Yes, I’m aware that almost every one of my muscles has a knot. People have been saying that for nearly 3 decades, back when I was still in my 1-digits. I’ve been told I’ve got knots all over my body so many times, you’d think my knots have knots.
I may be one massive knot with a face. I’m a knotty boi.
I’ve been asked over the years if I want a massage, or if I want to go have a spa day.
No, but thank you. Having strangers or strange people touch and rub my body is not relaxing to me. The one time in my life I asked someone to give me a massage, they went full deep-tissue on me. The pain was so unbearable, I had to put a stop to it.
Speaking of painful massages, they really should anesthetize, or at least numb, those extreme cases who need such a deep therapy. I supposed that’d require a doctorate, so it’s too much effort for an industry with an education credentialing system based on certifications.
Not that I’m bashing the industry, masseurs, or massage professionals in general. I’m merely pointing out a possible improvement to the industry as a whole, and a new business opportunity for doctors who can prescribe the sedatives and numbing creams or injections. There’s an untapped market for that service, and charging insurance shouldn’t be that much of a problem either.
Anyways, I’m not stressed!
I may clench my jaw shut all the time, but it doesn’t mean I’m stressed. I’m just more cautious of how I sleep because I witnessed practical jokes being played on classmates during nap-time. And I’m not going to leave myself open for a bug to crawl or drop into my mouth while sleeping
Are you sure you’re not stressed? All that subconscious clenching can’t be good for your teeth.
If we ignore the tea-stains, my dentist claims I have the healthiest mouth he’s seen. He mentioned that my jaw muscles are so developed, I can probably bite several fingers off with little effort.
That’s probably a great ability to have in a fight or survival situation.
I’ll say it again, I’m not stressed!
I’m happy most of the time, so why would people think I’m stressed?
Aside from having an alarm scare me awake each morning… I think the only stress my body experiences is from a sudden fear I experience when getting caught checking someone out. Everyone’s gazed at a beautiful person a little too long and got caught. It’s normal and part of what makes life fun.
The only thing that grates on me emotionally is socialist media. You can post the most innocuous comment on a trending post, like: “water is always wet, even when frozen”, or point out how an image appears to be edited. And I kid you not, some special snowflake will find fault with the comment and claim you’re a horrible piece of shit for saying such a thing. Why does such an innocent comment trigger certain people to the point they try to “cancel” you?
It’s only socialist media. Trolls can get annoying, but you can always ignore or block them…
I’ll close by reiterating that I’m not stressed, so please stop asking why I’m so tense.
It’s not my fault I have good posture.
Boi: “Boi” used to be the gay spelling for “boy” back in the early 2000s.
I was there Gandalf. I was there, in the year 2000.
Insurance: I’m not a medical billing specialists, nor an insurance professional.
You know that feeling you get after shaving your nose hairs? The feeling that a single hair survived and it’s scratching the inside of your nose. That’s what I call phantom hair syndrome.
You shaved the hairs growing in your nose, wipe the inside of each nostril with a tissue or toilet paper, and are pretty sure you got everything. But with each breath, you feel a hair fluttering in the breeze like a lone flag on a battlefield. You better check it out before leaving for work.
You walk back to the bathroom and examine your nose, yet see nothing where the itching sensation is located. You grab the clippers and run it over the location just to be sure. Maybe you even hear a satisfying “clip” sound and think: There, I got it.
You’re getting into the swing of things at work, when you notice a tickling feeling as you breathe! You try to satisfy the tickle-itching sensation, but end up looking like you’re picking your nose. You can’t feel the hair, nor can you alleviate the itchiness, so you go to the nearest bathroom.
If there’s someone in the restroom, you pretend to pee before examining your nose.
You go to the mirror and poke your nose up as though you’re making a pig’s snout. You use your phone’s flashlight to shine light into that deep dark cavern as you lean closer, and closer to the mirror. You’re so close, your humid breaths are fogging the mirror. It kind of reminds you of the velociraptor peeking through the kitchen door on Jurassic Park.
Your careful spelunking adventure yields no pesky stalactite.
You can still feel the hair as you breathe, and wonder if there’s a loose clipping irritating your nose. You grab some toilet paper and thoroughly clean the inside of each nostril. But, to your surprise, the toilet paper comes out clean. There isn’t even a booger!
The feeling must be in your head… literally.
You go back to your desk and work some more. The itching sensation seems to have worn off and you forget about the hair altogether. But when you’re halfway through an extra-long email, a tickling sensation returns…
That goddamn hair is still there!
You resign yourself to living with this hair for the rest of your life and try to ignore it. Your hand keeps subconsciously rubbing your nose throughout the day. You notice people shooting concerned glances your way as though you’re sick and should have stayed home.
You try to distract yourself with more work.
You try to forget it.
Nothing works, and the sensation is driving you CrAzY!
You somehow manage to make it through the day and just got home. You rush into the bathroom with a flashlight in one hand and the clippers in the other. You’re determined to find that accursed hair.
You find a hair… inside the wrong nostril.
You clip that newly discovered hair.
You run the clippers through both nostrils several more times.
You lean closer and closer to the mirror and peer into each cavern. You’re so close to the mirror, you keep knocking your forehead against the mirror-version of yourself, and he’s starting to look pissed.
You make a pig’s snout out of your nose to get a better look into each nostril.
You make a ghoulish O-face with your mouth to help you see the bottom of the nostrils too.
You spend half an hour with this examination and are finally satisfied, without a shadow of doubt. There isn’t a single hair inside your nose.
You notice that your forehead left an oily smear on the mirror, and clean it before leaving the bathroom.
You have a great evening. You eat leftovers for dinner and sip wine while binge-watching your new favorite show. You don’t even check the mirror when using the restroom one final time before going to bed.
Now, you’re lying in bed and are relaxed in your favorite position. Your brain is just about to switch to sleep-mode, when a single hair starts tickling the inside of your nose.
The rest of your night is fucking ruined.
 This is comedic story. This story is not intended to “make fun of” or “pick on” those who suffered the tragic loss of a limb. Nor, people who have prolonged suffering because their nervous system is trying to reestablish a connection with a lost limb.
 Spielberg, S. (Director). (1993). Jurassic Park [Motion Picture].
Everyone remembers what they were doing when the news broke that a jet airplane crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I’ll briefly mention my 9/11 moment, but I want to focus on what I remember after the attack. I want to describe what I saw and experienced as Americans coped immediately after the attack, to as late as a year later. Please notice that I intentionally used terms used from the time period regardless of how “woke” our society has become nowadays (reader discretion is advised).
I was waiting for my 10th grade home room class to start when me and my classmates heard whispers that another classroom was watching some devastating news on TV. Someone begged our teacher to turn on the TV and everyone’s eyes became glued to the news coverage of the accidental collision of a plane hitting a building in New York City.
Someone asked how something like this hadn’t happen sooner. And then, a few minutes later, a second plane hit the other tower, and we knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence. This was an attack.
Some of us said we’re going to war for this. We started whispering between ourselves which nation would do something like this to us, and why. Our homeroom teacher told us that a nation wouldn’t do something like this. This had to be the work of terrorists.
This is how my class was introduced to the concept of terrorism.
After the second tower collapsed, the school Principal was heard on the intercom officially announcing that all classes were cancelled for the day because of the attack. I think she also gave students permission to call our parents to be released from school early. Nobody, especially our teachers, had any intention of doing anything else except watch the news, so we already knew classes weren’t going to take place. If we weren’t watching TV, we were logged in the school computers trying to get the latest information from as many sources as we can. Around lunchtime, one of us found an article or a brief video showing Arabs dancing and cheering the attacks.
This angered most of us in the classroom and we started talking about how terrible and evil these Arabs and Muslims are for cheering such an atrocity. Me and the other “smart” kids commonly known as the “brainiac” misfits had a different perspective because we actually paid attention to our history and geography classes. I especially enjoyed the subjects when they focused on the people and cultures of the world. We didn’t jump onto the “every Muslim is evil” bandwagon, and reminded our fellow classmates that terror has been a valid tool of warfare for millennia, especially by those who lack the means to attack in a conventional manner. Someone (not me) also said that we should have expected something like this to happen since the USA has been meddling in the affairs of other countries, sticking our nose where it doesn’t belong, and bullying the rest of the world for so long.
One of the usual blabbermouth-type girls denounced and called us traitors. She declared that anyone who supported an attack like this was a terrorist sympathizer. She was quickly silenced by the teachers, who applauded us “brainiacs” for trying to see things from a different perspective and for reminding people that not every Muslim is a terrorist.
There weren’t any Muslims in our school, and there may have been 2 or 3 devout Christians. I think most of us were either Atheist or Agnostic, or didn’t care. I can’t imagine how students of Islamic faith were feeling when the attacks happened. I don’t want to think about how many may have been bullied as retaliation or how scared they must have felt back when most ignorant people thought of them as terrorists in the following months and well past a year after the attack.
The next day of school wasn’t very productive either since only half the students showed up. Our day was spent asking the teachers questions, and answering their questions about how the attacks made us feel. The teachers asked everyone for our thoughts and nobody was allowed to pass their turn to talk. The blabbermouth from the prior day said she was sad about the attacks and angry that people were cheering in the streets. She was working herself into a fit, and the teacher cut her off by thanking her for sharing and called on the next person to speak. I think the next person said that yesterday was history, like our version of Pearl Harbor. When it was my turn to share, I said the attack happened over fifteen-hundred miles away, and I really can’t have a personal opinion, but I’m shocked and saddened that so many people were killed. People whose only crime was to show up for work. A couple students copied my response.
I think I saw my first meme later that day. One of the girls from the anime social-clique made a simple drawing of 2 towers with angel wings. She used a scanner to save and posted it to her LiveJournal page. Not very many people had a social media account and Myspace didn’t exist yet (nor did Facebook), so someone printed the image and it started circulating around the classroom and school. Student freedom of speech didn’t have the same protections it does today, so it was just a matter of time before the teacher confiscated the picture and chastised her for being insensitive. In her defense, she explained that the twin towers were dead and everyone in them was probably in heaven, and the issue was dropped.
Later that week, I saw a political cartoon of a grandfather and his grandson standing in front of a future 9/11 memorial. I think the grandfather described how horrible the attacks were and how swift our justice was. I do remember the child asking, “… what’s a Muslim”. The cartoon depicted a clear message that the United States will lead a crusade in retaliation of the 9/11 attacks wiping Muslims off the face of the earth.
This wasn’t considered bad or inappropriate back then because the nation was experiencing a mixture of emotions ranging from shock, fear, grief, and anger. The images and video shown on the news compounded and dictated those feelings for months. Please recall that social media didn’t exist. There was no medium everyone could use to share and provide their personal perspective and opinions of how they felt about Muslims and Islam as a whole. The easiest way to share an idea with someone was to blast out an email to everyone on your contact list, and you can imagine how effective that was.
Images and video of terrorist training camps in Afghanistan started to be shown on the news, and war with that country seemed inevitable.
In the weeks after the attack, in between watching emailed links of funny flash-animated videos like “Y2Khai” or “Peanut Butter Jelly Time“, I saw a flash video of how the United States is going to attack the Taliban by unleashing our telemarketers. I remember laughing with the rest of the family as we watched the stereotypically-looking Muslim pick up the phone saying “Taliban” in a foreign accent. Only to repeat this over and over again, and getting more frustrated with each call.
Then everyone started seeing terrorism everywhere.
Some of my classmates were tired of New York getting treated like it was the capital of the country, if not the world. People in my class chuckled at how ridiculous New Yorkers were after the news reported panic ensued when a flatbed truck hit a pothole.
And then everyone started worrying about anthrax. People didn’t know if they’d be next to get an anthrax letter. There was legitimate concern for the safety of politicians, but it got ridiculous when common nobodies were on the local news saying they were concerned they’d be targeted next. It was like the Unabomber all over again and the anthrax scare dominated the news for nearly a month.
Sometime after the US invaded Afghanistan, a couple links to games were circulated around school. One was a shooter-game which the player gunned down a character with Osama bin Laden’s face, as he appeared from behind furniture and walls to lob insults at the player with phrases like: “I piss on your grave” or “Death to America!”, and other phrases.
Another game was being circulated around this time as well. This game tried to convey the message that no matter how many terrorists the US killed, the martyrdom of those dead terrorist only creates twice as many terrorists to take their place. It was a no-win game and the only way to measure “winning” was by counting how many terrorists the player killed before getting killed by the infinite wave of terrorists.
Around this time, I noticed that a couple of my PC games had characters and missions which could be construed as terroristic. My favorite game at the time was Command & Conquer: Red Alert 2. If playing as the Soviets, the player is faced with missions to destroy the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and conquer the United States and the rest of the world.
Sid Meier’s Alpha Centauri was another game I played around that time. The game had a faction leader whose face and beard looked uncannily like Osama bin Laden. Every time I played that game, I chuckled at the irony of using an image resembling a terrorist leader for the leader of the UN faction. I knew it couldn’t be possible because the game was a couple years old at the time, and hardly anyone in America knew of Osama bin Laden before 9/11. I think the game’s info on the faction leader clearly identified him as Indian, and had a lot of images of Indian culture in the faction’s description. This is indicative of how ignorant most Americans were at the time (and still can be to this day). Most of us mentally grouped similar-looking people from completely different cultures and religions alongside radical Islamists.
On that awkward note, let’s fast forward to the 1st year anniversary of the attacks.
I don’t remember much about the anniversary itself. The World Trade Center had officially been cleaned up earlier that year, and the country had not yet confirmed the identities of half the victims. I remember it being a solemn day. Classes were put on hold while we watched the news coverage of the anniversary and observed a moment of silence.
The day after the 1st anniversary, George W. Bush addressed the United Nations and began laying the groundwork for his invasion of Iraq. Soon after that, the creation of the Department of Homeland Security followed.
We were a nation driven by fear, and that fear was constantly fed by the “terror alert level” which regularly manifested itself as a chart shown on the news. The chart was most prominent every time the threat level increased, but merely mentioned when the level decreased. At the time, it made sense that we needed to give the government more power to monitor the nation for threats. After all, the news regularly reported on terrorists who were caught and how their plots were foiled.
The terror threat lost its sensation over the years, and some people started seeing connections between our nation and the famous dystopia from George Orwell’s, Nineteen Eighty-Four. One of my college professors told us to compare the book with: the manufactured plots which rooted out terrorists, “Big Brother” with the expanded surveillance, and the War on Terror which closely resembled a “war without end”. When election season came, some people even wondered if George W. Bush was going to use the war as an excuse to remain in power indefinitely.
Every middle-aged adult (and older) has a memory of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I hope you appreciate my perspective on how the country reacted to the terror attacks, and how we went on with our lives. Even though it’s been 20 years, my heart still raced when I fact-check my memory by referencing the Wikipedia page on the attack.
Two Final Notes
First, I focused on the attack on the Twin Towers in this article because that’s what I remember most about the coordinated attacks on 9/11. I think it’s most prominent in my memory because the media’s attention was primarily focused on New York, and only briefly reported on the other attacks.
Secondly, our country was in Afghanistan for about two-thirds of my life, and I’m sure everyone must have an opinion on what currently seems like a disappointing withdrawal from that country. It’s too early to understand the full ramifications of the Taliban’s return to power, so I’ll reserve mine for now. I hope for the best, but am prepared to see news of barbarism.
 Possible people who may not remember 09/11/2001 are: infants, toddlers, and people with medical issues related to memory.
 Introduction to terrorism – They teach history and describe the various wars and what strategy won battles in school, but nothing about terrorism and the previous acts of terrorism we’ve seen in history. I think the closest school got was the very brief mention of the Oklahoma City Bombing.
 These celebrating “Arabs” were later identified as Palestinians. And even later, it was reported the video was taken before the attacks happened.
 Blabbermouth-type girl – I think that girl may have been the first “Karen” I’ve ever encountered. Interestingly, she forgot about how treacherous we were when she came to us for help with her Geometry homework later that year. We remembered and refused to help her. Unfortunately, two of my teachers ganged up on me and I ended up helping her pass the class anyways.
 Lack of diversity – Now that I think of it, there were only 2 black students in the school, and they were brother and sister (from the same family).
 I searched and cannot find this cartoon anywhere on the internet. It’s possible political correctness may have forced the newspaper or journal to censor and buried it. I’ve always lived in the Houston area, so the list of possible publications is limited…
 According to Google, The Buckwheat Boyz are credited as the creators or inspiration for “Peanut Butter Jelly Time”.
 I’m glad social media wasn’t around back then. The snowflakes would have created such an overly inflated uproar against the game, it would have ruined a great franchise. The RTS sub-genre of strategy games wouldn’t be the same as it is today.
 It’s sad that we don’t give the anniversary the attention it deserves.
 Most of the captured terrorist plots were manufactured to entrap potential terrorists by the FBI, and later the NSA. This fact was usually swept under the rug or hidden in the news report.
Before I start this story, I should remind my readers that I love gaming. I’m pretty sure this story isn’t going to do the world’s perspective of us any favors, but this is a unique experience I had 2 decades ago while being sleep deprived and playing videogames.
I remember playing Medal of Honor on the PS1 during the summer between 9th and 10th grades. Daddy found a new girlfriend around that time and was spending most of the days living with her. He’d only come back to check on me and see if we needed groceries, and to spend the weekends with me and my sister when it was her weekend to live with us.
I could have a boyfriend come over and umm… “play”.
I could eat what I want.
I could go to bed when I wanted.
I could listen to music and watch TV however loudly I desired.
I had a blast!
Someone gave me a Medal of Honor game around my birthday, so when my dad left to go visit his new girlfriend, I started playing it… nonstop. I went from level to level, and only took breaks to: pee, drink tea, shower & brush my teeth, watch the local & world news, play with my boyfriend, and check to make sure all the doors & windows were locked (I didn’t eat much).
I did this for 3 to 4 days.
Yes, I’m sure there are players out there who can speedrun the remake in a couple hours or so, but this was the dawn of the millennium, and most games were time consuming and challenging back then. Access to cheat codes was virtually nonexistent as well since the smartest device in the house was the family’s Windows 98 PC, and getting that thing connected to the internet was a pain.
I played this game day and night. I’d get back from my boyfriend’s house in the evening and switch the TV over to my PlayStation and play. I glanced out a window once or twice and notice that it was dark as night outside, and after a couple missions, it was bright as day. I’d do my morning hygienic ritual and went back to my game.
With each mission I completed, I had a sense that I was getting closer to beating the game. I didn’t want to stop until I made it to the end. I was on the mission where I was tasked to sabotage the Nazi’s heavy water plant when I was forced to stop for sleep.
I was progressing through the level when a German soldier appeared behind me, in my house, and yelled, “Halt it Americana!”
I heard that German (or burglar) yell at me from behind, so in one swift motion I:
Rolled out of the couch while taking care to push the pause button.
Peeked over the edge of the couch while pointing my wireless remote as though it was a handgun.
Quickly get up and ran around to the other side of the couch to check if the intruder was hiding behind it.
There were a lot of hooligans in my neighborhood, and I lived there with the looming possibility they may break in at some point. I checked and double-checked the locks on the doors and windows throughout the house, the garage, and I even checked the attic. I only decided it was time to sleep when I appeased my paranoia enough to be certain, beyond a shadow of doubt, I was the only living creature taller than 2 inches in the house.
I ended up sleeping for about a day and a half, only waking once or twice to pee and drink. I don’t remember what my dreams were specifically about while I slept, but I recall they were in PS1 graphics. Everything was cubic and angular and the people in the dreams were cartoonish.
I woke from my hibernation and did my “morning” ritual, even though I got out of bed in the afternoon. I was eager to complete my mission, and hopefully the game, so I powered up my TV and was thankful the game was still paused. I finished that mission and beat the game that day.
I still enjoy playing video games for hours on end, but I play in moderation and make certain gaming doesn’t interfere with any scheduled social commitments and household tasks. There’s a lot of things helping to maintain that healthy balance, such as: working 9 to 5, going to the gym, reading, writing, and the occasional social visit with friends.
Sleep also helps to keep me from gaming all night. I used to be able to stay awake all night and function the next day at work, but that changed once I hit 30. My body now requires at least 4 to 5-hours of sleep or I’ll suffer the next day. I still slip up and play until 2 or 3 AM in the morning… sometimes.