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| My hero. |
Physical Relief
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| I still don't see how a glue stick stops headaches? |
Despite their hilarious commercials, I will NEVER use Old Spice deodorant again as long as I live. Why the armpit embargo? It all started one sweaty, South Carolina summer when I ran out of my faithful Speed Stick 24/7 antiperspirant. (I have since changed to Gillette Clinical Strength, but that's irrelevant to this anecdote. I just highly recommend it.)
While perusing the array of deodorants on the hygiene aisle, I started feeling a little frisky. Instead of sticking with the sweat reducer I knew and loved, I decided to stray outside of my toiletry matrimony. That one-swipe stand resulted in a rash that spanned from elbow to hip on both sides of my body. (Like this, but worse.)
I tried every over-the-counter drug and home remedy imaginable, but they all just seemed to irritate the flesh-eating infection. Finally, after a week of scratching my pits more than Mary Katherine Gallagher, I decided it was time to visit the doctor. After I bashfully removed my t-shirt like an insecure girl at a pool party, the doctor gasped in horror and diagnosed me with the worst allergic reaction he's ever seen. With one steroid injection in my left ass cheek, my rash disappear like a waning moon.
I walked out of the office with tears in my eyes. Not because of the pain in my anus or roid rage, but because I was overcome by a euphoric feeling of relief.
When I first moved to Austin, Texas, it took me one Craig's List search and a weekend to find an acceptable apartment. I figured things would be just as easy when the time came to find a new roommate. That's when I discovered the true pitfalls of a "buyer's market."
I began my tenant hunt a month and a half before my lease expired, leaving me ample time to weed out the weirdos. I even stated my views on smoking, partying, pet ownership and general cleanliness to expedite the approval process. Despite my strict requirements, I received over a dozen responses in the first 24 hours.
My confidence was shaken once I realized 75% of the responders were just scammers requesting my name, address, driver's license and social security numbers in exchange for the first month's rent. The only thing more suspicious than their bartering technique was their butchering of the English Language. Below is an actual example of one of these schemes:
"Hello
How are you doing today and hope all is well with you?actually i got your ad on Craigslist concerning the room you want to rent out. i will like to know if the room is still available at the moment ,if it is still available try to get back to me as soon as possible cos am very much interested,i will be very glad to read from you soon till then have a great day and God bless."
Of the remaining applicants, two were turned off by the price (Although, $520/month for downtown Austin sounds damn reasonable to me), one was frightened by my complex's poor reviews (only some of which are true) and two failed the background check (one for "criminal reasons" and the other for having a credit score lower than Forrest Gump's IQ).
Before I knew it, my month and a half had whittled down to ten days. Between the eviction notices attached to my front door and my former roommate's constant reminders to remove him from the lease, I was on the verge of an aneurism.
Then, like a knight in casual attire, a Maryland native who recently relocated to Austin responded to my post. Not only did he ignore the negative reviews and pass the background check, he also came bearing a couch, toaster, XBOX 360, HBO Plus subscription and a 42" inch HDTV. After a month and a half of panic, I was pleased to renew my lease and breathe a sigh of relief.
Aside from my older brother, nothing causes me more emotional distress than the fairer sex. I thought it was bad back when "the ladies" considered me a non-sexual entity, but those solitary days were a cakewalk compared to the courting of my first girlfriend. (Coincidentally, cakes were part of the reason it took me sixteen years to land a lady friend.)
It all started in middle school when my testicles dropped and I developed my first legitimate crush. Unfortunately, I had yet to develop a jawline (or backbone), so she banished me to the friend zone until our junior year of high school.
Although my sweet sixteen didn't warrant a lavish party or a brand-new car, I did receive the greatest gift of all; a growth spurt. In the course of one summer my baby fat melted away and my previously unobtainable temptress became a viable dating option. The only problem was I had NO IDEA how to go about it. After seeking the counsel of her closest friend, I decided to pop the question at one of our weekly Blockbuster nights. (And by "our," I mean me, her and approximately twenty of our classmates.)
The plan was set. I'd suggest we rent The Ring, my crush's friend would urge us to go pick it up and somewhere amidst the new releases and the microwaveable popcorn, I'd ask her to be my first girlfriend. (Not in those words.) The only thing I didn't foresee was a third wheel.
Thirty minutes later, the THREE of us returned with The Ring, and I remained a single man. To make matters worse, I had to buy the DVD because all of the rentals were taken. To make matters worse than worse, my family didn't even own a DVD player at the time. I shelled out $30 for the sake of some fear-induced cuddling in my wealthier friend's living room.
With everyone's curfews rapidly approaching, it was time to throw on the movie. I pounced on the vacant spot next to my crush like a cat on a laser pointer. I'm not sure if it was my aggressive moves or my uncontrollable nerves, but my palms began spurting sweat like Spiderman webs. While everyone else trembled in fear of a cursed Nine Inch Nails video, I was petrified by the fear of rejection. I remained as motionless as a mannequin, EVEN when my crush shielded her eyes with my shoulder.
Once the ending credits began rolling across the screen, I came to the scariest realization of all; I STILL HAD TO ASK HER OUT! I dashed to the restroom for a mirror pep talk before walking my crush to her car. I could hear a few of my asinine friends following us as we strolled down the driveway. I remained speechless until we reached her driver-side door. She turned, leaned her back against the window and looked me in the eyes as if she knew I had something to say.
I smirked, looked down at my feet and whispered into my shoulder, "Willyougooutwithme?" Although the world's finest speech pathologist would've been lost on my words, my request was met with a giggle and a, "yes."
That syllable led to the largest emotional relief a late-bloomer could ask for. Until two weeks later when she traded me in for another member of our movie club. The rental process is a cruel mistress.
Mental Relief
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| I think the Ed Hardy is blocking her ch'i. |
I began my tenant hunt a month and a half before my lease expired, leaving me ample time to weed out the weirdos. I even stated my views on smoking, partying, pet ownership and general cleanliness to expedite the approval process. Despite my strict requirements, I received over a dozen responses in the first 24 hours.
My confidence was shaken once I realized 75% of the responders were just scammers requesting my name, address, driver's license and social security numbers in exchange for the first month's rent. The only thing more suspicious than their bartering technique was their butchering of the English Language. Below is an actual example of one of these schemes:
"Hello
How are you doing today and hope all is well with you?actually i got your ad on Craigslist concerning the room you want to rent out. i will like to know if the room is still available at the moment ,if it is still available try to get back to me as soon as possible cos am very much interested,i will be very glad to read from you soon till then have a great day and God bless."
Of the remaining applicants, two were turned off by the price (Although, $520/month for downtown Austin sounds damn reasonable to me), one was frightened by my complex's poor reviews (only some of which are true) and two failed the background check (one for "criminal reasons" and the other for having a credit score lower than Forrest Gump's IQ).
Before I knew it, my month and a half had whittled down to ten days. Between the eviction notices attached to my front door and my former roommate's constant reminders to remove him from the lease, I was on the verge of an aneurism.
Then, like a knight in casual attire, a Maryland native who recently relocated to Austin responded to my post. Not only did he ignore the negative reviews and pass the background check, he also came bearing a couch, toaster, XBOX 360, HBO Plus subscription and a 42" inch HDTV. After a month and a half of panic, I was pleased to renew my lease and breathe a sigh of relief.
Emotional Relief
 |
| This makes me frown. |
It all started in middle school when my testicles dropped and I developed my first legitimate crush. Unfortunately, I had yet to develop a jawline (or backbone), so she banished me to the friend zone until our junior year of high school.
Although my sweet sixteen didn't warrant a lavish party or a brand-new car, I did receive the greatest gift of all; a growth spurt. In the course of one summer my baby fat melted away and my previously unobtainable temptress became a viable dating option. The only problem was I had NO IDEA how to go about it. After seeking the counsel of her closest friend, I decided to pop the question at one of our weekly Blockbuster nights. (And by "our," I mean me, her and approximately twenty of our classmates.)
The plan was set. I'd suggest we rent The Ring, my crush's friend would urge us to go pick it up and somewhere amidst the new releases and the microwaveable popcorn, I'd ask her to be my first girlfriend. (Not in those words.) The only thing I didn't foresee was a third wheel.
Thirty minutes later, the THREE of us returned with The Ring, and I remained a single man. To make matters worse, I had to buy the DVD because all of the rentals were taken. To make matters worse than worse, my family didn't even own a DVD player at the time. I shelled out $30 for the sake of some fear-induced cuddling in my wealthier friend's living room.
With everyone's curfews rapidly approaching, it was time to throw on the movie. I pounced on the vacant spot next to my crush like a cat on a laser pointer. I'm not sure if it was my aggressive moves or my uncontrollable nerves, but my palms began spurting sweat like Spiderman webs. While everyone else trembled in fear of a cursed Nine Inch Nails video, I was petrified by the fear of rejection. I remained as motionless as a mannequin, EVEN when my crush shielded her eyes with my shoulder.
Once the ending credits began rolling across the screen, I came to the scariest realization of all; I STILL HAD TO ASK HER OUT! I dashed to the restroom for a mirror pep talk before walking my crush to her car. I could hear a few of my asinine friends following us as we strolled down the driveway. I remained speechless until we reached her driver-side door. She turned, leaned her back against the window and looked me in the eyes as if she knew I had something to say.
I smirked, looked down at my feet and whispered into my shoulder, "Willyougooutwithme?" Although the world's finest speech pathologist would've been lost on my words, my request was met with a giggle and a, "yes."
That syllable led to the largest emotional relief a late-bloomer could ask for. Until two weeks later when she traded me in for another member of our movie club. The rental process is a cruel mistress.
Side note: Keep an eye on my LinkedIn page to see my latest source of relief.
aw man, thought the emotional relief part would mention something about the Lady.
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