyday. If Mucinex and OrthoTriCyclin teamed up, I'd buy a Costco membership in 15 seconds flat.


- That's how confident I am in my side of the debate. One of my arguments is literally just a picture of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. Why? Because it's not of hookworms.


- Because those are hookworms. They're the size of a piece of hair and they wriggle around your lower intestines mooching off your salad. No fucking thank you.


- FANGS!

- I can understand the argument that the First World is too clean and we're actually hurting ourselves in the long run (mainly because I saw an episode of House about it...) but that means I'm willing to go to the extremes of drinking tap water to get more fluoride and don't feel the need to excessively Purell my hands day and night. IT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I WANT TO INGEST WORMS!

- If it was a matter of life or death, I would obviously ingest the damn worms. If I picked up some parasite that could only be killed by another kind of parasite, which could eventually be killed off by medicine; fine. Give me all the worms in your worm farm and then some. However, I'm talking about a life or death situation. I'm not experimenting with parasites in my body to get rid of watery eyes and and the occasional sneeze.

- "But pills have chemicals! Worms are natural!" OH I'M SORRY, HIPPIE! Does that mean I get to take away all of the bleach you so regularly clean your house with? Maybe moonbeams and flower power will get your bathtub to sparkle, huh??

Look, Helena...I love you more than Hagman and Rasta Pug combined, but you're just wrong. The entire situation is wrong. But because I recognize that there's always the (very, very, microscopically small) chance that I'm not right here, I open up the floor to you readers and invite you to weigh in on the matter.

Thank you for your input and I'm sorry to Helena in advance.