Monday, June 06, 2011

Damn you, poison ivy! Damn Youuuuuuuuuuu!

I'm getting over my second epic struggle with poison ivy this week. Although I wish I could write that as "Poison Ivy" and therefore, through the blogosphere, confess to you all that I am actually Batman and have recently vanquished for the second time the sexy and salacious villain of same name, I cannot. Alas, my poison ivy is a virulent little bitch of a vine/shrub/weed that has been the bane of my existence since I first encountered it as a child tromping around in the undergrowth of the creek that ran by my home pretending I was GI Joe.

My first youthful encounters with this spawn of Satan were more inconveniences than actual death matches, but since moving to Indianapolis four years ago, I have, on two occasions, been exposed to the urushiol that spews from its every surface and thereafter been subjected to the seeping misery that accompanies it.

How, you ask, has this happened? Well, my dog has A.D.D. and is too curious for her own good. Any overgrown area that smells faintly of chipmunk, squirrel, rabbit, or other woodland creature is immediately a target for her reckless tromping, sniffing, and digging. The urushiol gets on her fur, her fur gets on me, and voila! Horrible seeping rash.

The first time this happened, the rash that eventually appeared on my leg was bothersome, but no worries. A seeping leg rash can be easily covered with a bandage, jeans, and a little modesty. Plus, the scar that eventually formed there blended nicely with the multitude of other scars on my shins and knees that have been the consequence of what my fellow soccer playing friends call a "sometimes overzealous style of play." When they don't use that euphemism they just say "dirty." I'll argue that until I'm blue in the face, but I digress.

The second time this happened, just last week, I had finished doing a little yard work and was playing with the aforementioned A.D.D. canine and wound up with a disgusting, oozing swath of broken skin that extended from my shoulder to the top of my right ear. There's no hiding this. I was literally under house arrest for three days save for my mandatory trips to work (although I did take one sick day). Shaving was not and still is not an option. This is bad for someone who has to appear respectable on a daily basis. To boot, I am challenged in the facial hair department. Were I able to grow a Paul Bunyanesque man mask, things might not have appeared so bad. Unfortunately, my beard is what can best be described as "weedy" and is starting to get a little too much salt mixed in with the pepper. I also may wind up with a neck/facial scar from the whole ordeal. Scarface is a seriously cool nickname, but you want to get that nickname as a result of a knife fight in a Cuban prison, not a canoodling session with your beloved dog.

Which leaves me where? Well, I have a pretty serious poison ivy infestation in the backyard. I need to get rid of this poison ivy. Poison ivy is notoriously difficult to eradicate and I'm allergic as hell to the stuff. If you've got any suggestions, please throw a guy a bone. How far am I willing to go? Well, here's a list of things I would rather do than EVER be exposed to poison ivy again:

Go on an 8 hour road trip with Sarah Palin.

Masturbate with Tiger Balm.

Let a tiger masturbate me with no balm.

Cheer for the Mexican Men's National Soccer Team over the US Men's Team.

Paper cut my ass hundreds of times and then sit in a lemon juice bath.

Have a blistering sunburn on my business.

Wax my head.

Roll in stinging nettles.

Be stung on the tongue by bees.

Give a two hour PowerPoint presentation naked.

Watch my parents have sex (maybe not).

Get tipped over in a full Port-O-Potty...door down.

Go to a Justin Bieber concert.

Let David Beckham kick me in the crotch. Maybe just left footed, but the crotch nonetheless.

Eat a light bulb.

Kiss a hot stove.

Drink water wrung from camel shit in the Sahara with Bear Grylls.

The list goes on and on. Please leave your poison ivy eradication suggestions in the comments and any other things you would rather do than be subjected to rashes from this particularly onerous and evil flora. Help!


Mike said...

It could be worse. When I was in junior high my step-dad decided that he was going to clear the monster forest of brush that grew in the lower part of our back yard along the banks of "the creek." ("The creek" might have had an official name, but for all I was concerned it was a haven for rape and murder every spring when the male ducks who called it home started feeling instinctively randy. The misery and suffering inflicted on those female ducks was epic to the point that any official name the body of water may have had was forgotten, the neighbors spitting on the ground in disgust whenever the tell-tale sounds come floating up to street level.) I think he envisioned a lush green paradise that his step-son (me) would get to mow every week.
As it turned out, that monster brush forest was actually a heinous patch of poison ivy, to which he was exceedingly allergic. Also, given the right circumstances (burning?), poison ivy can become airborne.
And thus begat the old man's disgusting throat rash of early spring. Poor bastard.
Feel better, bro.

clint henry espiritu said...

This article reminds me of my own brush with a poison ivy a.k.a death. I was racing with my brother on a hill when I plowed into hundreds of them. Got sick for an entire week.

Pancho said...

Mike, I'm gonna pull a Kanye here: I'm really sorry about your stepdad's throat rash, and Imma let you finish, but duck rape?! Seriously, Dawg?! Duck rape?!

Anonymous said...

Holy shit, that's awful. Found this while searching for a solution to my vacation gift of poison ivy hell. Sorry for your pain and I hope you finally found a solution, but I had to thank you for the laugh. The list is hilarious, but I am with you completely... This fucking sucks!!!!