The Suburban Jungle

How to retain fluids and bloat up, FAST cont…

WEEK 6

My fingers are so fat, I had to dictate this. I also had to order one of those large number phones for the visually impaired, a clapper, and a medic alert necklace in case I fall and can’t… I’m scared. The fluid retention may have water logged my brain and I fear I have officially lost it. I am babbling to myself and cannot walk across the house without a nap. I tried to cut down on salt and substitute it with garlic as was recommended by VirtualDoctor.com to even blood pressure. I ate 2 whole cloves last night.

WEEK 6 -day 2

I brushed my teeth and tongue 27 times. My tooth brush is too short. The garlic is rising from my intestines and oozing from my pores. My closest friend asked that I back up when speaking, I was down the aisle from her to begin with. I told her I needed to apologize to the sales lady for having no idea what I was looking for and she suggested I apologize for talking to the sales lady in the first place.

I warded off three vampires,or were they more sales people? I don’t know, they ran so fast in the other direction, I just assumed they were vampires. One was working the register I was at and actually turned into a bat and flew away shrieking.

I cannot take it anymore.  I must get away from myself. In the carpool line I went crazy and started swallowing Altoids whole with the hopes that they would dissolve in my stomach and take care of the guttural odor, at the source. First, I swallowed a half, then I started thinking, ‘What have I done? I don’t know if it’s safe to just swallow an Altoid without chewing it.  They are curiously strong.’

Me: “No, that’s silly, it’s fine. People accidentally swallow gum and mints all the time, it just takes 7 years to digest, but they survive. Just shove the other two in your mouth and be done with it.”

So I did and before I could talk myself out of it, I washed them down with coffee.

Me: “Holy shit. What did I just do? I swallowed more, and with coffee no less, a stimulant. What if they’re like Poprocks and my stomach explodes?”

Me: “That never really happened, or did it? I don’t know for sure. My stomach is feeling a bit sour. Should I drink some ipecac?”

Me: “No by the time I get out of carpool line they will already be absorbed into my blood stream. Maybe I should call someone and tell them what I’ve taken, so they can inform the paramedics when the ambulance arrives.”

Still Me: “This is ridiculous Jenny, could you imagine if people just died from swallowing mints? You would hear about it. It would be on 60 Minutes or the news. Whew.”

Me: “Wait, I don’t watch 60 Minutes or the news. I only watch Cartoon Network, HBO and reality TV.. Fuck, I’m screwed”

Me: “No, you would have gotten one of those mass emails warning you about swallowing mints, like microwaving saran wrap, or using plasticware with the numbers 4,6, or 7. Whew.”

Me: “Maybe I’m the first person to swallow so many Altoids and wash them down with coffee. You have to admit it’s a bit random. Why would any sane person like myself do that?”

Me in a British Accent: “Pip pip and all that… Don’t worry luv, all will be splendid. Now, let’s have a spot of tea, shall we?”

Me: “I’d love to.  You French people make every idea sound smart.”

Last month I had a scary episode. I was driving and out of nowhere I felt like I was about to lose consciousness. I was luckily in a parking lot. First, I debated if I should just put the car in park out of fear that I would pass out and glide into something. Then, I spotted an open space, sideswiped a pedestrian that then gave me the bird, and quickly parked.

My mind was racing, “Something is wrong, people don’t just pass out.” I called my husband unlocked my doors, so he could get to me, and searched for something to eat. I shoved a lollipop in my mouth… nothing. I was hanging on by a thread, when I saw my daughter’s morning sippy cup of milk. I sucked out the milk as fast as I could and after a rush of boiling heat radiated through my body, the feeling slowly eased. After a meal during which I was barely lucid, I told husband I was okay to drive myself to the doctor, which by the way took very little convincing. Thanks Mark.

Now let me tell you a bit about my Doctor. He is a Jewish Jamaican with a strong accent and the stereotypical laid back attitude you would expect of people who use the word irie, though he does not. I go to him because I am too big of a hypochondriac to go to someone high strung. When I arrived I found him outside taking a smoke break, he rolls his own, so there’s no telling what it was.

“Ello luv, I see you got yer pretty self all worked up. I don’t mean to trow the book at ya, but yer blood pressure is very low… too too low. Yer passin’ out cause yer not getting enough oxygen to yer brain daarlin’.

“That actually explains some other issues.”

“Well, ya got ta take care of dis yerself, cause yer not gonna like the medcine I’d ‘ave to put ya on. Now go to the store and buy everyting wid salt. Get some matzoh ball soup and put extra salt init, put salt on yer salt. Everyting you been taught, ferget it. Rememba ya need tons of fluids, ‘cause ya ‘ave to retain ‘em.”

“What about water?”

“Water? No. That’s terrible fer ya, that just washes the sodium away. I prefer you ‘ave a coke, that ‘as yer, salt yer caffeine, and yer sugar. It’s the perfect drink fer yer ‘ealth.”

“Yes, I believe that’s their campaign slogan. Drink Coke, It’s Perfect For Your Health.”

“OK then, I love ya daarlin. ‘Ave a space cake fer the road.”

Did I mention he takes his appointments in a small shack? I’m totally kidding, it’s more of a trailer.

So, if I want to stay awake, I must retain water and eat and drink crap, and if I want to stay thin, I must pass out. Hmmm, well I certainly wouldn’t be the first person who passed out trying to stay thin. It is against everyting, sorry everthing, in me to purposely retain fluids. But apparently, this medicine is something I want to avoid so here goes.

WEEK 1- Filled pantry with pretzels, pistachios, popcorn, pickles, peppercorn jack, and Pepsi. I know, you’re thinking they all have… salt in them, and that’s why I got them.

WEEK 2- Ate and drank all of the above. Wide awake. Feelin’ gooood.

WEEK 3- Feeling sluggish. Fingers pruning… Must have sweet, in need of a cupcake. I secretly busted a piñata at Ryan’s friend’s 4^th birthday, and ravaged the remains. I blamed it on a little kid that teases Ryan, who just happened to be the birthday boy. Ahhh, sweet sweet revenge.

WEEK 4- Cannot look at another saltine. Putting MnMs in my soup instead of oyster crackers. Can no longer wear rings. Thighs are becoming too friendly with each other. Mission accomplished. Do I cry or cheer?

WEEK 5- Too bloated to cook. Can’t get fingers around pan handles. Oven mitts don’t fit. Had Mark install salt licks around the house for convenience. Lick them each time I waddle by. Will write more tomorrow, sausage fingers too swollen for keys.

This weekend we were sent a Clifford, the bid red dog stuffed animal, along with a beautifully laminated journal containing an entry from each of the class members he spent weekends with in the past. Each page was beautifully written, typed, or hand calligraphied. All were accompany by a montage of pictures showing the quality time each child and their family spent with Clifford. Clifford attended dinners, parties, one family even took him to the dog park…alone. Either I have the craftiest mothers in my class, or these ladies are truly hard-up for companionship.

Ryan’s teacher: I am sorry Jenny; I was unable to accept your pages for the Clifford journal, as there were a few problems. You wrote that he “passed-out” from too much beer and wings while watching the Super Bowl with you and your husband. I don’t know if you are aware that we read these Clifford journals to the class first thing Monday morning.

Crappy Mom, AKA Me: I was not aware of that.
Ryan’s Teacher: I doubt Ryan would appreciate me reiterating how Clifford spent Friday and Saturday as you put it, “ …in his sack, suffocating.” Or that you “…found him sad, lonely, and dehydrated Sunday evening.” I would send him home with you for another weekend, but I fear for his health in your hands, not to mention his sobriety.

Crappy Mom, AKA Me: His sobriety? Had a known was battling alcoholism, I never would have played the drinking game where you chug every time someone scores. In my defense, it was T-Bone’s idea.

It’s official… I’m famous.   For the last couple months people have been stopping me at random places to ask if I write the column “Suburban Jungle,” or to tell me they read and love my stuff.  The first time was at a local Chinese restaurant where a woman and her friend were pointing.  After checking for boogers and toilet paper hanging out of my pants, I heard one said, “that’s the girl with the blog I sent you.”  They came over, introduced themselves and kindly let me know I had broccoli in my teeth.  Damn, oversight.

My most recent approaching was at the grocery store yesterday when a woman stopped me to ask if I was a writer .
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, I read your column and your blog, you are hilarious.  I love you .  Have you ever heard of so and so?”
“No, does she live in Weston?”  I asked, as if I were some hick who knows  no world outside this microcosm.
“No, she is a very famous writer and your stuff totally reminds me of her.  You’re like a celebrity.”

The whole time my daughter was pulling on my pant leg saying, “Come on mommy let’s go.”  You know the way the children of famous people do, because let’s face it to them you’re not Angelina Jolie, you’re just mommy.  Did I just compare myself to Angie?  Well, so be it.

I did need to get back to the deli counter before number 66 was called.  But, my inflating ego was doing one of those, “Stop it you embarrass me, but go on if you must,” things.  I walked away vowing to never go braless in public again, and arrived at the counter to find them at 68.  I thought, “this is what it must be like to be famous.”  You can’t just walk away when someone is praising your work. You would seem ungrateful and rude, yet you may have to explain to the guy at the deli counter you were accosted by fans and just couldn’t make 66.

The price we pay.  I left the store and realized I must have thrown the paparazzi off my trail, as there were no photographers waiting to see what was in my basket.  Though, I’m sure I’ll be in the “Normal or Not Normal” section of Star.  “Grocery shopping with daughter, NORMAL.”  I shoved my swelled head into my generic SUV and drove back to my humble estate.

Today, the world got wind of my hubris and decided to put me in my place.  I got fired from my column for writing something utterly despicable in my new year’s resolutions article.  Apparently, humor columns are no joking matter.  I also wrote, I would pull my son out of school and send him to work for not being able to spell December, yet child services has not called about infringing on any labor laws.

This reference to crack…
“Resolution 9.  Become Addicted To Something:
Smoking, alcoholism and Starbucks are so trite. I’m thinking something unique like nasal spray or hand sanitizer.  Or at least something beneficial to my endurance like crack.  Look, I already have a shopping addiction maybe I could offset the bills with a robust gambling problem.”
was so offensive that the owner, upon receiving his advance copy, threatened to fire the editors for not noticing the seriousness of my new year’s lampoon.  Having not caught it before it went to print, they halted the distribution in order to rip the piece out of 30,000 copies on Dec 31.  It not only held up the delivery date, it cost them over $10,000 in ad revenue from the flip side of the page, and hours of man power.

I was worth losing 10 grand over?  I think that makes me infamous.  Truth be told, I would have taken 8,000 not to write the piece in the first place.  Then they could have pocketed 2g’s and saved themselves the New Year’s Eve headache.  Or at least gotten their New Year’s headaches the old fashioned way: drinking to excess, doing embarrassing things that won’t be remembered at a party of your peers, and accidentally letting the wrong person tongue you when the ball drops.

So, no more play dates with Apple, or Kingston, or Shiloh, or Haze and Finn.  It’s back to the normal folk with their normal kid names.  No more late nights swapping with the Pitt’s.  It’ll be okay.  I might just start doing crack, to take the edge off.

This time of year I amuse myself by looking back at last year’s resolutions. Ones I made with the best intentions, like learning an instrument or a foreign language. Last Chanukah I had my husband buy me a guitar. I had all the confidence in the world that by this new year, I would balk at a request to play Stairway To Heaven, saying something dismissive like… “Please, that’s so cliché, but why not?” or “Por favor, es muy cliché, pero porque no? Unfortunately, my guitar collects dust while my Spanish collects rust.

So for this year, I have made some resolutions that are a bit more achievable:

1. Nag More

For 10 years my husband has not picked up a wet towel, washed ketchup off of a dish, changed a light bulb, or remembered trash day without a friendly, “How many times do I have to tell you?” I vow to be relentless in my nagging. I will lay immediate blame using words like always and never. As in, “I always, and you never.” I will play the martyr by saying, “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.” I will amp up the guilt with, “I do everything around here.” Or something unarguable like, “It’s obvious by your refusal to change a light bulb that you don’t love me anymore.” If all goes well, I’ll be nagging him to go to couples therapy by 2010.

2. Gain weight

I will add carbs to my diet with reckless abandon. I will start each meal with a generous helping of bread and rolls onto which I will spread an obnoxious amount of butter. I will stuff food into my mouth with such fervor it will make other eaters uncomfortable to watch. I vow to eat everything a la mode including ice cream.

3. Work out less

This will actually take serious effort. The only thing harder would be to shower less. If I need the proverbial cup of sugar, I will drive to my neighbor’s garage and beep until she comes out and hands it to me. I will take elevators in two-story buildings. Lastly, I will drop my membership to the gym and use the money I save to buy more carbs.

4. Forget an old language

This year, not only am I not going to learn a new language, I will let my brain atrophy to forget the one I already know. I will watch endless episodes of Sponge Bob and Chowder. I will stop doing crosswords and speaking in complete sentences. I will break all grammatical rules; I will misplace modifiers, dangle participles, and end sentences in prepositions. I will express my thoughts through that African clicking language, modern dance, and a set of bongos that I will wear around my neck.

5. Stay out of touch

This time of year, I am reminded of the many friends I have let time and space interfere with. I intend to further that distance. I will start by rejecting any new Facebook or social network requests. I will also attach a note that reads “I never liked you in the first place.” I will cuss out and hang up on people who call in hopes of fulfilling their own resolution to rekindle old friendships.

6. Be less patient

I will be aggravated, exasperated, and ready to blow my stack at the slightest misstep. The next time my son wants help with his homework I’ll say, “That’s it! Clearly this whole Elementary Education is not for you. If you don’t know how to spell December by now, you never will…Now go get a job! Oh, and take your sister with you, she sits on the potty way too long.”

7. Hold grudges

This year I will forgive no one. I don’t care if you step on my toe, or pay me the five bucks you owe me, a day after the assigned due date. I vow to hate you forever and never forget how you wronged me.

8. Stress more

I will lose sleep thinking about planning parties, redecorating my house, trying to budget, missing appointments, teacher conferences, and health issues. I will laugh an evil cackle while erasing all the plans from my PDA, and then cry over what I have just done. I will empty our bank account on frivolous investments and watch it dwindle away. Oh, wait…that already happened. Well good, more for me to worry about.

9. Become addicted to something

Smoking, alcoholism and Starbucks are so trite. I’m thinking something unique like nasal spray or hand sanitizer. Or at least something beneficial to my endurance like crack. Look, I already have a shopping addiction, maybe I could offset the bills with a robust gambling problem.

10. Gossip More

I vow to talk about everything you do in the new year. If I see you at the pediatrician for so much as a flu shot, I will tell everyone your child has hand foot mouth, so you can be verbally assaulted when you show up at a birthday party the next day. If you look too skinny, I will assume it’s a divorce or an addiction. If you look too hot, I’ll call it a torrid affair. If you look too young, it’s an addiction to surgical procedures because you’re getting divorced due to a torrid affair. I will start a rumor phone tree and a blog called “WhatYourNeighborsAreReallyUpTo.com.” I may even have a megaphone installed on my “Gossip Mobile,” so I can drive through local parking lots amplifying the skeletons in your closet to all within earshot. Oh, wait… I’ll just write about it in my next column.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I was watching the Oscars, which as everyone knows is the Super Bowl for women and gay men across the globe. Unlike real sports, the best part of Oscar night is the pregame. I had them all Tivoed: E!’s red carpet with Ryan Seacrest, Network with a cameo by Ryan Seacrest, and TV Guide’s Joan and family where Ryan Seacrest is actually a cousin (by marriage). I had shamefully missed the original airing and was trying to watch the next morning, hoping that I would not be disturbed. What could be worse than accidentally catching a glimpse of my NY Post which would surely have the night’s biggest upset under a very clever play on words? My daughter, who is obsessed with anything princess, was running around the house in my shoes and begging to play.

I envisioned the start of what could potentially be my favorite yearly ritual and sat her on my lap. “Look Ryan, look at all those princesses.” She was unimpressed and within minutes was bored to tears, literally. Well she is 4.

“Mommy put on the Backyardigans,” she chanted bouncing up and down on my ottoman. So off went the pre-show and on came those imaginative little animals who I think are supposed to live in low income housing, or at the very least something government subsidized. Like them, I began to create a whole different world. A world where they are going to an awards show, a show for the celebs of the under 5 set, a gala of epic proportions.

Leo:         “Hello I’m Leo here with June of the Little Einstein’s and welcome to the Red Carpet for the annual Toony Awards. Unfortunately, my sister Annie is with Rocket and Cooper Anderson in the Gobi Desert. I’m told they’re singing baba waba Osama to Beethoven’s 9^th, in a bunker that strangely resembles Salvador Dali’s “The Persistence of Memory” picture of melting clocks.

Quincy is not here because he is attending a rally for “Out” magazine. Not that an effeminate black male who is scared of the dark and plays multiple instruments including the flute, piccolo, and triangle has to be gay, he’s just exploring his options.

But, we are on a very important mission right here in Orlando Florida, cartoon capital of the world. Let’s check in on June who is with the cast of Blue’s Clues.”

June:       “Hi Joe, I want to ask what is on everyone’s mind… What are you wearing?”

Joe:        “I have on an green on green striped tuxedo by Ralph Lauren purple label.  Side Table drawer is wearing a runner from Isaac Mizrahi for Target and a vintage Tiffany lamp.”

June:       “Well she is truly glowing. Let me ask you Joe, is your acceptance speech written in your handy dandy notebook?”

Joe:         “It actually is, and the notebook was encrusted by Judith Leiber to look like a handbag.”

June:       “Fabulous may I see it? I see a crying boy in a monochromatic shirt, a can of gasoline, and a pack of matches. Hmm, these clues can be so hard to decipher. Leo back to you”

Leo:        “Well it looks like another banner year for the Latinos. Regretfully, Handy Manny will not be able to make it due to a citizenship issue however, he did build the stage. Dora is up for best actress in a Series Over-Using the Word “Aaabre”. She appears to be solomente. This is a smart call after last year’s awkward celebratory french kiss with her cousin Diego and that highly disturbing make-out session with her pet monkey, Boots. June do you have any celebs over there?”

June:       “Yes, I am watching the Mystery Mobile pull up, and what an entrance! Shaggy, Scooby and what looks like the Harlem Globetrotters have appeared like magic out of a huge puff of smoke. They seem to be heading this way however, it may take some time as there legs are spinning, but they are actually not moving…Ah welcome fellas today must be very exciting.”

Scooby:  “Reah, reah, rexciting.”

Shaggy:   “Hey, like do you have any snacks, we’ve like got the munchies.”

Scooby:   “Reah, runchies.”

June:        “I actually do not, try the E! booth they don’t pay that vampire Seacrest the big bucks for nothin’. Hey Leo, getta load of that clown walking down the carpet.”

Leo:         “Yes, June there’s JoJo and right behind her are the Disney princesses, who as you probably heard spearheaded a recent movement forcing cartoonists to draw underwear on all female characters. This of course is in response to circulating internet pictures of a fully plucked Daisy Duck exiting a limo on her way to Minnie Mouse’s “2 Weeks Jack Free” celebration… Monterey Jack, that is.  Let’s ponder that while I send it back to June and the cast of Rugrats.”

June:       “Hi, Tommy and Angelina Pickles, your show is up for it’s holiday special “Santa Woks” is that a cooking show?”

Tommy:   “No, I have a wittle twouble tawking… I’m 1.”

June:        “I see, well as you probably know you are one of the only Jewish cartoon families ever drawn aside from the short lived series “Moisha and the Shiksa.” And here you are nominated for a Christmas special. Angelica, don’t you feel it’s your responsibility to be role models to young Jewish children and to break stereotypes?”

Angelica:   “We took our image very seriously as we calculated the estimated earnings of ‘Santa Woks’ vs. our original script ‘2000 years of Bondage.’ Which by the way we are producing, but in another film genre. We just signed Ron Jeremy on to play Moses’s staff”

June:        “Well I’m sure Quincy will want to check that out. Leo back to you.”

Leo:         “Everyone is still waiting to see if Barney will walk the red carpet. He has been rather elusive after rare footage was released on UTube of him purveying fire whiskey to minors and singing “I love you, you love me” to Callou, Little Bear, and Oswald during a raucous sleepover. This ended in the wee hours of the morning after they allegedly took turns riding Thomas the Train.”

“Well that’s our time…Enjoy the show!  Leo OUT!”