Poison Oak Is Nothing To Fuck With

I know, I know, I'm ending my sentence with a preposition. But I figured since it's actually a title of a post (notice caps on first letter of words) and I didn't use any punctuation, it just goes without say (though I'm saying it), following grammatical rules is a self-imposed idiosyncratic rule that SHOULD be broken because if you're like me, you believe that most rules should be broken, except for grammatical rules, which brings us back to that idiosyncratic thing...which is the reason why it was brought up in the first place instead of jumping right into the flaming case of Poison Oak I have endured for the past month.



I've spent almost the entire month of June 2010 with an itchy rash covering 30% of my body. Which means approx 17.4987% of the year 2010 has been rashy. Not too bad when you put numbers on it and as the year continues, the percentage will go down dramatically, which means the Adam's apple and the chest hairs should be more manageable by the end of the year, if not back down to normal.

What? Yes. Poison Oak lowered my vocal register and my knuckles started dragging. Yep. That's because I'm fortunate to be one of those people who are highly allergic to urushiol, the oil in all of the poison family. I've been blighted for a month. As if itching, scratching and scarring for an entire month wasn't punishment enough, I've been taking 'roids as the cure.

You might be thinking to yourself, "Perhaps the steroid therapy is not working if you've been on it for this long." Don't think I haven't been there as I've gazed at my 5 o'clock shadow during my potty break at work at 2:00 in the afternoon. But like my predecessors before me, I can adapt. All I need is a razor, 2 arm slings and a turtle neck and I'm good. I can work with it, almost evolve right before your very eyes, if need be.

But what I find a little bit more intolerable is the 'roid rage that accompanies almost every interaction and activity I have engaged in for the past month. I had no idea that underneath the surface of peaceful men such as Obama, the Dali Lama and even Ghandhi, there is the almost uncontrolable urge to punch someone's lights out for merely looking at you funny.

I have new respect for any man that can keep it together during highly charged situations. I had no idea the amount of restraint and sheer will power it takes to not get in a physical altercation with anyone or anything. Because if it were up to me in my testosterined state of being, I'd push the button.