Look alive, people: this post is going to contain too much information. In fact, it’s going to be the next evolution of too much information. It’s Too Much Information 2: Electric Boogaloo. If you were terribly clever, it would be considered Two Much Information. Whatever you want to call it, you’ve been warned: there is too much information in the words below. Take cover!

On Saturday night, I experienced an exciting new chapter in personal discomfort. It was utterly unbelievable, and something I had never imagined was possible – but there I was, doubled over with symptoms and frantically Googling for answers in a desperate attempt to keep my hands occupied.

I was having an allergy attack. I get them from time to time, usually because I’ve been neglecting my daily antihistamine: I’m allergic to a whole lot of things (dust, cats, grass, pollen, Ed) so I dose myself year-round to keep my ducts in check. As with all things though, sometimes I get a little cocky and I think “nahhh, I’m fine – I don’t need to take my meds!” and then Bad Things happen just to remind me who’s in charge (hint: it’s not me).

Most of the time the Bad Things are a nasty case of mouth itchiness (officially known as an Oral Allergy Syndrome), and sometimes tattoo hives. The tattoo hives are the worst, because I want nothing more to lay into my skin with a scrubbing brush until I am satisfied and all the black ink bumps go away, but that is just not a good idea so I settle for slapping my tattoos as hard as I can. It hurts, doesn’t really help, and I look mighty stupid while doing it. I also pop an immediate extra-strength Reactin, and hope it kicks in quickly (which it usually does). Then the air stops being itchy and my hives go away and I can stop swearing as I promise to never, ever forget my meds ever again. It seems like a relatively minor inconvenience, but it’s really annoying and second only to forgetting my brain pills in terms of bad reactions (no matter how itchy I get, it’s still better than brain zaps and non-stop vertigo).

Then Saturday happened.

It started out with itchy palms, which spread to the soles of my feet. These are notoriously difficult areas to scratch, and I was jittery with a need for relief – even more so when the itch began to spread down my arms and legs, causing my shins to get all bloody where I scratched too hard. I took a pill in an attempt to quell the discomfort, but it wasn’t helping .. and then things got a whole lot worse.

Did you know that you can have an allergy attack inside your vagina?

I didn’t. But I do now. AND I NEVER WANT TO EXPERIENCE IT EVER AGAIN.

The itchiness I was feeling all over my body took root (no pun intended) in my most private of delicate flower gardens, and amplified itself a thousand fold. It felt like someone had shoved a handful of steel wool into my nethers; steel wool that was covered in several other kinds of wool like rabbit and lamb and lion. It was intensely terrible and I quickly learned that it is not possible or ladylike to properly scratch an all-encompassing vaginal itch (not to mention that properly relieving myself of an itch this bad would have caused some serious damage to quivering velvet, and I did not sign up for wearing bandaids all up in my tinkle flower). I had to sit on my hands to keep my fingers from wandering down south and trying to fix all that ailed me, and screamed for Ed to make haste with the last weapon in my arsenal: an extra-strength Benedryl from my nightstand. Even that didn’t really help, but I knew it would make me fall asleep before I could hurt myself with my newly grown nails (even if I would have totally done so if I thought it would stop the itch).

I eventually passed out while twitching helplessly, and things were fine when I woke up. This was by far the worst allergy attack I’ve ever had, and I never want it to happen again: I’ve been OD’ing on Reactin since Sunday morning, and with every twinge or tickle I panic thinking that The Itch is coming back. It was horrible. My vagina is a big stupid jerk.

I have never, ever experienced an itch like that. If I never experience it again, it will be too soon. You win this round, vagina .. but I will have the last laugh when I render you helpless with various items I have coming in mail.

SO. ITCHY.

Heading back on air after a long, long absence. Come listen to me be Rusty as Fuck (voice only; I’m afraid of webcams): http://www.twitch.tv/warwitchtv

We’ll be covering Return to Castle Wolfenstein matches from 11am to question mark each Sunday, for the ClanBase RtCW Hosted Cup 2012 International.

I haven’t worn the DeeAy hat in years. I hope it still fits.

Last night everyone was my mom.

When I dragged my carcass home from work, our self-appointed building manager advised me not to take a shower because “there’s a man on the roof!”. My bathroom is nowhere near the roof, and I live on the third floor of a 4-storey building .. so the warning made absolutely no sense, and I used a great deal of my remaining brain power to try and figure it out (to no avail).

As I settled myself on the couch for an evening of misery and intestinal discomfort, Ed flopped onto the love seat and tried to turned on the hockey game. This is when things got even more mom-like, as Ed gave voice to his internal monologue: “Why isn’t the TV working? … Ohh, the window is open!”.

WHAT.

Why is everyone my mom.

Stop talking in non-sequiturs. Only I may do that, as it is an inherited trait.

I am sick and it is not fair that people are not making sense at me all over my brain face.

Sooooo sick! *blergh* :(

Apparently Cleavage Appreciation Day is a thing, and it is today. Twitter is full of boobs (more so than usual), and as I am appropriately dressed for the occasion (because it is a day that ends in Y) I am basking in the assorted afterglows.

At least I was, until I checked my email:

SO RUDE.

And NO, you can’t MAKE ME.

BOOBS!

.. and for once, I’m not being dirty.

Lately I’ve been boring myself to pieces by having nothing going on, so I decided to fix that by getting back into gaming – specifically, getting back into casting. A group of guys I used to cast with way back in The Day have started covering Return to Castle Wolfenstein again, and as that was always my favourite, I signed up to go back on air after many long years. At least, that was the plan when the games started happening last fall – it may not seem like it, but I’ve been really busy. I don’t exactly know what I’ve been really busy WITH, but there has definitely been something keeping me out of the house and off the computer for the past few months. However, it’s now the rainy season in Vancouver, which means I don’t want to go outside and be social – so finally, I have some free Sundays to dedicate to nerding out really, really hard.

I’ve spent the past week installing games and patches and Ventrilo and all sorts of old things that make me nostalgic for the Good Ol’ Days of the internet. Tonight was Testing Night, and .. goddamnit, Punkbuster is even more annoying now than it was in 2003. I have the game running and the correct tournament mods installed, but I can’t for the life of me get Punkbuster to behave and allow me onto a game server for longer than a minute at a time. Not even all the swearing I’ve been doing is helping a bit, and my usual Google-fu is failing me. Complicating matters is the fact that the companies that made all the mods and anti-cheat tools still in use today have long since stopped supporting the products, meaning I can’t even get the PB console to recognize RtCW as an actual game. I AM FRUSTRATED! I’m using my old Windows laptop, which is making me want to punch things – I kind of really hate it – and between my PB issues, the evil rotten work email I got ten minutes ago, and everything else that’s marbling up my ass I AM NOT IN A VERY GOOD MOOD AT ALL.

I’ve reached out to the community for help, so I imagine I’ll be able to get things sorted out before Sunday. I really hate not being able to fix things on my own, but I’m really at a loss here (and past the point where I should really step away from the computer for the safety of myself and others). So, deep breath. Perhaps I can use this time to dig my old, old, old PC out of the closet and see if she still works – I was joking about finding a copy of my old RtCW config file, until I somehow managed to find a copy of my original Q3 config.

Also, I was hilarious even back in 2003: I used to have F3 bound to “THIS MAP NEEDS MORE COCKS”. Some things will never change.

Once I get all this working, I’ll post links to the broadcast so you can tune in and listen to me be rusty as fuck. I’m looking forward to it, though. It’s been far too long.

i’m coming home.

I spent much of last week alternating between migraines and work, so there wasn’t really much of anything to write about. This weekend I more than made up for any lack of interesting existence on my part, by swinging wildly from one unrelated activity to the next like some sort of ADHD monkey excited about Disneyland – in the last 48 hours, I have:

• Prepared my various computers for my return to the world of shoutcasting – starting next Sunday, I’ll be on air covering Return to Castle Wolfenstein with a bunch of guys from the Team Sportscast Network, way back in the day
• Discovered the internet’s love affair with James Deen and promptly hopped on the bandwagon: I’ve watched more porn in the last two days than I have in the last decade
• Had a girl’s night in with some friends, where we tried on each other’s clothes, ate cheesecake, and discussed foreskins (we’re all a fan)
• Prepared delicate chicken mini quiches for a baby shower
• More porn
• Freaked out about attending said baby shower – it’ll be my first, and I’m vastly uncomfortable already. Porn is cued up on my phone in case I need to take a break from all the wholesome baby talk.
• Sewed up a new skirt that has both lined pockets and no bias tape – I hemmed!
• Oh, and the skirt is made out of a shower curtain because I am totally Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music
• It was a really pretty shower curtain, damnit, and I didn’t want to waste the leftover fabric
• .. which was leftover from our very first Ikea hack, in which we repurposed an Expedit desk setup into an entryway storage unit for our helmets and daily incidentals and a discreetly curtained area for the cat litter boxes

Also, laundry.

It’s been a busy weekend.

Quick, what are some appropriate things to talk about at a baby shower? Maybe I should make some cue cards.

• Merkins: NO
• Chapped nipples: YES
• 8v8 mp_beach strategies: NO
• Diaper Genies: YES
• Diaper Rash: YES
• Adult Diaper Rash: NO

Piece of cake.