Ok, ok. I swear the post with the playboy bunny and the medical cannabis chocolate is next. I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to write about another attempt to heal thyself. This was Tuesday night, and this is what I look like on the couch:
You like that shirtless pic, don't you, you perv. Hey guess what. That's not a racerback tank I'm wearing, that's a sunburn. Looks good, eh? Oh, and that thing on my foot? That's an ice pack for a
yet-to-be-diagnosed foot problem, which I'm pretty sure (based on WebMd,
of course) is a stress fracture. Awesommmmmme.
I hate sunburns. I can't imagine that anyone actually enjoys them, but they are pretty high up there with annoyingly stupid things that you could have avoided. Like most of my injuries, they are dumb and predictable. Once, when I was a lifeguard and was in the intense summer sun from 9am to 6pm every day without break, sitting in front of a shimmering pool, I was so tan I looked gross, similar to a 40 year old woman with chubby 16 year old cheeks. Then I burned, but only right at my hairline, so when that peeled it was pink. I had a neopolitan head that was so horribly disfiguring only my straw cowboy hat could save me (OMG so many mistakes all in one summer). I also once burned the letters "T O M" onto my stomach with strategically placed sunscreen, which was awful because it hurt so much I couldn't sleep with any covers on for a week. Plus I looked like an idiot until November. I never had a chance with Tom, so even though he found out about it it's not like that was a big loss. Ahhh. To be thirteen again.
Anyway, I've really embraced being super white in the past few years. I mean, not really. I, too, think it looks horrible to be ghostly pale all through the summer but my hypocritical dad (yes, the one with the beautiful, deeply-tanned man calves come August) has basically beaten into us that we WILL get cancer from the sun if we dare to go outside without block. This attitude, like most decisions you know are good for you but make you pretty square, means that you can't allow others to enjoy being tan, either. I can't be running around with lobster-red wings for the next several days, because I am WAY too self-righteous about sunscreen and sunburns to let anyone see me like this.
So what do we do when we have a problem? GOOGLE IT! Fortunately I had some aloe on hand from an aloe juice cleanse that I couldn't handle. (How the fuck does Izzie drink that shit? If you want her recipe for a sure-fire way to shit your pants, here it is: peel a giant piece of aloe vera, blend it with some lemon juice and water, then try to not gag as you drink it, if you can even get to the point of it going back to your throat without spitting it out. Horrible. Literally the worst thing I've ever had in my mouse.) Anyway, so I had my lovely bedside man-nurse, Benjamin, rub a little fresh aloe on me, which of course did not yield immediate redness relief within 5 minutes, so I turned to the internet, the source of all divine answers to important questions (i.e. "signs he's a douche").
Well, oh, well! (I just heard that in Nate's voice that he uses for the dog). It seems my good buddy HONEY came up as a solution! If you're not familiar with what happened last time I tried a homeopathic remedy with honey, go here. That went pretty terribly, but it's been awhile since I tried to cure myself and now appears to be a good time to try, try again. It seems that if I just rub a little honey and coconut oil on my back, I'll be sitting pretty come tomorrow morning. See this blog for the amazing testimonials. I feel like everyone thinks I'm pretty, oh what's the word...gullible, but seriously, how could you not believe it? Coconuts grow in tropical places. People in tropical places are in the sun a lot and must need a sunburn solution. According to honey, honey cures everything. Ben said it's a bad idea, but I think it's going to work out really well.
Right. So here's what happened. Turns out that when Ben dutifully covered my back with honey and coconut oil, it made everything really sticky. Really, really sticky. And oily. I'm wearing one of his t-shirts so I don't get mine all gross (he loves that!). So now, instead of just feeling like I have satan's fire billowing hot air onto my back, Ben's shirt is stuck to me and my skin feels like it's peeling off. Super. Thanks a fucking lot, Google! What are you going to tell me next, to get an x-ray on my foot? "Consult a physician"? Screw you. I go to bed and fire up a few minutes of Game of Thrones, just to soothe my tired soul before drifting into a fitful sleep.
Lindsay and I used to spend a LOT of time at the Country Club pool in
the summers. I think most kids, given the option of swimming in a pool
for five hours or being at home watching Young and the Restless with
their mom or Mormon babysitter, will gladly hang at a pool and order
milkshakes all day long. I got into this thing where I would take a
spare towel, sneak it into the pool with me, then pretend to ride it
underwater like a magic carpet. Imagine being the lifeguard watching
that...I don't know why no one stopped me. Wasn't anyone concerned about
this towel getting wrapped around my body and dragging me to the depths
of the pool, where my hand would get caught in the drain and I would
drown and be featured on that hit show, Emergency 911 Calls? I could
play the magic carpet self-entertainment game for HOURS. I got super
sunburned every time, and that in conjunction with holding my breath for
really long periods of time while I was "flying" would leave me so
exhausted that I would pass out within fifteen minutes of being home. I
was THAT tired yesterday, my skin being unused to any kind of sun
radiation, and I'm pretty sure that's what conjured up a weird-ass
dream. Anyway, I digress.
I awaken in anticipation after an insane dream involving Ben, Katelin, and a double decker bike that I built myself. Ben was a real creep in this dream, and I actually saved Katelin until I started driving on a highway in Portland going the wrong way. Oops! I realise I might have experienced heat stroke as well. I pull up the shirt and reveal softly-scented coconut butter-smooth skin...which still looks radioactive red. Exciting. I would say that it had 0% to -5% effect. Upon further internet research it appears that putting oil on a burn is considered by some to be a terrible idea, similar to throwing grease onto a fire. I'm not sure what the honey was supposed to do but I can assure you that Ben's shirt is now crunchy like it has some kind of unmentionable body fluid on it.
My rating of this internet-found remedy? -2 stars. Zero for the ineffectiveness, minus one for the false testimonials, and minus one for the ugly pink website that it comes from.
Disappointment stings, and so do my shoulders.