Tip #8: When you have the flu, or when you are completely nauseated,
or when you’re simply in a predicament of having to throw up but with
nothing in your stomach, eat ice cream. Or drink a milkshake.
If the dairy content doesn’t sufficiently combat the acid in your
digestive system and settle things down, at least this way, you’ll have
something to throw up and it’ll be cold and smooth.
It sounds gross, I know, but hey, it works.
Tip #7: When you wake up one morning and discover that there’s a fever blister forming on your bottom lip (this is the fifth time in three months), don’t scowl and think bitterly to yourself, Great, could things BE any worse? Fifth time! Hello?
Because the Powers That Be are listening. And the Powers That Be like to educate the Non-Powers That Be whenever possible. And so you will wake up the next morning, not only with the fever blister still in formation, but also with a goddamn UTI. Just to prove that, yeah, things COULD have been worse, and now they are.
Tip: When you find yourself, in the middle of the night, feeling your way to the bathroom in semi-darkness while only half-awake, and once in the bathroom you find your legs suddenly giving out– it’s not exactly a brilliant idea to grab onto the shower curtain for support. ‘Cause, you know, shower curtains? Not so much about the weight-bearing thing, and really not so much about the breaking-a-fall thing, either.
Tip: Cookware is neither as stupid nor as defective as one might think, so one ought to be nice to one’s cookware. For example, if one is making grilled cheese sandwiches on the stovetop using a frying pan, one might suddenly notice that shit, goddammit, the frying pan is emitting vast quantities of smoke AGAIN, didn’t this just happen last night? and what the HELL is WRONG with this FRYING PAN? But before one begins to work oneself into a tizzy and start hurling obscenities at the frying pan, one might want to notice the intensity of the flame beneath the frying pan and check the bottom of the contents in said frying pan. Because chances are, there’s nothing wrong with the frying pan.
Chances are, you’re just burning your food.
Tip: You won’t be very successful if you try to cut food while holding the knife upside-down…
…especially if you’re trying to slice a very delicate orange chiffon cake.
Trust me. Knife blades have only *one* sharp edge, and that sharp edge? That’s the one that’s meant for cutting.
Tip: Guys, don’t ever under penalty of death OR WORSE attempt to wear your girlfriend’s jeans; the wearing of the significant other’s clothing is strictly a one-way swap, and that arrow always points directly at the girl.
This has happened to me only once, many, many years ago, and I was traumatized at the sight of my capri-cut white Guess jeans ACTUALLY FITTING the guy I was seeing at that time, traumatized to the point where even now, just recalling the image makes me cringe. I have since made absolutely sure that it never happens again by refusing to date guys who look skinny enough that such a terrible crime could actually be committed.
What’s weird is that when I randomly dispensed this stern advice to The Guy last night, he laughed and said that it had actually happened to him with a former girlfriend, albeit unintentionally, which I think only makes the situation worse. He had just grabbed a pair of jeans that were on the floor and didn’t realize until he had already put them on that something was off– needless to say, his girlfriend wasn’t too happy about the end result, proving I am not alone in this perspective.
What was even weirder was having it dawn on me, minutes after he had relayed this story to me, that his having gotten out of bed and picking up her jeans off the floor and getting dressed, meant that he had previously been *in* bed *with* his girlfriend *not* wearing clothes. And while I’m not naive enough to think that prior to me he’s led a celibate life, it’s still just a little uncomfortable, suddenly thinking about your boyfriend having sex with other women. Maybe more than a little.
This is all, of course, further evidence that it kicks some sweet ass to be a woman: with a relationship, the potential wardrobe doubles for us– I’ve already gotten a grandifully comfortable shirt out of The Guy and that was three months into it (I’ve got my eye on a pair of boxers, but that may take a while longer to get transferred ownership of), plus a couple of other items of clothing from former relationships (I’m still kicking myself for giving back a really great Gap T-shirt, though). But isn’t this what I’ve been preaching all along? A boyfriend is only as keep-worthy as his wardrobe is stealable.
Tip: When driving back to Anthem from Summerlin past midnight while running on pure exhaustion (read: BEYOND NOTHING), don’t try to keep yourself awake on the empty stretch of freeway that runs through empty stretches of unlit desert by thinking about how you really should move somewhere else after June, fuck the deposit, Anthem Highlands is perhaps the worst place you could have ever chosen to live.
Because you will get so caught up in your thoughts, caught up in planning where you would move and how much gas you would save by moving, caught up in fabricated conversations in which you’re telling a friend of yours how your life would be simplified so much more if you and your significant other lived together (something you’ve been pondering for weeks or months or whatever by now), and then your friend asks you simply, "Then why don’t you two move in together?" and you reply, "Oh, no, he’d never go for that," and your friend says back, "Have you ASKED?" and you reply with silence that basically says, "No, because I’m a total wimp," and your friend gives you that *look* and even though you HATE that look, you know you deserve it. You will get caught up in all these things and inevitably will miss your freeway exit.
Better yet, you won’t even *notice* that you’ve missed your exit until you’ve missed the exit following it, which means that– yes! You will not be able to get off the blessed freeway for another 20 MILES. ONE WAY. And because you didn’t even notice the previous two exit signs, you will have no idea what happened and very little awareness of just where the fuck you are. Your body, exhausted, will start to go numb and swear to god, you will start to feel disembodied in the darkness that prevents you from seeing anything other than the view through the windshield and the very top of your steering wheel. You will freak out. And then finally, finally, you will see Nevada Landing, will make your exit, will turn around, and will head home.
Where you will proceed to write a very steamed and pissy outburst about your little detour and waste even more precious time that could be spent sleeping.
Tip: Don’t drive from the northern-most tip of Summerlin back to the heart of Green Valley with a carton of milk between your legs. Yes, it’s a good way to prevent it from tipping over and spilling all over the place as a result of your unwieldly turns and goddammit-get-out-of-my-way braking, but in the course of that half-hour drive, you will become overwhelmingly aware of the scientific process called "heat transfer." The end result will be a not-really-cold-anymore carton of milk and really, *really* cold inner thighs, especially if you happen to be so foolish as to be wearing a skirt, which has to be hiked up in order to get that carton of milk between your legs in the first place, and bare skin down there was not so much intended to be in continuous contact with cold items, you know?
But this is what happens when you need 4 oz. of milk for a French toast batter and you refuse to use anything other than skim milk, but your boyfriend only likes 2% milk, but just the *thought* of anything-percent milk makes your stomach curdle and there’s no way in hell you’re going to use that in the batter, so instead you reassure him that you’ll take the skim milk back with you after breakfast so he won’t have to deal with the leftover milk (because he doesn’t really drink or use milk to begin with).