Aw, thanks for your well-wishes yesterday. My head’s still somewhere near the summit of Mt. Everest while my body sinks deep in the ocean (at least that’s how it feels to me) but I think whatever cold or sickness I have is fading. A good, good thing because I’m not about to spend my weekend feeling all flighty.

Two things today:

1. My 90-year-old massage therapist says you should try this:

The other day I mentioned how working at a desk all day contorts my muscles into some horrible knots, and you all pretty much agreed that desk work will be the downfall of all humanity. (That is what you agreed to, right?) Anyhow, I thought I’d pass on another tip I learned from a massage therapist I had once.

(Actually, I learned it from a ninetysomething year-old massage therapist who was a teensy little thing that didn’t even reach my shoulders. And yet somehow this frail woman dug in deep and hard and got all my knots out. Go figure.)

After she told me my back was in pathetic shape (yeah, seriously) and that I needed to stop doing so much sitting in front of the computer (yeah right) she suggested I get a back cushion. The idea is to lay on the cushion after a long day and let the pose work your spine into alignment.

The cushion I use (here’s what it looks like) places your head, neck, and back in perfect alignment and it helps aches and pains. Plus, it gives you a good idea of what good posture feels like, thus making it easier to stand up straight when you’re not, you know, splayed out on the floor.

2. Your Media Savvy Tip of the Day: Put your e-mail address on your blog.

Here’s the thing: Sometimes reporters who need to interview real humans stumble across THE MOST PERFECT SUBJECT EVER! and, naturally, do a Google search of their name. And then they might find a blog, which is great because they can study up on the person before an interview. But sometimes there is no contact info on the blog. None.

Do you know what a reporter does then? I mean, after crying and wishing this MOST PERFECT SUBJECT EVER! would have just put a derned e-mail address on her site? That reporter cuts her losses and moves on to someone else.

So if you like the idea of ever being featured in a newspaper or magazine article, a book, or television or radio story, the reporters must have a way to contact you. Here’s where I look first: On the homepage, the About Me page, or under a Contact Me tab.

I came across this today when I found someone who was perfect for an article I’m writing. I spent way too long searching her site for anything—e-mail address, phone number, twitter handle, address to which I might send a carrier pigeon. Nothing.

But if you’re happy never having the possibility of the media not contacting you, that’s fine, too.

Finally, today is the last day to enter my beauty giveaway. The details are all here, but the Cliff Notes version is this: 12 never-been-used beauty products, one winner, three ways to enter today.

Have a great weekend!

You guys are spot-on when it comes to unlikeable actors and actresses. I’m not responding to comments on yesterday’s post because doing that would mess up the count and all, and I’d hate to run a contest where I’m the one who royally screws up the entries. So I’m keeping mum. But I will say Matthew “No Shirt” McCaunahey and Jessica “I’m Too Sexy” Biel are at the top of my Hate List. (Which The Man hates, by the way, because Jessica Biel happens to be in man movies like Stealth and Blade and A Team. I refuse to see a movie with her—yup, I dislike her that much—so The Man’s forced to find another movie buddy to catch those totallyawesomeamazing movies.)

Continuing this ramble (I swear, I so didn’t intent for my bashing to go on this long) I agree with Jessica and Ameena, who threw Will Ferrell under the Craptastic Actor bus. I assumed I was the only one who didn’t find him funny. But, thank goodness, I’m in good company. I can’t force myself to sit through another movie where he pretends to be an idiot, gets naked, and yells incoherently. The end.

Not really. Just the end of my rant.

So the other day I was talking to my mother about acupuncture because her brain is nearly exploding and there isn’t enough Excedrin in the world to treat it. In other words: She gets constant headaches and the drugs just don’t cut it anymore. I’m in the process of convincing her to try acupuncture since there’s good research that says it works like a charm. (Well, really the research says something more like “acupuncture leads to persisting, clinically relevant benefits for primary care patients with chronic headache, particularly migraine.” But c’mon, you know my summary is just as good.)

Anyhow, our conversation got me thinking about acupuncture in general. Here’s something I bet you don’t know about me: I tried acupuncture on my knees a couple years ago.

I was in the midst of having a midlife crisis of sorts—my knees were kaput and The Man was carrying me around the house like a mule. Not cool. So I scheduled an appointment with an acupuncturist who was a former NIH doctor and begged her to heal my knees. ASAP, if possible.

I had two sessions and I’ll tell you what:

1. It doesn’t hurt. I’m not sure why I thought those hair-fine needles would somehow make me flinch with pain, but they didn’t. (And now that I get a 4-inch needle full of blood platelets jammed into my knee for PRP I laugh at Old Tracey and her stupidity.)
2. It’s relaxing. My acupuncturist’s office was part doctor’s lair, part spa. Minus the cucumber-flavored water, deep tissue massage, and $200 bill. There was a bed and dark room with soft music, and after the doctor was done jabbing me with needles she let me snooze for a half hour.

I’ll be honest: It didn’t work for me. I know, this is a shocking ending to what you must have assumed would be a glowing review. (I’m tricksy like that.) I so wanted it to work. I gave it two tries. But the fact is, the needles made my Baker’s cysts on the back of my legs ache. And I already had plenty of pain thank you very much. So I stopped going.

The thing is, I still think acupuncture has its place, if not on my legs. I still think it can work, and I think it’s a smarter move than, say, chugging a bottle of Excedrin daily. So I’ll let you know when my mom goes—and whether she’s cured of her daily mind-exploding headaches.

And also: My Totally Awesome Beauty Package Contest is still going on, so head here and enter if you want to will 11 different beauty products. Weee!

Have you ever gotten acupuncture? Would you?

Glad you all found yesterday’s post entertaining. I’m sure I’ll be getting plenty of new readers now that I’ve scattered those search terms all over. More creepiness will be going on here. Um, great.

Moving on, today is going to be a two-part post, so let’s just get going shall we?

Part One: A Useless Piece of Information About Me That I’ll Tell You Even Though You Probably Don’t Care

I’m part bloodhound. Hm, that didn’t come out right. It’s not like I’m some weird dog-human mix (though I hear people like dog people as evidenced by exhibit A). It’s just that I’ve realized my keen sense of smell isn’t normal.

Well, really, The Man helped me realize that when he gently said, “You’re a freak. I’ve never met someone who smells as well as you.” (Only he used the word good instead of well, but I’m such a nice wife that I corrected his grammar.)

There’s the fact that I can sniff faint scents long before most people notice the room even has a smell. And then there’s the annoying part of my superpower: Even the faintest gross smell makes me want to barf.

So, like, when we’re making dinner and I catch the smell of egg or when the sink takes on that slightly metallic smell, I start to gag. Sure, I love eggs, but smelling them cook makes me seriously consider veganism.

But you see, it’s not just those foods that normal people think stink. It’s random scents that I can’t put my finger on. I’ll start with the scent that may make you think I’m insane. Sometimes my water glass smells even though I haven’t even sipped it. (Of course I dump it and get a new glass, which makes The Man insane and may have elicited the “You’re a freak” speech in the first place.)

Other instances go more like this:

ME: What stinks?

THE MAN: I don’t smell anything.

ME: It’s like a dirty mop. Or diner counters that have been wiped clean but mysteriously smell like rot.

THE MAN: I don’t smell anything.

ME: Or it’s like stinky feet lingering in an elevator.

FAMILY MEMBER NO. 1: You’re nuts.

ME, sniffing around: I think it’s over here. Nope. Hmm.

THE MAN: I smell nothing.

ME: How can you not smell it? It’s so gross! It’s like cardboard boxes in a small room in the heat.

FAMILY MEMBER NO. 2: You’re nuts.

THE MAN: I do smell something! Is that French fries?

ME: No! It’s not French fries! It’s disgustingness in gas form!

THE MAN: You’re nuts.

Anyhow, useless but important to my life nonetheless.

Part Two: A Useful Study That I’ll Share With You To Make Up For The Useless Piece of Information About Me.

I’ll start by telling you I don’t eat gluten-free foods. But I know many of you do so it’s my civic duty to pass some info on to you: Those gluten-free foods might not be totally free of gluten. I mean, there’s a chance they could have a teeeeensy bit of gluten in them, which is either no big deal if you just eat gluten free to spend extra money or a huge deal if you’re intolerant. The FDA doesn’t regulate this kind of thing.

Fact is, some researchers looked at 22 gluten-free products and found that seven of them wouldn’t pass the FDA’s test to determine gluten-free-ness. (Shut up, it’s a word.) Here’s the whole story.

Consider yourself informed.

I love it when my readers leave smarter than when they arrived here.

(Or, you could argue, I love it when they leave stupider. But I might give you the evil eye for saying that.)

I have two—count ’em, two—questions for you today.

First, what superpower do you legitimately have? (No, “I can fly!” doesn’t count unless you really can fly in which case—can I book you for a trip to Massachusetts? These airplanes are getting kinda expensive what with the baggage check fees and all. E-mail me.)

Second, do you buy gluten free? If you do, are you worried about it possibly being gluten-full?

OK, as promised yesterday, the abridged version of how I met The Man. Wei-Wei asked if I had ever told the story. And, in fact I haven’t. But it’s a good story, and since we’re two days from our fourth anniversary, this is a good time to tell it.

I was working at a restaurant, trying to make up all of the money I spent while studying abroad in New Zealand. There was this really cute bartender who never spoke to me and barely gave me the time of day. Of course, I wanted to date him.

So I kept dropping blatantly obvious hints that I was head-over-heels for him. For instance, I would smile at him when I got to work. Sometimes I’d joke around. I’d say flirty things like, “How was your weekend?” Once in a while I’d touch his arm while I snaked around his side to grab a new bottle of ketchup. One time I invited him to hang out with a bunch of us after work. The Man wasn’t super perceptive and claims he had no idea I liked him.

After I graduated from college and when I had two more weeks left in Baltimore before I packed up my life and returned home to Massachusetts, I told him I liked him and, you know, would like to hang out some time. He said he was seeing someone—but I was nice. Nice. The worst word you can possibly call a girl who likes you. Then he blushed and asked, “Is it hot in here, or is it my sunburn?” I walked away.

My friend, and fellow waitress, told The Man he was making the biggest mistake of his life. (He was.)

And then someone had to leave work early, so The Man and I and all of life’s awkwardness had to close the restaurant alone. Naturally, I hid in the kitchen and pretended I was busier than I really was just to avoid extended, horrible humiliation.

That night, I went home and cried because 1. I felt like the biggest loser of all of Maryland and 2. I knew we were meant to be together and 3. he was too stupid to realize it. Like good friends, my roommates assured me we were meant to be together but he need time.

A week later, The Man told me he wanted to date. Inside I smirked and tried not to say, “Told ya so.” Then, a week later, I moved back to Massachusetts.

I spent the next month in Europe with three friends and no cell. I’d shoot The Man a quick e-mail when I found the random Internet café and had time to battle the dial-up. It usually included things like “We’re in Rome and just saw the Colosseum. MOST AWESOME THING EVER!” or “Just got to Prague and walked the city streets. MOST AWESOME CITY EVER!!” Other times, I’d send him post cards or letters with the jumpy handwriting that happens during train travel.

You’d think we would have broken up, what with the month-long European trip, living 500 miles away, and us having dated for only eight days. But instead we did the whole long distance thing, which meant staying up ridiculously late and learning everything there was to know about each other over the phone. Thankfully neither of us had a real job yet.

When I finally got a real job, I moved to Philadelphia, which was still two hours from Baltimore, where The Man had his own real job. But it was practically next door considering I had been living in Massachusetts for four months. It wasn’t until a month before The Man proposed that we lived in the same city.

We decided not to split up after that and have lived in the same place ever since. Oh, and I do remind him every so often that all of his marital bliss can be attributed to my un-Tracey-like guts one July day.

How did you meet your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse?

There’s one question I get asked more than any other, and it’s this: How do you have such gorgeous hair?

Kidding. I actually have pretty sucky hair. I got my mom’s thin locks while my sister stole my dad’s thick hair. I spend hours a day trying to coax body into this mane while my sister takes her thick, Pantene hair and throws it up into a messy bun. Go figure.

So the real question I get asked all the time is: How can I become a writer? There are more answers to that question than I’ll give mainly because if I’m going to reveal the secrets to the universe I’m going to do it in book form. Or, you know, I might just feel like I’m not one to advise on the subject.

To set things straight, I’m a writer. I have been since 2002. Well, I’ve been a published writer since then; I think I always considered myself a writer. I’m a journalist, but I’m not a writing rock star. I don’t write for the New Yorker or The Atlantic, and there aren’t Pulitzer’s hanging around my house. (But if there were, they’d be locked away in a safe that was hidden beneath my bullet-proof floor boards.) That’s my disclaimer.

After eight years—sheesh, I didn’t realize I was so old—I’ve come to realize there are four main steps to being a writer.

1. Read. As kids, we learn grammar and vocabulary by reading. But it’s also the way we learn how to structure sentences and how to tell stories. As adults, it’s still the best way to improve your writing. Read sucky stuff and learn what you don’t like. Read the good stuff and mark up what you love.

2. Write. Aside from the fact that’s it’s physically impossible to be a writer without actually writing, it’s one of the best ways to improve your ability. Look back to something you wrote five years ago. Do you see mistakes or faults? I do, and that’s because I’m constantly learning, constantly writing, and always improving. Practice is how I get there.

3. Pitch. The only way someone is ever going to find out about your awesometastic writing is if you show them. So if you want to be a journalist, query online magazines, big sites, or your local newspaper. By doing small work first you can bypass journalism’s catch-22: “We only publish writers who have published clips.” Start small and build clips, then pitch to larger pubs.

4. Grow thick skin. Writing is as much about rejection as it is about words, and that goes for newspaper and magazine journalism as well as book publishing. You’re going to get rejected. Period. So move on and don’t think it’s about you. It’s not; it’s just the way things are.

That’s it. Sure, there are a gazillion other tips I could give you about researching the newspapers and magazines you’d like to write for, or about reading about journalism to learn the industry. Or interviewing, or researching, or finding the best details. I could talk about pacing and suspense. Or why understanding format (say, the inverted pyramid for hard news) and style (is it internet or Internet?*) are so important. But it all boils down to this: Read, write, and get your work out there. Then push through rejection until you hit success.

Any questions?

*It’s Internet, by the way.

Hmm, life apparently goes on after Lost. Go figure.

Aside from feeling exhausted after my Lost marathon last night, today was pretty good. It was the first day in almost a week that I didn’t have a mind-blowing headache. And I use that word negatively. As in I was two seconds from blowing my mind to smithereens.

(On Friday, I know I made it home from work but I’m ashamed to say I drove with that headache. I think it would have been safer to drive with a few beers and six shots of vodka in me. I was so out of my mind from the pain, I had an entire conversation with my mother but can’t remember anything. Except that she thanked me for something.)

Whew. Thank goodness for Monday. I should tag this post Things I Never Thought I’d Say.

So, in honor of my head pain–free day, I wanted to share a stretch that is so awesome you’ll wish I wrote about this years ago. (That wouldn’t have been possible, of course, because I just learned about it a week ago. And because I wasn’t blogging years ago. But you get the point.)

Here is the ahh-inducing stretch. Just be warned: Before ahh comes ouch sometimes. As with all stretches, you’re just going to have to push through the discomfort until you become as bendy as Gumby.

Step 1: Find a wall. I like the one right outside my bedroom door, but you can use any empty wall you like. Or live on the wild side and use a non-empty wall.

Step 2: Place your right foot in front of your left.

Step 3: Press your hands up against the wall as if you were trying to prevent it from toppling over.

Step 4: Bend your right knee.

Step 5: Bend your left knee until you feel a stretch in your calf and Achilles tendon (right above your heel).

Step 6: Keep your heel down. If you lift it up, you’re wasting your time … and holding up a wall like a freak.

Step 7 Sink into the pose. Hold for a count of 30. Or 60 if you’re a speed counter.

Step 8: Say ouch-ahh.

Step 9: Switch legs and repeat.

You’ll look like this, but you’ll be pressing against a wall, which makes the stretch that much better.

That’s it. I’ll be honest, the tendon right above my heel was super tight the first time I did this and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. But neither is any deep stretch. Now that I’ve been doing this for a week I can sink lower into the pose before I hit the tight spot.

Why are you stretching like this? To prevent Achilles tendonitis and plantar fasciitis, of course. Because as fun as they sound, those injuries suck.

What’s your favorite stretch? I love Downward Dog or the old favorite hands-to-toes you do as part of the fit test in elementary school. (You know, the test that makes kids feel like losers for not being able to touch their toes.) This is my new favorite.

I was just wondering what to write about today when the idea struck. It hit me right in the face—between the eyeballs, if you really want to know. No one told me this is what it felt like to be visited by the muse.

So, what better topic than headaches. (No, we won’t discuss the perpetual headaches in your life. We’ll get to kids and husbands at a later date.) Instead, I thought I’d provide you with a list of ways to get rid of a headache. I’m practically an expert after all. Lucky me.

1. Meds. Kind of self-explanatory, huh? Here are my thoughts on headache meds: They’re great if you get a headache once a year or even once a month, but when your skull is on the verge of exploding weekly these probably won’t do much. Take it from me. Excedrin loses its potency if you pop it all the time. Ahem, not that I used to do that or anything. On the flip side, now that I’m not taking any anti-inflammatories (because I’m getting PRP), one dose kills my headache on contact.

2. Sleep. Sure, you say, it’s not easy to get to sleep while little gnomes try to drill through your skull from the inside out. But if the room is dark enough and quiet enough you might be able to lull those brain gnomes to bed at the same time as you. Things go faster if you put a cold wash cloth over your eyes.

3. Shower. A long, hot shower sometimes makes my ache disappear … or at least die down a bit. If I follow this with a nap, I can usually cut the pain in half. Usually.

photo by migraine chick

4. Punch a wall. I know what you’re going to say: I can’t do that in my apartment! You’re right. This step is strictly for homeowners who won’t lose a security deposit by denting the wall or leaving it bloodied. But if you own your place, punch away. The throbbing in your hand will make you forget the throbbing in your head.

5. Close the computer. Don’t ask for the scientific explanation (my headache is far too painful for that much researching and thinking), but computers create headaches. I know it’s not fair, but that’s how life is. My best guess is that the light emanating from the computer screen is a source of energy for the brain gnomes. More light = more drilling away at the inside of your brain. Consider yourself warned.

6. Chug Coke. Lots of Coke. The caffeine sometimes shocks my headache away. Sure, I could drink a cup of coffee, but for some reason I don’t like hot drinks when I’m having a headache. (Don’t question my madness.) Add a once-in-a-while Excedrin to the mix and my head starts thanking me.

7. Stick some needles in your head. Some studies show that acupuncture can help relieve chronic headaches. Hmm, I should try that some time.

8. Avoid chocolate. I almost can’t believe I’m writing this since it goes against all I believe in (which is to say, lots and lots of chocolate) but it can make headaches worse. Remember No. 5? Life is not fair.

9. Enlist help. Use this opportunity to turn your spouse/friends/parents into personal slaves. In case they don’t realize how much pain you’re in, put the back of your hand to your forehead a lot, cringe often, and sigh deeply.

photo by rob sheridan
Yep, that’ll do it.

10. Conduct a brainectomy. This is a serious surgery, and I urge you to try all of the other tips before resorting to this. But if you’ve tried them all and your head is still pounding with pain, consider a DIY brainectomy. Sure, you won’t have brain function which means you can’t read, eat, run or, um, breathe—but hey, the headache will be gone for good.

What are your headache-banishing tips?

You can’t see me, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I write these posts hunched over my laptop. If you stare hard enough, I’m sure you can see a lopsidedness to my shoulders. That, my friends, is due to the twisted knots in my muscles.

I wouldn’t say I look like Quasimodo, but that’s how I feel. You see, while I’m at work I’m multitasking. I’m building great big knots in my shoulders and back and neck. It’s not an easy task, but if you work at a desk long enough you pretty much become an expert.

When the knots get big enough, you can try to massage them out. That works for a little bit, but nothing—nothing!—beats an honest-to-goodness massage. I should know. I grow shoulder knots like I’m getting paid for it.

The first time I got a massage, I thought I died and went to Heaven. Now that I’ve gotten a bunch more, I know that’s exactly what happened. So I can totally understand why researchers who analyzed a bunch of studies found that massage can relieve symptoms of depression. It’s. That. Amazing.

(In all seriousness, it’s hard to really determine the effects of massage in studies because you can’t really blind the participants. There’s no such thing as fake massage.)

Though it has nothing to do with the study, I’m pretty sure massage can also relieve the symptoms of stress. I conducted a study with me, myself, and I and lemme tell ya, I felt muuuch better.

Since I’ve had a lot of massages in the past, I thought I’d impart some massage wisdom. And then I’ll take up a donation for my next rubdown. (I have no shame, people. No shame.)

photo by foundryparkinn

1. I’m putting this at No. 1 because I’m a germaphobe and I consider this the single best massage tip I’ve ever heard. If the spa doesn’t provide a pre-massage foot bath (ask when you book), do it yourself. I don’t care if you have to hoist your leg up into the sink and scrub your foot down—do it. Think about all the grossness that’s on your feet (this is especially true if it’s summer and you’re wearing flip-flops or sandals). Then think about the fact that the massage therapist will likely be rubbing your feet before your face. Ick.

2. Unless you’re all New Agey, stick with a Swedish or Deep Tissue massage. I once got a Reiki massage that left me more stressed-out than I started. That’s because the massage therapist held her hands over my back so the energy would move. That’s all well and good if you believe that stuff, but if you have deep knots that need kneading and skin-to-skin contact, it’s an exercise in oily pointlessness. Consider yourself warned.

3. Speak up. I know, I know, it’s supposed to be a relaxing experience and you don’t want to chitchat, but unless your spa employs a mind-reading massage therapist, she’s not going to know whether the pressure is right unless you tell her. If you feel weird chirping in halfway through—you know, when you’re writhing in pain—then talk about your preference when you first enter the room. I make sure my massage therapist knows I like a hard massage right away so that I’m not secretly hoping she’ll dig in halfway through. (See the Reiki mention above. I learned my lesson.)

4. In the same way, don’t expect your massage therapist to know where you’re hurting the most. Unless, of course, we’re still talking about the mind reader. In which case, can you pass along her number? If your massage therapist is a mere mortal, you’re going to have to tell her things like, “My IT band is as tight as a frozen rubber band.” Or, “I slouch in front of a computer from 8 to 5 so my back and shoulders have turned to stone.”

photo by zaphodsotherhead

5. If you’re concerned about what to wear, talk to the massage therapist. Everyone I’ve spoken to has said they could care less. Hear that? It’s not necessary to go commando. But do what’s comfortable for you. Oh, and if there’s an area you don’t want massaged—say, your butt—then say so.

6. Don’t automatically swear off men. For the longest time, I never got a massage from a male because, well, I’m modest. And then one day I got thrown in with Andre and oh my goodness. He was able to dig so deep into my back I felt sore for three days. He really worked out all the kinks, and I think it had a lot to do with the fact that he was taller and stronger.

7. The first few times I got a massage I was confused. Should I talk? Or stay quiet? Keep my eyes open when I’m lying on my back? Or shut them? Do what’s comfortable for you. In case you were wondering, I never talk (unless I’m apologizing for being so ticklish in four parts of my back) and I keep my eyes shut. It’s all about relaxing. And maybe definitely dozing off.

8. Be safe. If you have any medical conditions or if you’re pregnant, let your massage therapist know. She may need to adjust techniques. And some massages may not be OK for you. (And if you’re pregnant, check out the special pregnancy massages some spas offer.)

9. Follow directions. Your massage therapist will tell you to chug water for a reason. Don’t get a massage then drink your body weight in wine—you’re already going to be dehydrated.

10. Ok, now for all the stuff you should already know because you’re decent human beings but I’d be a fool to leave out: Show up on time, even early if your spa has a relaxing lounge with tea, citrusy water, and fashion magazines. Tip generously … unless of course there was something really rude or inappropriate going on.

I’d love to end this post by saying, “All right everyone, I’m off to the spa. It’s been way too long since my last deep tissue massage.” Um, yeah. Not happening. More realistic: All right everyone, I’m off to work. It’s been 14 hours since I last hunched over my desk and stared at a computer all day.*

Do you get massages? What’s your favorite kind? Any great pre-massage tips?

*If you are reading this and you are The Man, feel free to offer a massage gratis. I won’t complain.

I hope you all had a fantastic weekend. The Man and I spent Easter at his brother’s house where we watched my nephew stuff so many malted milk eggs into his mouth that he spent the evening with a blue mustache and goatee. Ah, the lure of candy hidden in eggs.

So today I thought I’d give you the blow-by-blow on allergies. If you don’t have allergies this time of year, most people probably hate you. Don’t worry too much about that. They’re really just jealous.

But if your allergies attack as soon as trees start budding, find out what’s really going on. It’s not pretty, people.

What are allergies?
I’ve never seen one—they’re sneaky little bastards—but I did some digging and found that allergies are really little gremlins that attack at night when your windows are open. You might be thinking you’re letting some fresh air into your cigarette-smoky apartment, but you’d be wrong. You’re really inviting a bunch of little allergens into your room. For the unfamiliar, here is a scientific rendering of an actual allergy…

photo from late night movie

What are the symptoms?
Once they’ve been invited in, allergens go straight for your weak points. They’ll crawl up your nose and make it scratchy and itchy. If you’re lucky, they’ll loosen the lever that controls your mucus; when you wake up, your nose will just run and run and run, and you’ll have no idea why.

If you’re unlucky—like me—the little allergens will break into your bathroom and steal all of your cotton balls. They will shove the cotton balls so far up your nose that air can’t get in. You won’t know it (because you’ll be asleep), but the little goblins will be sitting on your pillow laughing their high-pitched giggles as you desperately attempt to suck air through your cotton-balled nostrils.

Sure, you’re thinking, why would an allergen stuff an ordinary cotton ball up your nose? Good point. And, truthfully, the cotton balls aren’t ordinary. Before they carry the cotton as far north as your forehead, the allergens do some kind of voodoo to it. Because once the cotton is up in your nose it produces lightening. You may not feel it at once, but at some time when you’re not suspecting it, the cotton balls will let out a bit of lightening that will shoot from under your eyes, up your nose, and over your forehead. Sometimes the lightening just ignites into a headache.

Typically allergens like to reroute mucus. An allergy grows up learning in Allergy School that it’s boring when mucus comes out of the nose. It’s been done since the beginning of time, and allergens think that’s dumb. To keep themselves entertained, allergens will make sure mucus flows down the back of the throat instead of out the nose. They especially like this part because it helps start a sore throat.

Which brings me to another way allergens like to attack: through the mouth. I know, I know, it’s pretty gross to think of the little gremlins getting into your mouth, but it happens. You’ll know an allergy has gotten into your mouth when you feel a tickle or itchiness in the back of your throat. If you’ve been violated by a particularly mean allergy, you might feel the effects of its sandblasting on the inside of your throat.

Finally, there’s one last place the allergens attack: the eyes. They may start by sprinkling itching powder on your eyelids, but give them enough time and they’ll break out the big guns: sandpaper. When those little critters start sanding away, they don’t let up until your eyeballs are red and rough. Sometimes your eyes will burn like the little gremlins threw fire in your eyes. Other times they’ll feel so dry you’ll swear an allergy sprayed sand on your eyes overnight. And here’s the thing: You’ll never know.

photo by mike fischer
Don’t be fooled by that killer lipstick. This allergy will do major damage.

What’s the treatment?
If you don’t catch the allergens early enough, they may hike up to your brain. There, the creatures will burrow into your pleasure center and flip a switch. Side effects may be grumpiness, irritability, annoyance, or any other synonym for crankiness.

Before the allergens take full control of your body, forcing headaches at their whim, head to your local pharmacy and buy its entire supply of Sudafed. When the pharmacist says you can’t buy more than two boxes of Sudafed because of some stupid law because of some stupid high schooler who turned it into crystal meth, attempt to explain that allergens have invaded your body and are doing crazy things to it! If the pharmacist persists, be prepared for all of the allergies in your body to take control of your crankiness zone and push it into overdrive.

You can dunk your head in cold water. You can squirt eye drops till your mascara streaks down your cheeks and people start calling you Crazy Lady at the grocery store. And you can blow your nose so hard that air comes out your eye socket (and, take it from my experience, this is very, very possible when you’re that congested). But none of it will work.

So here’s the best cure: patience. Wait it out. It may feel like 75 years, but soon the allergens will go back into hiding. Until Fall.

Do you have bad allergies?

Let’s talk about diets today. (No, I’m not going on one. That would be laughable if you saw what I ate for dessert last night.) Nah, I wanted to chat a bit about crazy diets because Wren brought up a good point on this post. She said she’s used to hearing a commercial while on hold with the VA Medical Center—I say she’s lucky it’s not Muzak because there’s nothing like Muzak to put you asleep before you get to make your appointment.

Anyhow, Wren said the commercial goes something like this: “Did you know that if you cut 100 calories a day out of your diet, you’ll lose 10 pounds in a year?” So, she wonders, “Is what the VA says true?”

Glad you asked.

For all of the diets out there—no carb, no sugar, no fun, and so on—we lose weight in a pretty simple way. (And, by the way, did you know there is an eat-for-your-blood-type diet? I’m not sure if this is just riding the Twilight wave, but it’s a little out there. If it takes off, though, I might create the eat-for-your-DNA diet. Darn, someone already thought of that scam diet.) Here’s the deal: 3,500 calories equals one pound. So in order to gain a pound, you’d have to eat 3,500 more calories than you burn. And to lose a pound, you’d have to burn 3,500 more calories than you eat.

I was never a mathlete, but let’s give these calculations ago. (And let’s take the exercise variable out of the equation just to make my life—and yours—easier for two minutes.)

If you cut 100 calories a day out of your diet, that’s 700 calories a week. It would take you five weeks to lose a pound. To lose 10 pounds, it’d take 50 weeks—two short of the one-year mark.

So, yeah, I’d say the VA got it right. (Whew, right? I mean wouldn’t it be scary if your hospital couldn’t do basic math?)

Of course, that plan could take much less time if you added exercise. But the bottom line stays the same. And that’s a good thing. I try to remind myself of this every time I’ve gained five pounds overnight. Some time after going, “WHAT?! How on earth did I gain the weight of a premie baby overnight?” I remind myself that unless I was eating 3,500 calories in my sleep the weight was probably thanks to the salty Mexican food I had the night before.

In case you were wondering, I’m saying all of this with a very scratchy throat. The Man just got over being sick, just in time for me to catch whatever it was he had. I told him it was kind of him to pass along whatever virus forced him to attach a tissue box to his side and throat lozenges to another, but he just grunted.

And with that, I’m off to make a cup of tea. Or seven.

Do you go by calories in, calories out? Or do you follow a different type of diet? If the latter, why do you think it works for you?