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  • Ants in my Pants

    Because I love and care about you so severely, I understand how crucial it is for your personal serenity to keep you fully informed on the voyage of my bodily woes. For me to experience the tribulations of my physique without sharing it with you is in fact, a deep injustice. As someone who cares about the betterment of humanity it is my civic duty to continue with the saga of Toni’s biological quandaries. 

    It began with my being told that my liver wasn’t functioning properly, and there is nothing like a dysfunctional liver to motivate me to do psychedelic medicine in the forest with Shamans. I then woke up after that experience having a tick hanging off my heck, like a diminutive Dracula slurping my plasma yet dissatisfied by my lack of virginity. The tick and I engaged in an exchange of fluids, without my consent mind you, which made this minuscule monstrous organism a blood rapist. I of course feared contracting a tick STD, and as such got it tested at the lab. Living in New England we all fear Tick AIDS, otherwise known as Lyme Disease. When I got the results, I was relieved to find that the tick tested negative for Lyme, but positive for Bartonella. So, I guess I potentially now have tick chlamydia. 

    A few days later I woke up itching. Now I am sure there are some people who can itch and have a mature relationship with this discomfort. They may notice the itchy sensation, but still maintain the emotional maturity and foresight to know that scratching is not the answer. I, however, am not that kind of person. When something itches on my body my solution is to claw myself until I no longer have skin.

    A few days went by with me using my talons to tear at my own flesh before I started to ask the question, “Hey Toni, why are you so itchy?” My first assumption was fleas. I figured my dog gave me fleas. 

    Toni: I think my dog has fleas.

    Receptionist at the Vet: Is she scratching a lot?  

    Toni: No. 

    Receptionist at the Vet: Then why do you think she has fleas?   

    Toni: Because I’m scratching a lot.

    Receptionist at the Vet: Oh. Okay. Well let’s use this flea comb to see.   

    Toni: You’re going to comb my skin?

    Receptionist at the Vet: No – the dog’s fur.    

    Toni: Right. 

    We comb the dog. 

    Receptionist at the Vet: Hmmmmm I really don’t see any fleas on her. 

    Toni: Do you think you could look at my bites and tell me if you think they are flea bites?

    Receptionist at the Vet: Sure.    

    Toni: Here is a picture I took because I didn’t think it was appropriate to pull down my pants at the Vet, and its mostly on the back of my legs. 

    Receptionist at the Vet: Thanks for picking up on that social cue. 

    I show her the picture. 

    Toni: What do you think?

    Receptionist at the Vet: It’s hard to tell? They look like spider bites to me.

    Toni: Can I just show you?

    I pull down my pants in the FRONT of the vet office. 

    Receptionist at the Vet: Yeah those don’t look like fleas to me. I think you’re sleeping with an angry spider.  

    Toni: SLEEPING WITH AN ANGRY SPIDER!

    Receptionist at the Vet: I think so? Either that or do you have ants in your house?

    Toni: Of course I have ants in my house. They’re everywhere. 

    Receptionist at the Vet: They could be carnivorous ants? 

    Toni: CARNIVOROUS ANTS!    

    After fulling cleaning and vacuuming my room of any potential enraged arachnids I noticed that the itching was spreading. It was not only on my legs, but also my arms, and lucky for me, my ass. I then became convinced that I did in fact have ants in my pants. 

    As the days passed, and the itching continued, I looked at the enflamed stigmatas covering my human casing and figured that perhaps ants weren’t’ the culprit. I knew it was time to do the adult thing. No – not go to the doctor silly – self-diagnose my rash by using google images. After beholding a variety of gruesome ailments, I decided I had scabies. 

    At the moment of my verdict I was visiting NYC to be on a Podcast, and suddenly realized I was potentially spreading scabies all over the city. I finally called my doctor in New Hampshire.

    Toni: I think I have scabies. Can I please get some medicine prescribed to me? 

    Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Why do you think you have scabies?

    Toni: The internet.  

    Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Okay. Well the doctor can’t prescribe you medicine over the phone without seeing you.         

    Toni: Can I send you a picture of my open flesh wounds? 

    Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Okay.          

    Toni: I just don’t want to be spreading scabies like the outbreak monkey.

    Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Can you go to a clinic down there? Or the emergency room?

    Toni: Gross! I’m not going to a city emergency room! Who knows what people have!

    Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: Right. They could have scabies.          

    As I was about to get on the subway, on the streets of NY, I pulled down my pants so my aunt could take a fresh picture of the back of my legs. I did however have the intelligence not to make her photograph my ass crack, which was also equally afflicted. 

    The receptionist called me back. 

    Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: The doctor can’t tell by the pictures and without seeing you.          

    Toni: For the love of Gaia. 

    Receptionist at Doctor’s Office: We can’t see you until Tuesday. 

    I decided I couldn’t wait that long and went to a “walk in” clinic. Call me old fashioned, but something about scabies in my anus made me want to take action.

    For the record, I highly suggest whenever you go to the doctor from now on, that you believe you have scabies in your rectum – then anything they tell you will be a relief 

    Doctor at Walk in Clinic: That’s poison ivy. 

    Toni: WELL THANK THE GODDESS IT ISN’T SCABIES!   

    Here is the Mama ant commanding her babies to attack… at least that’s how it feels in my pants!



    May 16, 2019 • Adventures, Health • Views: 7360

  • New Englanders and Their Goddamn Weather

    New England people talk about the weather. A lot. If you don’t have something to say in the North East – make a comment about the weather. You can remark on it being hot, cold, wet, dry… and these are all totally legitimate talking points that are considered high art conversation topics. In fact, just saying “Nice day out,” will ignite a lot of nodding, staring off, and approval of your fine skill in dialogue.

    For people who don’t live with seasons, I can see how this type of discourse seems not only mundane, but borderline absurd. Yeah… it get’s cold in the winter, and it sure does heat up in the summer. DUH! STOP POSTING ABOUT IT ON FACEBOOK! But for those experiencing these ever-changing environments it really does come as a surprise. On those warm august nights you never think you are going to be cold again. But then WHAM! You are in it, and -10 degrees really does feel freezing. Wow… let’s discuss it over coffee for ten minutes.

    Fall is probably the most coveted, scenic, and revered of the seasons – but it is also the most tragic. The harvest may be plenty, the bounty is bountiful, and the leaves are an elaborate display of beauty. Yet the lingering awareness of death encompasses the vibe. Every sunny 60 degree day I think to myself “Is this the last one?! Holy shit I better get the fuck outside now and appreciate it! Soon it will all be over!”

    Autumn is all about surrender. You have to let go of the summer, and not torture yourself with the anticipation of winter. It is like a Buddhist practice of living in the moment, remarking about the damn leaves, and emotionally preparing for the heavens to shit snow on you for the next 6 months.

    Yet seasons strengthen your resilience. The act of having to accommodate the morphing landscape connects you to nature in a meaningful way. And I’m talking about that way where you also obsessively talk about the right boots or fleece product to best protect you from the elements. Another thrilling conversation New Englanders have.

    We talk about the foliage because it is easier than talking about our own mortality. Something about starting a conversation with “we are all going to die,” really doesn’t rub people the right way.

    seasons-blog

    October 7, 2015 • Current Events, Musings • Views: 3128