The Road to Insanity is Paved with Seltzer

Once upon a time, there lived an ex pole dancer with an IQ of 168, extraordinarily-awesome hair, legs that went on for miles and a sense of humor that once gave Seinfeld a hernia from uncontrolled bouts of laughter.

That gal, my friends, could be me.

Okay, so maybe the only pole moves I’ve ever done involved trying to escape down one that attached to the big-kid slide when I was too chicken to actually wait my turn to hurtle down the 103-degree-aluminum-ride-of-death when I was ten:

…and maybe that 168 isn’t really my IQ but more like the balance in my checking account…and I might have just made Jerry pee a little bit…

But the long legs and great hair are mine, dammit. Can I finish the story now??

This chick has it all: great fam, great friends, great job, awesome blog and the extraordinary ability to recite the alphabet backwards, even during inappropriate moments of stress. But there is one trait that seems to get her into trouble: she likes to drink lots and lots of seltzer…and she likes to drink it at room temperature. (It’s weird…I know….but hey, I never said she was perfect.)

Drinking lots and lots of seltzer has its value. Hell, you’re drinking water, after all. How can that be bad? The bubbles tickle your nose and relieve any errant gastro-intestinal upsets, resulting in one's experience of sweet, lady-like belches, which are often a source of private amusement that will cause this gal to smile knowingly, and will more than likely cause those who catch her eye to unknowingly smile back, creating a universal ripple-effect of smiles that could ultimately result in world peace.

Hey, it could happen.

The downside to drinking room-temperature seltzer is that during the initial opening of the bottle, you must turn the cap ever-so-slowly…to let the carbonation escape ever-so-gradually…or be prepared to take an unexpected seltzer-shower. Don’t believe me? Go ahead…give it a try. I double-dog-dare ya. You’re fine once you’ve progressed past this nerve-racking initial phase and have taken a few lady-like gulps (yeah, she’s a drink-straight-out-of-the-bottle kinda gal…but always with one pinky delicately raised, of course) but beware of that first time. It’s a doozy.

At work, she’s kind enough to offer her co-workers a verbal, “Seltzer alert, people”…so that they receive sufficient advance notice of the inevitable “sssssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssssssSSSSSS” sound to follow and they don’t panic and call 9-1-1, thinking someone’s about to be consumed by an escaped, freakishly-oversized rattlesnake from the Bronx Zoo that somehow made its way up to the second floor of this particular building, took a left at the second green door, somehow got past the employees in the first three offices and is now closing in to dine on the tastiest one of their beloved dragons.

Hey, ya never know.

Her dad’s been in and out of the hospital. He started off at home, then to one hospital…then to rehab….then was rushed to a second hospital (for a completely different reason, just to mix things up a bit so everyone is truly and utterly insane) and as of this writing is back in the rehabilitation place, getting stronger and evidently feeling more like himself, as he insisted that Laura (sis) drive down there and bring him ice cream ‘cause he didn’t like whatever kind they had on hand. I mean, that’s progress, right??

You’re probably wondering what this has to do with seltzer. I know I would be. See, on one of her visits to the hospital, she lost her mind and opened a new bottle of seltzer on the way to her Dad’s hospital room, looking to take one giant swig to down the ibuprofen hurriedly thrown into her mouth moments before to quell the monster headache threatening to cause her brain to self-combust.

The seltzer literally went off like a volcanic geyser and she yelped in surprise and spit the pills all over the floor, along with her keys and her yet-to-be-validated parking stub from the lot. Now, a hospital….with all those walkers and IV’s…. is probably not the best place to create a slippery (water), bumpy (four Advil) environment for sick people sauntering down the hall. And the nurses who are simultaneously walking and trying to read the doctors’ terrible handwriting on those charts probably aren’t too keen on it, either. Afraid to leave the scene for even a second to grab paper towels for fear of an even bigger mess, she stood rooted to the spot until she could flag someone down and offer about a hundred apologies, while some sweet nurse’s aide was kind enough to insist on cleaning up the mess on her own. Grateful, the gal thanked the sweet aide cleaning up the projectile seltzer with bits of half-melted Advil mixed in and proceeded to enter her dad’s room, where he inquired as to why there was so much ruckus in the hall.

Two days later, this gal returned to said hospital…with a previously-opened seltzer in hand (thankyouverymuch) to discover this sign above her dad’s bed:

Ha. I’m glad someone’s got a wicked sense of humor. I’m certainly glad I’m not that gal…for I would probably be mortified. And if I were her, I think I’d switch over to something a little less…combustible. Maybe a nice coffee cup of concealed Cloudy….I’ll bet she wouldn’t spill any of that.