Dr. Google.

Admittedly, I am a bit of a hypochondriac.

Dull headache? It's a tumor.
Pain in my stomach? It's a baby.
Blurred vision? It's eye cancer.

I'm not really sure why I'm this way, but I'm willing to bet it stems from my hypochondriac mother. That's just a guess.

So, it's always fun when I innocently Google some random symptom for something I'm feeling, hearing, smelling, seeing.

Here's how it usually goes down...

Hangnail.  Innocent enough.  Certainly there's an easy solution.  Something not too painful.  Something that I won't need copious amounts of prescription narcotics for, right?

Let's see what Wiki, the authority on all things factual, says:













::If you ignore a hangnail, you will get gangrene in your finger and eventually die a penniless, fingerless loser::

I feel the blood rise.  My heart starts pumping.  I'm going to lose a finger?  I will die penniless?  It's a harmless hangnail.  Isn't it? 

I start writing out my will while my finger is still in non-gangrenous working order.  I divide my penny between my child and my husband.

Then I sue Google for freaking me the hell out! 

Let this be a little PSA for you guys and girls.  DO NOT GOOGLE DISEASE STUFF!  You will freak yourself out unnecessarily and get a finger amputated for no darn reason.  Don't tell me that I never taught you anything.  You can take this to the bank, my friend.

I'm off to go soak my finger in epsom salt now.  That's what the people on Yahoo! answers advise. 

English Lesson of the day.

We all need a little refresher from time to time. I’m no English genius by any stretch of the imagination, but there are a few grade school lessons that many of us have forgotten over time. So, being the helpful person I always am, I’m providing you with a few tidbits to make you sound a heck of a lot smarter than you usually sound. No thanks is necessary. Unless you want to thank me. Then you can buy me some gift cards to Target. Or even Gymboree, I’m not picky.

I found this first lesson most appropriate given the examples. Uncanny, eh?

(Legal crap: All images below are from http://theoatmeal.com) This is one of my biggest pet peeves.

Another pet peeve.

The explanation is too funny to ignore.

I often have a hard time with this one.

The puking panda owns me.

So, there you have it – don’t say I never gave you anything. The gift of knowledge, my friend, is beautiful. And so is that puking panda bear. BLORCH!

All choked up.

I have many fears in life - a fear of flying, a fear of throwing up in public, a fear of roaches and butterflies, a fear of Don King's hair.

A fear of choking in public.

I can avoid airplanes and Don King like the plague, but I'm SOL when it comes to choking in public. I have to eat to survive, and I must eat Chili's at least once a week or I'll get the shakes.

So, my co-workers and I made our weekly trip to dine at le Chilitas today.

Things were going great. I was inhaling my weekly fix of salsa and chips, just enjoying the time away from work, when it happened.

I choked.

On a chip.

And some salsa.

It went down the wrong pipe.

I have no idea what the medical term for my "pipe" is called, so I'll continue calling it a pipe.

Let's just say that I sat there in complete panic mode while my lungs were about to explode from lack of air down my pipe.

Should I get up?

Should I do the universal sign for choking?

Hell, what is the universal sign? I've forgotten. Way too much Diet Coke fries the brain.

I look around. My co-workers are oblivious to my suffering. Should I kick them? Throw a chip at them? Bang on the table? Dance on the table? I can't dance, that would be embarrassing.

I try to swallow to clear my pipe. Nothing. Nada.

I try again. No air to my pipe. Help!

I say a silent prayer.

By some miraculous force, the bit of chip went down my pipe. My airway was cleared. Had it not cleared at that exact moment, I would've made an ass out of myself and lunged at the table corner in my own attempt to dislodge the particle of food. That would've been attractive.

I spent the next 10 minutes trying to conceal my panic. Since I'm the queen of over-reaction, I would've loved to have seen my heart rate at that exact moment. It wasn't one of my finer moments.

So, here's my friendly PSA for the week. Don't inhale salsa and chips - even though they're so delicious. A chip could get stuck in your pipe, and it may not dislodge like it did for me. I was one of the lucky ones.

Oh, and to top it all off with a cherry, the next chip I ate stabbed the roof of my mouth. I think it's still in there.

Not pleasant. At all.

Random PSA for the week.

Everyone should wear clothing that fits their body. This should be a given, this should be common sense, this should be everyone's daily practice, right?

Unfortch, many fail at this elementary logic and fail at it miserably.

Case in point...

King Camel Hump.

Camel Hump, by definition, is the male version of a camel toe.

Both camels are unattractive and probably unsanitary.

This photo started out innocently enough.

My eyes first checked out Anne's enormous sunglasses. I gigglesnorted for a few minutes at the obvious homage to Woodstock.

Then my eyes moved down to her 1980s splatter-paint party bluejean outfit. Hmm, I'm no queen of fashion (ahem, my black hat), so I'll leave it at that.

Then I spy a cute chocolate lab!

A quick glance to the right. DOH! A camel hump. A large and painful looking hump.

I wonder what sort of anesthesia he had to administer in that area to dull the pain of having his goods contorted in such an odd fashion. Maybe none at all from the looks at it. He does look like he's suffering quite a bit.

So, here's my PSA for the week. Please wear pants that fit. No one likes a camel hump (or a camel toe for the girls out there), and if they do, they're probably perverts anyway - who wants to impress a pervert?

That is all.

Grammar PSA of the day.

I make grammatical mistakes all the time b/c I'm only human, ryte?

So, I don't want this to come off as preachy or anything - God knows I can't stand people like that.

::runs for cover::

Please, for the love of God, when you're trying to make a point that there's no way to care less about a situation, please say "couldn't care less" and not "could care less."

For example:

"I couldn't care less that Specter has decided to switch political parties."

By saying, "I could care less that Specter..." you are implying that there are additional opportunities to care less which ultimately defeats the purpose of your sentence.

This is a big pet peeve of mine, and I just noticed it while reading something.

What're your grammatical pet peeves?

(I'm uber paranoid that there are multiple grammatical errors in this post now. If so, I love you - don't be mean.)

Random PSA for the week.

If you're at a family function, say Thanksgiving, and you want to show pictures of your pets, please make sure to erase all naked images of yourself from the camera prior to passing it around.

Before you ask, yes, this happened, and, no, the naked images weren't of me. I was just the lucky one who had the fortunate experience of seeing this. Nothing goes better with mashed potatoes and gravy than full-frontal nudity. Yay!

I am still embarrassed and feel sorry for the person this happened to (and myself for having to see this).

That is all.