Being pathetic can be fun at times.

As you probably know, smells get to me. Dryer sheets of doom, cigarettes, neurotoxins posing as perfume, wet ink, all these things like to try to stop me from breathing, but then there are other smells that just don't belong in some places, and those just confuse me.

Like the other day, when I finally paid off a course I was taking and in return, got a certificate and transcript that smelled of damp basement. I realize I wasn't always ahead with the payments, but did my paperwork really need to smell like it had been stored in New Orleans? Probably not, so, I just wrote a friendly little note to my so-called educators to let them know they need to store papers in a dry area, away from substances that can create spontaneous mutation. I left that last bit of my opinion out, of course.

I expect no answer.

I will, however, let everyone know if that tip about removing smells from paper by sticking it in a newspaper for a few days works. Provided, of course, that my own basement doesn't flood and require the services of the very newspaper that currently holds the certificate. I should leave a note on the newspaper.

(I wrote this because I feel slightly guilty about not writing much lately. My other story for today could have been about the repair of my vibrating ballcock, but I'm all out of toilet humor. Ah, ha ha.)

Being pathetic can be fun at times.

OMFG.

That's about my summary of current events. A more detailed opinion begins with me wondering how pathetic an emergency response to Terror™ would be, and it just spirals downhill from there. You don't want to read it, because really, you're probably already thinking it. Unless you've got a bunker high in the hills like that dude from In The Year 2889 and you're covered.

So yeah, I'm trying to avoid all the news networks and thanking the great Goodyear blimp that floats past my house that the US Open is on. That way I can make fun of the Williams sisters for not knowing what happened down south and I can feel good about myself because I know what's going on. Because I'm not entirely feeling good about myself these days. I was supposed to be rich enough to donate loads of money to animal rescue by now, you see. My master plan is failing.

The reason for this may very well be that I am a poor communicator. I received a reply to my note to Church & Dwight, makers of the Fabric Softener Sheets of Doom, about the allergic reaction I had to their product. I'm not kidding, I really wrote to them. I was PMS-ing, and felt it was better to take it out on the sellers of such crap rather than the buyers, who did not take fondly to my criticism of their choice in dryer sheets when I told them why I was loaded up on Benedryl. My original note went something like, "What fabric softening agents do you use? I had an allergic reaction to them," which right there was probably not the swiftest thing to tell them.

Remember kids: if you're allergic to prescription medication, nosebleeds are nothing compared to itching; if you're allergic to dryer sheets, itching is nothing compared to total central nervous system failure.

Right, so I really didn't expect a response of any kind, but I got one. And here it is:

Dear Ms. Naclerio:

Thank you for visiting our web site.  We appreciate your interest in our
company and our products.  It is nice to know that you enjoy using Nice'n
Fluffy® Fabric Softener Sheets, Mountain Rain.

At Church & Dwight Co., Inc., we strive to manufacture products of high
quality and performance that meet genuine consumer needs.  It is
gratifying to learn from you that our efforts are recognized and
appreciated.

The information that you have requested is proprietary.

Again, thank you for taking the time and having the interest to contact
us.

We hope you will visit our web site again at: WWW.CHURCHDWIGHT.COM; for
information about our company, products, history, and financial
information.

Marcia Williams
Consumer Relations Representative

I believe I was sent a form letter. Because I don't recall saying I enjoyed my experiences with their product. It amused me for a few hours, anyway, while I used it as another example of how advanced I think humans aren't. We're not, you know. I don't know of many dolphins that pollute the air, or mountain lions that hang around certain areas when they know there's going to be trouble. Then again, the mountain lions probably would eat the dolphins if they had to share a habitat for extended periods of time. Dolphin flippers don't look like they could hold off cats very well, but I may be wrong.

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I get the feeling I should've just left it at "OMFG! If that happened here, I'd totally be dead now."

*hugs to all the people that lost everything*

OMFG.

How to kill me.

Or at least, give me a reaction similar to that of Clark Kent having his underoos laundered with kryptonite fabric softener.

Xtra Nice 'n Fluffy Mountain Rain Fabric Softener dryer sheets are of the devil. Either that, or they're infused with holy water and I am the vampire everyone has thought for so long. Tragically, I discovered the problem after putting on my pajamas. Oh yeah, and changing my undies, but that's just too much information, that.

Mace and pepper spray are illegal in NY as far as I know, but from here on, everyone wishing to ward me off, carry one of those dryer sheets and rub it into my face when I get too dangerous. It will take me roughly 12 hours to recover, and that's after the use of much water and allergy medication.

The ingredients on the box of dryer sheets says only that it contains "Fabric softening agents" and "Fragrance." At first, I thought it was just the fragrance, because perfume kills me (it does--the voodoo doctor is getting sick of reanimating me) but then, the hives were new. I have written a letter to Church & Dwight, asking what exactly the "agents" are. I don't expect an answer, but still, I needed to question someone, because the universe has given up answering my questions.

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There are no Arrested Development episodes on tonight at 8. I'm sad, but I'm sure I'll find something to do while I wait for the 9th. The 9th. *sniffle*

How to kill me.