The Time I Accidentally Sexually Harassed a Personal Trainer

I’ve been on a workout kick lately. I usually have a pattern of realizing that summer around the corner in late spring and then go into beast mode. Beast mode being, I get on a treadmill and bro out in the mirror at my gym with the 10 pound pink weights. You know hard-core.

I go to a small gym that is across the street from my office, and it has regulars. If you go there enough you’ll recognize literally everyone who walks in. There aren’t strangers and everyone gives one another an obligatory chin nod when you walk in. The gym also has trainers who run their sessions there. My story has to do with one of them:

One seemingly innocuous evening a trainer, whose name I don’t know because we’re only at the chin-nod stage of our acquaintance, was finishing up a session. I was also finishing up making a fool of myself with a medicine ball on a mat. I was trying to do an ab workout, but I feel like what I was doing looked like a poor attempt at a rhythmic gymnastics routine. (There were far too many unintentional leg kicks and wriggling to look like I was doing anything athletic.)

Russia's Daria Dmitrieva competes using the ball in her individual all-around gymnastics qualification match at the Wembley Arena during the London 2012 Olympic Games

Yeah I totally looked like this.

As a note of description: the trainer in question is super nice, and looks like a young, non-mullet having John Stamos. I know that he isn’t everyone’s dream boat, but those people may not have been 90’s kids who religiously watched Full House. I mean HAVE MERCY!

So Stamos-doppleganger finished with his session and standing in front of some stacked cubbies everyone uses to store their stuff in while working out when I walked over. My cubby was underneath the one he was using and he had his back facing me while I awkwardly stood there waiting. He hadn’t noticed me, and I wasn’t sure how to let him know I needed to get to my stuff.  I opened my mouth and this bomb fell out:

“Hi excuse me, I just need to get to my cubby-”

*He moves out of the way*

“Oh yeah thanks I didn’t want to do a reach-around and…”

At that moment all time and space held its collective breath while all the blood in my brain raced to my feet. I think it did that out of self-preservation because the pain of processing the embarrassment coming my way was enough to take me to point break. I grabbed my stuff and walked to my car while looking at my phone like it had the answer to time travel in it to avoid eye contact.

i-dont-want-to-live-on-this-planet-anymore-11372-400x250

I was so embarrassed that I had to sit in my car and just stare while I thought about what I had just done to myself. Also during the drive home and for much of the night, right when I started to relax I thought of what would happen when I went to the gym again and saw Stamos trainer guy as I knew I would. Right when I was worrying about that the whole recent scene would pop up again and I’d hear myself say it “reach-around.” Like an ever-present ouroburos that was just hovering in the background of my thoughts, the cycle of hearing the moment would start head to tail any time I’d relax.

 

Yes, I have been back to the gym since the unintentional service offer. And yes it did take a pump up speech from me, to me, to get me back in there. Turns out it’s fine, and I’ve been doing my regular late-spring gym ratting in peace ever since. To Stamos the trainer guy’s credit, I didn’t hear a laugh from him or even feel a stare. I prayed that he didn’t hear me, but I know that was unlikely.

Thanks Uncle Jesse look-alike. You’re a pal.

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So it’s been a while

April 24, 2014 Leave a comment

Hi ya’ll. I have been painfully neglecting my duties as an amateur/expert/goddess of blogging.

I have a lot of stories that I’m polishing now. Will post soon.

Topics include but are not limited to:

  • A baby shower that had a taxidermy theme and barrel of fire outside
  • Accidentally sexually harassing a trainer at my gym
  • Attempting to bake cinnamon bread and ending up with Gak. (Do you guys remember Gak from the 90’s?? That stuff was the shit!)

Love and kisses,
A

Bug Battle

October 16, 2013 Leave a comment

If ever it’s scientifically discovered that a creature living here on Earth originated in the mouth of Hell, I’d bet good money that that creature is a cockroach.

Cockroach

You unholy terror. You disgust me

I have an aversion to roaches that is so strong that even picturing one in my mind’s eye is enough to send shivers down my spine.  This bug can live without its head for a month because it doesn’t have blood pressure or a central nervous system, it simply clots at the neck and then there is no uncontrolled bleeding. Breathing is also done through spiracles on the body, so being headless ain’t no thang in the respiratory department for a roach.* I’m not an expert, but sounds like demonic energies could only explain and animate something like that.

I had a recent encounter with one of Hell’s lessers and it tested my mettle more than it probably should have.  Living in the city means it’s inevitable that you will come across a roach or two, so I should be used to them but no; even a picture of one is enough to make me cringe and push my shoulders up for fear that one might crawl in my ear.

I was at home, and was putting makeup on in my bathroom when in my peripheral vision a black shadow zipped across the glass of my shower door.  I put down whatever brush I was holding and turned my head hoping that what I saw was just a play of light from the window. My hope was dashed when I looked and saw the unholy beast.  He waved his antennae at me taunting my weak head-needing humanity, and I shrunk back against the door in a wave of nausea.

I needed him out. I needed him dead. I needed someone else make that happen because I was cowering and trying not to look directly at him. My roommates would not be home for hours so I knew I couldn’t let him have the run of my shower for that long. What if he used my shampoo? Bastard! I had to woman up and take him down myself.

Immediately after putting on my running shoes, (somehow having bare feet made me feel more vulnerable to Beelzebub of the Shower) I looked in the mirror and prepared myself for battle by jumping around saying “ Ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok I should do this ok ok ok”

lil-giants

My weapons of choice were paper towels and ant spray (we had no proper roach spray). After I got them from the kitchen, I spotted the vacuum and briefly considered sucking Beelzebub in there, but then dismissed the thought. He would technically still be in the house and would likely survive the suction. No, he needed to die.

There was more pacing and an air-punching pump up speech before I opened the shower door poised to strike. My first assault was chemical warfare with the ant spray. I sprayed the shit out of him. Then, with my ears fully itching from disgust (and maybe the airborne pesticide), I threw five paper towels on him and slayed the beast with my shoed foot. All the while I was stringing together an impressive quilt of expletives.

quilt

A lot like this.

I’d forgotten the worst part. The scrunching of the paper towel around him to get rid of the carcass. I pictured me doing it, and then him falling out of the wad in my hand still alive and then scittering up my arm. I gathered the courage, gathered the bug and then ran like Hell to the outside garbage can.

slayed

Me post-slaying….Just kidding of course, but look at my cartoon abs.

I won the day that day. I slayed the hellbeast in my shower. Cockroaches still terrify me, but now I know not to fear if I’m at least equipped with ant spray, running shoes and paper towels I can smite bugs with the best of them.

*All roach facts are from Scientific American. I don’t just know these things, I only know they need to die.

The time I was asked to leave a Haunted House

October 31, 2012 Leave a comment

So with Halloween looming I thought I’d share a lovely/teen angsty story about me and horror. I’ll start by saying I scare incredibly easily. I still vividly remember being 7 and seeing a horror movie promo on TV where one of the characters is shown having their life force sucked out through their face. Just to give you a scale of my scaredy-catness, after witnessing that I wore a scarf on my face for two months when I slept to protect myself from probable soul sucking monsters. To this day, I can’t handle scary movies. I become a koala-esque animal that clings onto the nearest person like a eucalyptus tree with white knuckled claws…It can be uncomfortable for all involved.

Fear is not a fun feeling for me. It’s not a rush, and I hate the feeling of needing to protect myself.

What I want to know, that has NEVER been properly explained to me is: Why do people enjoy being scared? I don’t like it and I don’t know why people seek it out. I do most everything to avoid fear but:

In highschool, I agreed to go to a haunted house.

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Nether-again

The name of it is the Netherworld, and the damned place is here in Atlanta. I don’t know if they just say that it has been ranked the scariest haunted house in the world OR if it legitimately is, but due to my experience the latter is correct. That place was fucking terrifying.

Netherworld is in an old strip mall, and it’s actually an enormous warehouse, not a house at all. When the group I was with got there the place was packed, and there was a huge line we had to wait in just to get into the hell hole. I guess Netherworld wanted to give everyone the most bang for their buck because various creatures covered in blood and guts sometimes with eyeballs drooping from their sockets  walked up to thrill seekers waiting in line and hissed in their faces (fun!). The line creatures confirmed what I already knew. This was a terrible idea for me, and surely would not end well. I irrationally hated all my friends who were there with me with all of my 17 year old angsty-ness.

Image

This dillhole probably hissed in my face.

While we were waiting a friend gave me the old “Don’t worry, it’s going to be more funny than scary.”  I know my friend was trying to be nice and calm me down, and maybe Netherworld is hilarious to him. All I know is to a Scaredy Cat like me this was surely a bald faced LIE. I was already freaked out and could feel myself preparing to choose fight or flight, so I couldn’t hear him over the crazy in my own head. I don’t remember how long it took for my group to actually be allowed into the warehouse, but I know I was perfectly content to stand in line forever and be hissed at by make-uped monsters than go into the dark abyss ahead of us. When we were finally ushered in it was worse than I thought it would be.

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Inside Netherworld

The place was set up in a twisting path that was separated by ‘chambers’ with different motifs. It was darkly lit, if it was lit at all, and everything was punctuated with a burst of yellow strobe lighting now and again. The walkway to the first chamber was so thin we had to walk single-ish file just to squeeze through and have our hands on the spiderwebby walls because there wasn’t enough light to see. Once we all gathered in the first chamber that resembled a crypt we were stopped by two creatures that were stalking directly towards us (read here: me) And this is when I realized: In a fight or flight situation I will opt to choose fight.

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I guess the creatures/actors are trained to pick the person that would feed everyone else’s freak out because one of them- a zombie friar I think to go with the crypt- came in for me with a quickness. I don’t remember making the decision to do this, but I put up my hands screaming and shoved him in the middle of his chest. I’m my effort I had kicked off my clogs. (Yes clogs it was 2000, JUDGE ME) And that’s when the actor playing the friar asked me to leave.

I don’t know why I remember this, but he had a Boston accent and my thought at the time “Oh I wonder what part of Boston he’s from.”  It was not “Oh I just made an asshole of myself” or “Oh I’m being kicked out of a haunted house for physically shoving someone” All of the sudden I wanted to know the Boston friar’s back story. I think it was my damaged psyche’s way of coping with ‘having a brush with the supernatural.’ After that, I was escorted out by a girl working behind the scenes at Netherworld. I was out in the light of the parking lot that was filled with bored moms waiting in mini vans. Probably sipping on a thermos of cheap chardonnay; I think that comes with the territory of moms in suburbia right? I sat out there miserable and angsty-mad at myself until my friends came running out of the place, chased by Mike Myers with a chainsaw. Which I don’t think is his weapon of choice, but I digress.

Yes I know how I acted was nuts, and now that I look back it is hilarious. But this brings me back to my original point: Why do people enjoy feeling scared?

In typical ‘fun’ situations I’m not usually driven to shove someone in the sternum (and also pee a little) because of an adrenaline fueled instinct to protect my own ass. It’s hard to explain to fans of horror sometimes because when I tell them my issue they look at me like I just said “Oh no, I don’t think Seinfeld is very funny” I mean, c’mon now let’s not get crazy.

What I hear time and time again is that it’s the ‘rush’ that brings them back to horror movies. Then they go on a tangent about the value of horror and how I don’t appreciate some genuine, quality horror culture.

Don’t try to convert me Horror genre fans, I get it! I get that some flicks/haunted houses/ghost stories are better than others but I don’t care. I don’t like ‘em and I’d rather pee my pants laughing any day than whiz myself because an undead Boston Friar is trying to kill me by sucking my soul out through my face.

Dissecting Frat Boy Style

October 5, 2012 2 comments

I had hoped that this would have been a thing of the past by now, but my recent walk on a college campus has proved me wrong. I was on Georgia Tech’s campus, on my way to a restaurant when I saw it. Frat boy style is alive and well. I was hoping that this particular style of clothes, and frankly the attitude that typically accompanies them, would be safely only a blip in douchebag history, but there before me was a pink shirted, boat shoed row of dudes that I irrationally didn’t like as soon as I laid eyes on them.

There is a certain look that distinguishes the fratsters from the rest of the coeds. I would mostly describe it as “Country Club mixed with Yacht club with a side of rophenol.” College-wear style changes almost by the second, but this particular jam has been worn and is still worn consistently.

Let’s break it down:

Pastels

I don’t know why this color palette was chosen, but it seems to be Step One in acquiring the look. I suppose it has to do with the color scheme that was donned by people at country clubs, or as the frattiest of frat dudes refer to it just “the club.” For bros that have traditionally been known to be misogynistic they sure like to rock the hell out of some pink.

Croakies

In keeping with the whole “I have a boat” scheme you will almost never see one of these bros without croakies. (The little foam thing that keeps your sunglasses around your neck) The croakies must be well worn and nasty looking; they cannot be in pristine ‘never seen ocean time’ condition. There must also be dried sweat on them from that time you played 18 holes on the golf course or 18 holes with a goth chick you’re secretly banging and hiding from the brotherhood.

Boat shoes

Wear these shoes at all times. Winter. Rain. Church. Gay Club. Wait no, not there…. One thing though, never, ever wear socks along with these shoes. They must be disgusting and you must be able to smell them at all times otherwise they don’t count. They must look like you’ve actually worn them on a nautical vessel, even though the closest you’ve been to a yacht is pontoon rental you chipped in 25 bucks for last summer.

Hair:

The swoopier (I don’t know exactly how to describe it I guess swoopy fits?) the better; if you can flick your hair around and have most of it in your eyes, awesome. This will actually help you out when you’re hungover in class and need to sleep undetected.  It has to look like you didn’t spend any time on it, but in actuality you spend an inordinate time getting it to look perfectly undone. If it doesn’t look a certain way your day is JUST RUINED.

Bonus Round:

For extra points you must always have on you: a coozie, a pot of skoal that has been in your khakis so long there’s a ring on your back pocket, and a tattoo on your side that is supposed to mean ‘strength’ but in fact means picnic table. If you can also pull off a sport coat jacket with plaid or sear sucker shorts you will be a god among frat men.

Can we all agree this guy looks a little date rapey?

I have witnessed and heard about this Greek man uniform on campuses all over.  It’s interesting that so many guys would subscribe to such a strange style and seemingly stick with it no matter how they dressed when they first started matriculating at their universities.

I equate their clothes to the camouflage technique that zebras use when they are in the wild.

The technique is called dazzling, and means confusing the predator or enemy by moving a conspicuous pattern. The prey or target is visible, but hard to hit. So if you’re somewhat insecure, here’s a good way to cloak your feelings. Join the herd and subscribe to the lifestyle. It will be harder for everyone to figure out you’re a jerk…. Perhaps this whole pastel disaster is just some sort of coping mechanism?

Are you coming to the mixer? It’s gonna be a rager!!

At an institution like college that is purposed specifically for ‘higher learning’ you’d think one of these bros would look around and be like “Hey, we all look like idiots.” I would imagine because of the pack mentality no one ever deviates from the preexisting norm, and if one does he’s quickly sent out into the wild away from the herd. Usually out to take office in the Student Council which they try and make cool, but it never really happens.

I think I was more aware of the fratsters this time on GT’s campus due to the news out recently about the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity at the University of Tennessee. It was indefinitely suspended and their charter was revoked for giving their pledges alcohol enemas sending one to the hospital in critical condition with a .4 BAC. What pray tell, is an alcohol enema? Apparently it’s all the rage these days and is commonly called “Butt Chugging” In the Pike’s case; they had taken boxed wine and had their pledges ingest the alcohol via their rectums by inserting a tube into their anus. Sounds gross, yes, and it is also be lethal.

I’m hoping this is an isolated case, but I get the feeling that this flavor of hazing is not unprecedented.  It goes without saying that any organization that forces you to risk your life by consuming alcohol with your ass is not worth the implicated price they are asking. I would assume that with a national news story getting out about this ‘Butt Chugging’ should become a thing of the past, and like shark bite news, but I think once there is one story out about something this weird there’s usually, at least, 3 more on the cusp of breaking.

Please don’t give me a Franzia enema

I find that within fraternities, the thought process that seeps through all of the members tends to be one homogenous agenda. With very few exceptions (yes I have in fact met and befriended fratsters), frats follow a pack mentality and any individuality including one’s own moral compass is forgone for a personality that has been predestined for its members. BUT  your  new personality may come with a nickname like “Laser” so at least there’s that.

College should be an awesome time where you feel free to be exactly who you are. I find that most fraternities don’t allow that kind of hippy talk, but know this: If you’re thinking for yourself, and creating your own style you won’t have to worry about some dude who doesn’t have your best interest at heart and is putting you at risk. I’m going to venture a guess that you’ll always be happier drinking beverages using the hole on your face than being forced to use the one in your ass.

4 Personality Quirks That Might Make You A Douche

September 7, 2012 5 comments

In my experience, your twenties can be a bit of an abyss in terms of personality types that you’ll meet.  They can range from awesome to mind-blowingly awful. These days this  personality spectrum is becoming exponentially larger because there is no set archetype young people are now obligated to fulfill. The traditional family can wait, and different pathways are being taken. This isn’t a bad thing, it just means that the varied personality types you can come into contact with are going to be markedly different than they used to be.  They will have different levels of intensity in terms of having amazing quirks or having terrible ones.

There are four particular personality quirks that I think need to be eradicated.

These quirks aren’t always just found in acquaintances or in ‘friends of friends’ sometimes you can find them nestled inside the personality of your close pals. Like any parasitic entity, these quirks are harder to get rid of and are more sensitive to examination if they have been hosted there for a long time. People use quirks that seem to work for them, but be forewarned, the adoption of any unseemly quirks to get by have immense potential to take over your whole persona and turn you into a douche.

The One Upper

Hey!  You know that marathon you ran/promotion you got/new car you bought? It doesn’t matter. The One Upper has done it better, they did it faster, and they probably did it while they were still in utero.  We all probably know a One Upper: they always have to have the last word, they shamelessly tell stories where they are the hero, and yes, they did save to whole damn world. You’re welcome.  This quirk is dangerous because it makes anyone else who is involved in the conversation feel like a non-entity. It’s like you’re stuck in a real life version of Jay and Silent Bob except probably without a trench coat.

I don’t recommend trying to convey a serious story to a One Upper because they are so busy trying to best you that it will always leave you lacking in support. While they may say they are there for you when you’re in the thick of it, this quirk tends to cloak their ability to show real empathy that can sustain a friendship.

You:  “So my Grandma died last week and I’m having a rough time of it”

OU:  “Well last year, my Grandma was on the brink of death and medically died two times so I went through the grieving process twice. Also, the first time she died she saw Jesus and He told her to tell me ‘Sup Bra’”

Sup Bra

 

Mr/Ms Anger Management Problem

This quirk lies in wait until you are out in public with the person who is infected with it. It’s possible that you agreed to be seen in public with them because you thought that the last time they got into a screaming match it was because of a legitimate reason. You’re wrong. You’re wrong every time you assume this. Next thing you know you’re in Target and they are screaming:

“Is that baby crying? Why are his PARENTS LETTING HIM CRY?? WE’RE IN A TARGET HAVE SOME RESPECT FOR OTHER SHOPPERS! YOU! YEAH YOU, SHUT YOUR KID UP YOU’RE RUINING EVERYONES TARGETTING EXPERIENCE!!”

These people will Hulk out at any given chance, and no, they have no idea how ridiculous they sound. Nor do they realize how many social norms they’re breaking. I find this quirk the most exhausting because there is no way to predict when it will strike, and frankly I find eschewing that much anger on asinine things a giant waste of time.

So you successfully got a free plate of jalapeno poppers by screaming at your waiter, but you know what you’ve just insured for yourself: a burger that has had unspeakable things done to it by the kitchen staff. And you deserve it.

Some people find Mr./Ms. Anger Management to be funny, but I’ve never been able to see the fun in someone randomly going off on a poor bystander. I think at the end of the day Mr/Ms Anger Management is doing more damage to themselves than anyone who has been in their pathway of pain.

Like Mark Twain says:

Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which is it poured.

The Judge

You know that friend that you have to edit yourself around? That’s the Judge. It’s a strange conundrum being in the presence of the Judge because they will be the first to encourage you to open up. Then they strike you down in cobra-like speed with an opinion about your choices that is far harsher than is warranted. Don’t be fooled by their insistence that their opinions are “right.” They are stuck in some sort of weird time-warpy mindset where juvenile opinions that were dictated solely by parents’ thoughts about what is ‘right’ still exists.  If after every story you share you hear

“Oh. My. God. When are you going to grow up? You can’t just get drunk and put tiny waterskies on a squirrel”

Yes, yes you can Judge. And I don’t understand how you don’t see the awesomeness in this. Hope you enjoy your garden party you’re going to later.

The weird thing is the Judge always wants you to spill your guts, but it’s rare that they will reciprocate. Either this is because they are so boring they have no stories of their own OR they are simply gathering information about you they think they need to keep; throwing it in your face at any moment when you have fucked up a situation in life. This quirk has usually manifested to give its host a sense of control.  Don’t feel bad about yourself if you come into contact with someone like this, their opinion is less important than any squirrel who doesn’t want to be marketed for their water skiing abilities. So go on with your bad self. It’s 2012 for fuck’s sake.

Tell me your weekend stories and I’ll tell you how your whole life is wrong.

The Oversharer

I can’t just call other people out and not throw myself under the bus. *Deep breath* I am an Oversharer. (Yes, I understand the irony of declaring this on a blog that lives on the interwebs for the world to see.)

An Oversharer will delve into any subject way too prematurely with people who can be just barely acquaintances. I know I have quirk because of the shock that I see register on people’s faces when I go into detail my most recent physical after they ask me simple questions like “How is your day?”  Alcohol exacerbates this quirk; when an Oversharer is drinking his or her life is an open book. I know it can be off-putting, but after a few glasses of wine it’s like I don’t even want to get better.

The insanely annoying part about this quirk is often people don’t want to know the details I’ve presented up. In fact it would be better most times if Oversharers stuck to safer subjects instead of divulging the graphic details of their latest sex dream featuring the Muppets. Along with the annoying bit, there is also a risk that comes along with this quirk. You essentially are offering yourself up to be gossip fodder when you blab things to people who don’t have your best interest at heart. You can victimize yourself by letting the wrong people throw around intimate details of your life. It’s your fault too, so shut the hell up.

You should probably go to therapy you repressed Muppet fucker.

As everyone gets older these quirks should naturally mellow out of your system; however, everyone should take a step back and really think about our conversations objectively. Did you really listen to what your friend had said to you? Or, were you so amped about your discovery of Gangnam Style on YouTube that you glossed over their coming out story?

A quirk can develop in your high school years or younger, and it may have worked ‘back in the day’ but that does not mean it should still be in use. You should not have the same communication skills you had when you were 16. Also, if you have a good friend who has any of the above quirks it’s best to just tell them. Any of the aforementioned quirks are damaging, and your pal will eventually be kicked in the balls (metaphorical or otherwise) by life itself.

 Friends don’t let friends act like douchebags.

 

 

Gingers: The Legends, The Science

August 27, 2012 1 comment

Gingers. We all know one, maybe fear one, or in my case, are one.  The term ginger has been commonplace in the UK for a long time, but has only just picked up steam here in the US and,  I think I can pin point the exact point in time when that happened. It would be November 9, 2005. Or the original air date of South Park’s Ginger Kids episode.  For anyone who hasn’t seen this episode, this will explain everything:

It’s #6

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNJDbZD7q7g

This particular episode was hilarious to me, although it did illuminate certain stereotypes and phobias that had originated in Western Europe where the highest concentrations of red heads can be found. The more I looked into the different myths and facts about gingers the more awesomely weird things I stumbled upon so I thought I’d share only the weirdest of my findings.

The Legends

Ancient Gingers

In ancient Egypt having red hair was thought to be a sign of being a vampire, and no one wants those sparkly things around so what did they do? Many red heads were sacrificed to the gods. So it was kind of a two-fer. The Egyptians got rid of their pesky vampire problem AND they appeased the gods.  I think this is sick, although I find it interesting that gingers were ever found in a desert. Did they get lost? Surely people that pale wouldn’t choose to be there.  At this time period I assume that someone with my coloring or similar, should be in Ireland guarding a tiny pot of gold.

Medieval Gingers

Being a red head in the Middle Ages wasn’t a lot better than the ancient times in terms of stigma. Red hair was thought to be a mark of insatiable sexual desire and loose morals.  But wait, there’s more!  Gingers were still thought to be vampires, and now, if you have red hair and green eyes that was a dead giveaway for a witch. The red hair was thought to be a sign that you had made a pact with the devil himself.  Witch and Vampire stuff aside, insatiable sexual desire? I’m not sure how that one got started, I don’t particularly think my desires or other gingers’ is out of control. Unless I saw that guy who played new-kid Michael from Salute Your Shorts. He would GET IT.  One more odd fact, it was thought that the fat from a red headed man was the key for an ointment that warded off plague. So you know, gross.

Nope. Not Real.

Post-Revolutionary War Gingers

This is where it starts to get weirdly specific. It was thought that the act of a ginger breathing on your skin was enough to raise blisters. This was because of the whole witch/ vampire thing and making a pact with the devil. You know the old “selling your soul for eternal life’ bit. It was also thought that gingers  had a particular smell that was described as “Foxy.” Now I have never actually picked up a fox and sniffed it, but I would imagine that considering the twice annual bathing habits of people at that time, we all smelled a little musty. It was also said that if you had one child with red hair and then one with brown there was ‘bad blood’ in the family. I think they were just jealous; being ginger takes a lot of getting used to, to be so god-damn good looking.

The Science: We’re Mutants, kind of

The gene causing red hair was discovered in 1997, and was called gene MC1R. This is huge because the Ginger gene could now be traced, identified and showed that if you have it, parts of you are different from the Normals without it.

Science-y bit: The MC1R gene is occurs when there is a mutation on Chromosome 16 in a DNA sequence. The mutation is caused when both of the recessive alleles for red hair are present in both parents.

You didn’t skip the science part right? Bill will know!

It hurts being ginger

It’s only recently become apparent that MC1R has influence over other aspects of features besides just hair. MC1R also affects the way your brain responds to pain and pain killers. According to numerous studies, gingers have a higher pain threshold than people lacking the MC1R gene. This was proven through putting gingers and Normies through a series of electric shocks. Scientists claim the tolerance is different because of the protein strands that dictate how pain is managed that the ginger genes affect. (I could get into it but it’s super boring) The same studies show that gingers feel a broader spectrum of pain, so I don’t know if having a higher threshold is all that great. It also takes about 20% more noxious stimuli (laughing gas) to knock us out.  So essentially we are like really mediocre X-Men. OR The second lamest of the Street Fighter characters you could choose from. I say second lamest because no one ever chooses Chun-Li. Am I right?

Florence Welch is kind of a superhero

Are we going extinct?

As it stands now, red hair is the rarest type hair color. Gingers make up only about 1-2% of the world population. Several geneticists are speculating that red hair is likely to die out in the near future. However, several others are dismissing those theories as bogus. All I know is that I have a new pick-up line I’m using “Did you know that gingers are an endangered species? No? Well, want to be a hero?”  Too scary, right? It’s not all gold.

Suffice to say there are plenty of bad things that people have said about gingers in the past and current day. In fact, the term ‘Ginger’ is considered derogatory and has inspired many bouts of Anti-gingerism all over the world. One notable incident happened in November of 2008 when a 14 year old in Vancouver started an event called National Kick a Ginger Day which amassed about 5,000 members. The group was then subjected to an investigation by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police for possible hate crimes. That kid was probably a dick in the first place but I’m sure it was scary to be investigated; even if it was by the Canadian Mounted Police.

Don’t be afraid of us because we’re different. Also, don’t kick us, we bruise easily.

There is one last thing I’d like to address about gingers and that is that we are often times portrayed as lame or not tough. Perhaps some of us are, but while I was looking into who was a famous ginger I found this out. One of the most notable and charismatic military men of World War II was a ginger. They called him “Copperknob” (HAHAHA) in England and he was Winston Fucking Churchill.

“The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is”

Gingers are lame?  We are awesome, your argument is invalid.

  1.  Garreau, Joel (March 19, 2002). “Red Alert! An Often Misunderstood Minority Finds It’s Become a Mane Attraction”. Washington Post: p. C1. http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn?pagename=article&node=&contentId=A47332-2002Mar18. Retrieved 2011-02-15.
  2. National Geographic, September 2007
  3. “redhead, n. and adj.”. OED Online. Oxford University Press. June 2011. http://oed.com/view/Entry/160309. Retrieved 2011-08-07.
  4. ^ a b Valverde P, Healy E, Jackson I, Rees JL, Thody AJ (1995). “Variants of the melanocyte-stimulating hormone receptor gene are associated with red hair and fair skin in humans”. Nature Genetics 11 (3): 328–30. doi:10.1038/ng1195-328. PMID 7581459. http://www.nature.com/ng/journal/v11/n3/abs/ng1195-328.html.
  5. “Men make gods in their own image; those of the Ethiopians are black and snub-nosed, those of the Thracians have blue eyes and red hair.” Xenophanes of Colophon: Fragments, Xenophanes, J. H. Lesher, University of Toronto Press, 2001, ISBN 0-8020-8508-3, p. 90.
  6. The Life of Agricola, Ch. 11

7.             Harding, Rosalind M. et al. (April 2000). “Evidence for Variable Selective Pressures at MC1R”. American Journal of Human Genetics 66 (4): 1351–1361. doi:10.1086/302863. PMC 1288200. PMID 10733465. http://www.pubmedcentral.nih.gov/articlerender.fcgi?tool=pmcentrez&artid=1288200.

8. HGNC Symbol Report:HCL2

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