Tuesday, April 8, 2008

The product of Sudafed and red wine

Having a cold turns pretty much every human being into a useless sack of shit. Case and point; the way I just opened this blog. If I were in a healthier state, I would have taken the time to properly formulate and articulate a less vulgar introductory line... but as it happens, I have one hell of a cold and don't really feel like putting fourth the effort. So "useless sack of shit" it is.

Since I got home from work (roughly 9:30pm) I have been pumping myself full of Sudafed and a steady stream of red wine, which is having the exact opposite effects on my system that I was intending. Hence the reason why it's 1:43 in the morning, and I'm sitting naked in my living room staring at the computer screen. The following statements are a direct result of my previous statements.

Having a cold is the ultimate universal excuse. A few weeks ago, I was at an open mic night in Chicago, where a girl came up on stage to do her 2 song set and before she sang she prefaced her performance with "usually my singing is a lot better, but I have a cold." My initial response was, oh poor thing! A cold on her open mic night performance, what shitty luck! Then, I thought, wait a minute, is that a palatable excuse? I have to admit, there were times in high school where I faked sick to try and somehow excuse my sub par performance on exams or attendance (or falling asleep on my desk during any and all classes involving math and/or numbers). In fact, "having a cold" got me out of a few mishaps in college, up until my teachers grew skeptical of my ever failing immune system, at which time I had to switch to "I have allergies". Then "I have allergies and no medical insurance" excuse was finally laid to a permanent rest after Claritin became available over the counter. But when it comes down to it, having a cold just makes you uncomfortable. Sneezing and coughing and the inability to breath without making choking and spluttering noises is both ridiculously inconvenient to every day chores AND generally very socially unacceptable. Would you want to be the one to sit next to my puffy drippy face on a bus? No. Can I still go to work and get my shit done? Yes. With exuberance and gusto? No. But still, not a good excuse to fail miserably. Really, when all is said and done, colds just make it a little harder then normal to focus... mainly because all of your focus is centered upon feeling very, very bad for yourself. When I started getting this cold, my brain went right into self pity mode. POOR ME! I HAVE A 3 DAY LONG RUNNY NOSE! But then my logical side chimed right in to remind me that things like Cancer last way longer then 3 days, and you cant take Sudafed for that. My logical side can be a real downer, so I try not to bring it to parties.

A cold is a one way ticket to an extended crappy mood, but lucky for me, crappy moods help me build up irrational irritation, which feeds into my ever blackening sense of humor and sarcasm. So in this way, I am thanking the cold fairy for the following rant.

While blowing my nose into a paper towel roll, I decided to make a cup of tea with honey (the second most popular "I'm feeling sorry for myself" culinary masterpiece next to chicken soup) and sit down to flip through a good magazine. Unfortunately, I didn't have any good magazines in the house so I had to read Cosmo. Now, Cosmo magazine might just be the single most anti-women piece of trash on the market today. The magazine claims to be all about women and what women want, but really its nowhere even close. It's completely 100% geared towards turning women into what MEN want them to be. Every article sent me further into a cold induced fury, making me realize that my inner feminist somehow got out of her shackles and was running wildly around in my brain wearing black GI Jane boots and singing Alanis Morissette songs from her Jagged Little Pill album. There are a million examples to choose from, but just for the sake of time I'll choose my personal favorite.


This article had the balls to be almost 3 pages long, which was the first thing about it that made me chuckle. Really, the article could have been summed up in 3 short sentences. I will dub them "The 3 F's"

1. Feed him.
2. Flatter him.
3. Fuck him.

Why the article ended up 2 1/2 pages seemed like some serious lack of editing to me, and I have half a mind to write to the editor of Cosmo and complain about the needless amount of reading they are forcing their poor readers to do, when my "3 F's" cliff noted version summed up their entire article in 2 inches of page space. If I were hired as their columnist, I could save the magazine even more space to run adds for cigarettes, perfume, and personal lubricant that heats on contact. Oh the joys of being a woman knows no bounds.

But a liberated and forward thinking womans magazine wouldn't be complete without the quintessential article about how to achieve a "blended orgasm" which honestly just made me think of "blending" which made me think of "blenders" which made me think of "smoothies". And now I wanted a smoothie orgasm, which wasn't at all what the article was about. I skimmed the directions for said smoothie orgasm, which suggested that you follow a series of completely physically imposable steps (unless you are an overachieving contortionist with a powerful drive in the self stimulating department and too much free time). The article also suggested that you "practice on your own before attempting a blended orgasm with your man" and this thought automatically popped into my mind: If the art of achieving the smoothie orgasm is so difficult that you must first practice on your own before attempting it with another human being, chances are neither you nor you blundering neanderthal of a love making partner will be able to stumble anywhere near the correct smoothie making spot to achieve blending. Although if by some Cosmo cosmic force it were to actually happen, I would assume the elusive blended orgasm might be called "Berry Blast". I'd like to patent that idea, before 7-eleven gets their greedy corporate hands on it.

So there you have it. This blog brought to you by the makers of Sudafed, red wine, the Walgreens version of Clairitin (cleverly called Wal-itin), and the chauvinistic idiots who put create Cosmo magazine. I hope I get sued for this, because in court I'll just tell the judge "I had a cold when I wrote it" and thusly winning my freedom.

No comments: