My partner in crime, the DirtyCanadian, has decided that if our Facebook page can get 100 fans by Halloween, we each must eat 100 pieces of candy back to back.
The part of me that loves my way-to-expensive designer jeans is screaming, "Noooooo!"
But the four-year-old girl in my is screaming, "CANDY!"
So what defines a piece of candy? Because I could totally cop out and eat 100 jelly beans. Although, that's still a shit ton of jelly beans, the more I think about it.
Although, baby Snickers bars sound good. Or Rolos.
Just not Tootsie Rolls. I hate those. They look and taste like little chocolate turds.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
ACL almost killed me. Again.
Consider my most recent trip to the popular Austin City Limits musical festival my swan song.
Because there's no way I can go back again. Unless the city of Austin manages to install huge filters to suck the dust and allergens out of the air.
Two years ago, simply attending ACL put me in the hospital and resulted in weeks of crazy steroid treatments to flush out my lungs and get me breathing normally again.
Because I'm the pathetic asthma kid.
So I didn't go last year. But this year, my sweet husband begged me to attend. And I was terrified. Because I remember how bad I felt. And I remember thinking I was going to die as my air supply slowly shut off. And I remember how the first clinic we went to wouldn't accept my health insurance and wouldn't treat me despite the fact that I could barely stand.
So I went. I listened to the music. even enjoyed it. I ate the food and drank many cans of delicious tea.
And I put my vanity aside and wore a mask over my mouth and nose so I'd be filtering the nasties out of my inspired air.
But alas, this wasn't good enough. After rushing to the medical tent and undergoing a breathing treatment (and the possible chance of being carted out of the festival in an ambulance), living this entire week with a cough that exceeds safe volume, a faucet for a nose, and exhausting my inhaler, I've decided that ACL just isn't for me.
Austin, to you I cry, "Uncle."
Because there's no way I can go back again. Unless the city of Austin manages to install huge filters to suck the dust and allergens out of the air.
Two years ago, simply attending ACL put me in the hospital and resulted in weeks of crazy steroid treatments to flush out my lungs and get me breathing normally again.
Because I'm the pathetic asthma kid.
So I didn't go last year. But this year, my sweet husband begged me to attend. And I was terrified. Because I remember how bad I felt. And I remember thinking I was going to die as my air supply slowly shut off. And I remember how the first clinic we went to wouldn't accept my health insurance and wouldn't treat me despite the fact that I could barely stand.
So I went. I listened to the music. even enjoyed it. I ate the food and drank many cans of delicious tea.
And I put my vanity aside and wore a mask over my mouth and nose so I'd be filtering the nasties out of my inspired air.
But alas, this wasn't good enough. After rushing to the medical tent and undergoing a breathing treatment (and the possible chance of being carted out of the festival in an ambulance), living this entire week with a cough that exceeds safe volume, a faucet for a nose, and exhausting my inhaler, I've decided that ACL just isn't for me.
Austin, to you I cry, "Uncle."
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