the itchy & scratchy show

I literally want to shed my skin. The speckled sunburn has faded slightly but my fine Irish/Scottish hide is now itching like a mofo. I can scratch the spots in the front and all others within my long arms' reach. I've also generously slathered those areas with a self-diagnosed treatment of aloe gel, Lubriderm and Aquaphor (not at the same time) and it seems to be working. But the middle of my back is in dire need of a soothing balm and I can't reach that far. This is when I curse myself for not doing yoga. But I can be quite MacGyver-esque at times so I've fashioned a device out of a back scratcher, medical tape and cotton balls to apply aloe to the area. The only problem is, the back scratcher has a long, thin handle that could double as a switch for punishing ill-behaved children. The fingernails on it create a whole other set of problems if the cotton ball shifts and exposes them. I've experienced both side effects and can I just say, OWWWWWWWW!

I have a few other tricks up my sleeve, which, I'll be honest, possibly include posting a message in craigslist's Casual Encounters section. I mean, how much more casual can you get than that? No sex at all. Just come over and platonically pat some of this gunk on my back and be on your way. No strings attached whatsoever. The sticky substance coating your hands is guaranteed not to give you an STD. Well, my own natural substances wouldn't give you one either but I'll leave that info for my next online personal ad...

Oh my poor skin. I also have a nasty burn on my forearm. Let me 'splain... I'm not always the healthiest eater but I am mindful of what I ingest. When I do dabble in a junk food-heavy diet, I get immediate payback, usually in the form of diarrhea or vomiting. Screw willpower, I just don't want to have the squirts, thank you very much. It's not hard for me to pass up Krispy Kremes at 9:00am because I really don't feel like making a mad dash for the bathroom. I also have that whole issue of pooping away from home. It's just traumatic all around so I pass on the doughnuts, crumb cake and Danish. Actually, it's no great sacrifice not to eat Danish. I don't like eating shiny pastry with cheese and nuts in it. I find it foul.

If it's not in the form of gastro distress, then I'm usually met with some other gruesome fate to punish me for poor dietary choices. I worked really late all of last week so I didn't eat much when I got home. I usually nibbled on some flat bread and hummus or just skipped eating entirely. But one night I decided somewhere around Canal Street on the subway ride home that nachos with melted cheese would be a REALLY good idea. So I fired up the oven and spread some tortilla chips out on a baking pan and flung whatever cheese was in the fridge on top of the pile. I didn't have any fresh vegetables on hand nor did I have enough time to prepare the black beans taking up space in my cabinet so I decided that salsa was a sufficient vegetable substitute. I no sooner had arrived at this conclusion than the timer dinged informing me that the nachos were ready. Retrieving them from the oven was no easy feat as my kitchen is ridiculously small. It doesn't help that most of the available space in there is taken up by a rather large mountain bike resting on a kickstand. On this particular night I was too lazy to move the bike so I put on an oven mitt and contorted my body just so and began the task of removing the searing hot pan from the oven. I accidentally hip-checked the bike and it teetered from its kickstand perch and started to fall on me. I tried to pivot to avoid the handlebar that was making a beeline for my um... you know... cooter. I managed to catch the bike with my left hand and return it to its original position. However, in all of my flailing around, my right forearm made contact with the side of the pan. I do believe there was a sizzling noise. Perhaps I'll adjust that Casual Encounters posting to include a plea for Neosporin...