In Which I Hyperventilate.

So I thought it well and good to inform you that in addition to being a germaphobe, and of course an emetophobe, I'm also a hypochondriac. In the nicest, most awesome possible sense of the word, of course.

When my big toe hurts, I tell my husband, "I think I have toe cancer." I am only 24% kidding. When I feel a twinge in my side, I'm almost positive it's appendicitis. When I walk into a room and can't remember what I am in there for? I am damn-near certain it's early-onset dementia.

When I grow a new freckle? Fucking melanoma, man. (Of course, this isn't unreasonable, as I am pasty white, have blue eyes, was born of Norwegian & Swedish heritage, entirely lack the ability to tan, have had tens of major sunburns in my life, and have in fact had skin cancer before. Behold, the battle wounds from having a basal cell carcinoma removed from my neck.

I told everyone it was from a particularly nasty bar fight. STAB WOUND 2007

Anyway, point is, my emotions tend to be...slightly overexaggerated. Although, the main problem is that all my fears are Based In Reality. When my big toe hurts and I'm sure it's cancer? Well, someone gets toe cancer; why not me?

When I feel a twinge in my side and I'm sure it's appendicitis? My brother's best friend's sister's mother's cousin died from a ruptured appendix, so what if I decide my side-ache is the result of a bad burrito con carne and then it exploded (the appendix, not the burrito), causing my very demise? WHAT WOULD MY CHILDREN DO WITHOUT A MOTHER? .....Oh, I'm just ovulating? Bygones.

When I forget what I am doing and I know in my heart it's Early Alzheimer's, or Alzheimer's Yet To Come? .................Fuck it, I'm not going to blame it on hypochondria: I DO KNOW I'm going to get Alzheimer's. I do. I will. Watch me. You just wait. Seriously. I'm not even kidding. I sound like I'm kidding. I'm not. It's not that I want it; it's just that it's going to happen. Mark my words. Quote me. Wait for it. Srsly.

Anyway, hypochondria: Yes, to some degree. Fears based in reality: Absolutely. And does all this make life even harder? Hoo boy.

***

My hypochondria extends to my kids, naturally. When Naomi has a sniffle? She will die in her sleep of mucous asphyxiation. When Maya says her back hurts? It's leukemia for sure. When there's a glint in their eyes in photographs? RETINO - MOTHER - FUCKING - BLASTOMA. Shit.

I mean goddamn, wouldn't you be worried? :( And yes, I took her to the eye doctor. Clean bill of health. 

Chalk another one up to hypochondria by proxy.

***

Today, I am 84% certain that Maya has something dreadfully wrong with her. Because she has been complaining for weeks that her eyes hurt terribly. So in my mind, that's head cancer. CANCER OF THE HEAD.

...Probably she just needs glasses. Or maybe, she has seasonal allergies?

In any case, things suck for a germaphobe/ emetophobe/ verminophobe/ disposophobe/ aichmophobe/ acrophobe/ chemophobe/ hemophobe/ gelotophobe/ insectophobe/ glossophobe/ harpaxophobe/ bacillophobe/ mysophobe/ rupophobe/ decidophobe/ automysophobe/ mycophobe/ hodophobe/ melissophobe/ consecotaleophobe*/ spermatophobe/ decidophobe/ thalassophobe/ proctophobe/ radiophobe/ nosophobe/ xyrophobe/ dystychiphobe/ agliophobe/ dromophobe/ chaetophobe/ helminthophobe/ phobophobe hypochondriac like me.

* Just kidding, I don't have a fear of chopsticks. For the most part.

...Life so hard for Baby JoJos.

On Manicures and Pedicures.

...no, not the Fish Kind.

So awhile back, I asked my friend S (of the S&M variety) what she does to her nails, because they are always so pretty. Turns out she gets acrylics. I always had bad associations of acrylic nails, thinking they were for the over-sixties crowd and were always thick, horribly long, beyellowed horrors:

...or that they were a "designer" nightmare:

But S's nails were always so lovely.

So one day I decided to go for it.

Now, I've always been wary of getting manis and pedis. I mean, there are so many horror stories of people getting nail fungus or other atrocious problems, and you have to make sure they sterilize properly, and each salon is always kind of hit or miss (and usually "miss" in a big big way) until you really find Your Place.

So S and I went on a trek to find Our Place. We had our acrylics done at a certain joint a bit southeast of us, and I was actually quite pleased for a first timer:

Nice, normal, natural. Thus, I was hooked. 

And since then, we've gone to a few other places closer to where we live, trying to find Our Place. We went to one salon on a whim, where, thank God we had the pedi done first, because they did such an atrocious job on our feet (they couldn't even do a decent job applying polish--I mean CUB OD)--

--that I can't even imagine what they would have done when applying our acrylic nail fills, so after the pedis, we skedaddled out, slyly claiming a "time conflict," and then had our nails done elsewhere. We lucked out, because it turned out that the "elsewhere" is Our Place. I think we found it. Pricier, but very very nice. And they did a great job on our acrylic fills.

The only problem? Oh, y'know, a little thing called Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I mean, talk about pressing the limits of my germaphobia. Even when the salon is pristine, and the autoclave is directly in my line of sight, imagine the balls it takes for me to sit there and basically hold hands with a stranger for 45 minutes, or let them scrub my feet and massage my entire lower legs and just pray to the Patron Saint of Shaven Callouses that the equipment truly is fresh and clean and that I'm not picking up a raging case of someone's tinea pedis or HIV or zombie flu. I've seen one too many places take cursory swipes of their pedicure bowls with a rotting, grimy sponge to feel confident in the cleanliness of the water my feet are soaking in. Plus, (1) what is that blue crystal stuff they add to the water; and (B) what does it actually do--disinfect, soften, or just prettify the water; and (iii) do they think it can actually accomplish anything if they add it by the micro-mili-scoop? I mean, that shit is added with a cocaine spoon, y'all. What could it possibly do but turn the water a little bit blue? It sure ain't killing no zombie foot-hepatitis.

Anyway.

So the last time S and I went out in search of Our Place, and we had Series of Unfortunate Events before actually finding a nice salon, after getting my toes did in the GROCE SALON, I came home and first scrubbed off my feet with Sani-Hands for Kids (which really should be called "Sani-Hands-and-Feet for Kids and OCDers"--they're missing their market) so that I could dare tread on the carpets of my pristine home--

--and then made my way to the bathroom and literally took a full shower, scrubbing down my entire leg area. Three times. Seriously, three times.

Anyway, so far so good. No Zombie flu or raging fungal infections, but sweet God is my toenail polish job atrocious. I can't wait for my next appointment at Our Place where I will get them redone. And then go home and take a bleach bath anyway, even IF Our New Place is hygienic to the naked eye. I mean, surely germs and fungi can live in the jars of nail polish, right? And those can't be disinfected and are reused constantly, round the clock? And....and.....

...OK, I should end this entry now before I work myself into A State.