January 2012
7 posts
It seems there are still remnants of the hot chili peppers I rubbed into my eye last night on my contact, but I don’t have my glasses with me, so if my right eye looks like I rubbed a hot chili in it, it’s because I rubbed a hot chili in it. Surprisingly, it does not make me look more doe-eyed.
Web MD or WMD?
I keep calling Web MD “WMD” which I think is pretty fitting. Like I really need a website to enable my constant fear that I’m dying what is sure to be a slow, painful death. Can someone please create a symptoms website that responds with “Calm the fuck down. I’m sure you’re totally fine” or “Look, you haven’t died yet, so chances are you’re not dying now” even though that reasoning isn’t really reasonable? Because I’m pretty sure I’m dying of hypochondria.
“There’s this strange thing that’s happened over the last 25 or 30 years where there’s this decision being made that women aren’t able to carry the box office. Now, Bridesmaids has proved that to be bullsh*t, and ‘The Help’ has proven it to be bullsh*t. But it’s much harder to get a film with a woman lead made. When a man hits 40 is when roles just begin to happen. And for women it doesn’t happen. I find that to be a very concerning issue.”
—George Clooney
Nothing screams “be afraid!” like walking into a medical room that’s painted in calming blue hues and plastered with pictures of smiling dolphins while classical music plays softly in the background.
I was totally calm until I walked into that death room and the cardiologist greeted me by saying, “relax” in her best phone-sex voice. I’m sorry, but if there wasn’t a reason to be afraid, the walls would be stark white and decorated with a single, cheap-ass print from some Mexican tourist market, and the only sound would be the ticking of my watch while I waited 20 minutes to be seen.
I’m definitely dying.
