Tag Archives: humor

Living that Hive Life

20 Apr

It has been a rough go in Rebekah-land recenly, friends. Why? Well, the title of this blog is a dead giveaway. That’s right, I keep breaking out in hives and oh my god it is terrible. It all started on Monday, March 21st in a small place in Iceland called Geysir. Yes, Gey-sir. (Chuckle, chuckle, snort.) My constant travel companion Carrie and I had just finished walking around this super prehistoric-seeming landscape, oohing and aahing with other tourists as the earth shot a buttload of water like a hundred feet into the air every 6-8 minutes. It was a sight to behold and a smell to experience. Iceland, in case you were wondering, has a nasty case of the sulphurs.  Anyway, so there we were in Gey-Sir, (chuckle, chuckle, snort) walking through the gift store when all of a sudden my knees started itching something fierce. They were the itchiest knees I have ever had. And then my hands were itching. And I looked at my hands and I had these little red bumps all around my knuckles. I wrote a whole thing about it here that you should read if you really want all the background information. But to make a long story short, basically I broke out in hives over my entire body and Carrie and I had to race across the Icelandic tundra to this random pharmacy that was about to close and the lady there asked me if I had tried to wash the hives off. I mean, I had washed my hands a few times but obviously the hives had not gone anywhere because they were attached to my skin. Hives aren’t something akin to dirt. You can’t just wash them off. And if I’m being completely honest it did give me a little bit of pause that the only lady available to me in my moment of need was someone who thought I could wash the hives off my hands with sulphur water but whatever, I was desperate. Anyway I took some Icelandic antihistamine and they cleared up. Hooray!

But the relief was short lived. Dun dun DUUUUUUN.

Over the past 4 weeks I have broken out in hives at least a dozen times. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. I can’t seem to identify any common factors. (Except for the fact that I am certain I am dying a slow and itchy death.) I haven’t changed my diet, detergent or lotion. I am beginning to think that perhaps breaking out in hives, as opposed to always getting shat on by animals in trees, is my real superhero power. Wouldn’t that be a gas? But of course as I was formulating that hypothesis I realized that I had put my cell phone down in a fresh pile of bird shit so, you know. That theory is still up for debate. It’s almost as if my other superhero power, my actual proven power, was feeling the pressure of being ousted from its position in my life and was like

Nah, I gotchu. Just put your cell phone down right…..there. That’s right, girl. See? We’re good.

I am not certain when I determined that my superhero power was actually an independent being with its own voice, personality and motives but I am just going to go with it.

So here is the thing: breaking out in hives really sucks. Like really, really. First off, they are super uncomfortable. They like morph my hands into a giant mosquito bite. Second, they look really gross. Third, they make me feel like I am this freak of a person because itchy red bumps just sprout up all over my hands and knees at random. Who wants to be friends with the girl with random itchy red bumps? No one, that’s who. And four, they are like a total mind fuck! It’s like, I know I am poisoning my body with something because my body is all,


And then I’m all like

Yeah, but how am I supposed to know what it is if you don’t use your words, body? Use. Your. Words.

But my body has no words. It only has horribly itchy red bumps.

So my favorite hive experience was this past Saturday when I was out for lunch with my friends Katie and Shannon. Katie, it just so happens, is a nurse. So when I met up with her I did a very similar thing as when I encountered the Icelandic pharmacist: I put my hands in front of her face and looked meaningfully between her and them. Katie looked a little worried and proclaimed

Oh! Hives!

because she knows shit. I told her I had taken some Claritin so I was pretty sure it was going to be better any minute. She looked doubtful and concerned. Over the next 45 minutes or so, my hands got progressively itchier. So itchy, in fact, that I kept sticking them in my armpits in hopes that somehow doing an imitation of Mary Katherine Gallagher would fix everything. It did not. This was the first time this approach has ever failed me. As we were sitting down to brunch it only got worse. I looked at my hands. What had started as small, itchy bumps on my knuckles had spread to the palms of my hands and the insides of my wrists. I have learned in my month of living the hive life that when the wrists go, certain doom follows. I panicked. I jumped off my seat and said, as dramatically as I could,

Order me a coffee! I need topical cream!

and rushed to the local pharmacy where the pharmacist did not ask me whether I had washed my hands but instead said that a trip to an allergist and perhaps some Benadryl was in order. This, of course, was in response to me practically breaking out in tears in front of her because I was so itchy and also freaking about randomly having horrible allergic reactions to an unknown source when all I was trying to do was have a Bloody Mary with my girlfriends on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I couldn’t buy Benadryl because I had to bartend that night and it makes me super sleepy so instead I got this crazy topical cream which I now carry with me at all times like a weirdo. A hive producing weirdo.

So, anyway, I haven’t gotten any hives since Monday night so I am feeling pretty positive about things in general. And I have an appointment with a doctor today who helped me with my stomach problems in college by doing some shit with magnets. I feel like life is looking up, friends. I feel like although hives might be winning right now, I am going to make a late-in-the-game comeback. I am going to show them who is boss! I am going to say

Fuck you hives! You are not my superhero power!

and hopefully get shat on by a bird. Just to prove the point.

My Friends. So Happy About Them.

23 Jan

Hey guys.  I know I just wrote yesterday and normally I don’t post two days in a row but this is a special occasion.  Before we go any further though, in order to understand what is about to happen here, you really ought to read the post from yesterday.  It’s not long.  Maybe 500 words?  It will take you all of like 5 minutes.  And it’s sort of amusing.

This sentence is the link to the post from yesterday.

Okay, so, in response to the post from yesterday I got the best comment I have gotten so far in over two years of blogging.  It was from my friend Elizabeth.  I read it 3 times, one time to the friend I was out for dinner with last night who’s name is also coincidentally Elizabeth although she goes by Liz, or Lizzie, depending on who you ask.  I laughed each time.  So, without further ado, here is the comment:

“I have the least comforting responses to this EVER! But first I’ll just say that your dry patch sounds just like the one I have on my arm at the moment, and mine is definitely just a result of the dry, wintery weather. I think some serious moisturizing will fix you right up. (expert opinion, obvs)

“That said! You just reminded me of so many things! Or two, really. When I was 16, I woke up one morning with a strange rash-like thing going on all over my face. Throughout the day, it crept down my neck, covering me in red, scaly spots. Within a few days, it had covered my entire body. I went to three different doctors trying to figure out what it was. Finally, a grouchy old dermatologist correctly informed me that what I had was psoriasis, and that I could easily be covered in it for the rest of my life. By this point, I had it from scalp to toe, smack in the middle of my high school years, three months after I met my first boyfriend (who was on vacation at the time but would soon come back to spotted lizard girlfriend). Dr. Terrible Dermatologist followed up the possible life-sentence by trying to assuage my sadness—”you should be thankful! If you lived during Jesus’ time you would have been thrown into a leper colony!” I think it was time for that guy to retire.

“I only spent six months covered in what’s called “guttate” psoriasis, thanks to the diligence and excellent treatment of a different, caring doctor. But it’s part of my genetic makeup, so there’s always a little worry that it’ll come back. So far, so good.

“Google image it! It’s one of the only skin diseases I’ve googled whose images are pretty well reflective of reality. What I had looked like most of the pictures that pop up—bright red spots crowded together against a backdrop of pale white skin.

“My psoriasis did start on my face, but it was nothing like you’re describing, which I hope helps you feel better. And since I realize that what I’ve written thus far probably in fact makes you feel worse, I’ll spare you the second thing you reminded me of. :)

“Now you can write a blog post on rules for being a good friend! When your friend tells you she’s worried she has something terrible going on, don’t talk to her about how it reminds you of this one time when you were worried about the same thing and it turned out to be true!! But… um, I think it’s a good story. And I really think you just have a dry patch on your forehead.”

Okay, it’s me again.  Anyway, as an update, I woke up this morning not looking any more like a lizard than I looked when I went to bed last night which is to say not like a lizard at all.  Except for the one spot on my face that has in fact gotten smaller.  So, lotion is the answer.  Also, I did google image guttate psoriasis and it looks terrible.  I was really taken aback by the number of photos focusing on people’s derrieres.  It looked in a few of them like maybe sitting would be out of the question?  I once had a rash on my ass that made it impossible for me to sit on my right buttcheek and I have to tell you it was wildly inconvenient.  That experience is the reason why I don’t get flu shots and also is a story for another day.  In summation, I am glad that I do not have guttate psoriasis and I feel badly that my friend Elizabeth had it especially during high school.  But I am kind of glad that I have this dry patch on my head which I subsequently wrote an anxiety-fueled blog post about only because I received that comment from Elizabeth which made me smile.  My friends are so great.