How deep can a cotton swab go?

So, last week I said I was feeling better and my brain capacity was back and blah blah blah... WELL! I've had a relapse. I blame Cook County Board President Todd Stroger. What an asshole! There. I said it.

I finally had enough and went to see my doctor. Obviously I would need the extra help from special little pills because my beloved Nyquil was not doing the trick (but it has been putting my lights out at night). I left work early (the bats practically shoved my ass out the door) so that Andy could drive me into THE CITY.

Let me tell you something, never EVER tell your doctor that you know FOR A FACT that you don't have XYZ disease because she will look at you sideways and pull out the biggest fucking cotton swab ever made and stick it in your nose! Twice!

 

It went in so deep she was juggling my eyeballs! Then she left the room and came back with a little strip and we watched it for a few minutes until she was satisfied that I was not with swine flu. Yay! The only other time I was that happy was when I peed on a stick and it came out negative.

So she gave me some antibiotics and then asked "Did your husband come with you?" puzzled, I answered that yes he had because I can't drive at night so she then yelled out to Magda something in Polish and next thing you know, Andy and I were ambushed and shot in the arm. It hurt, I won't lie to you but at least now we are sitting in an invisible bubble where the dreaded swine flu will ping ping PING! right off!

Andy was freaking out because he thought he would suffer some unknown side effects, like break-dancing, but he seems to be okay. He was very brave.

P.S.

For those of you doubting the H1N1's powers, we had a beloved member in our family who was infected and it is very scary and real. I personally feel better knowing my Andy and I have been inoculated along with Natalia and my sister. Next up my mom and little Isabella.

 

Self Portraits by Isabella

  

Once upon a time there was a family of ugly globs living in my lungs...

 

It all started on Friday THE THIRTEENTH ooh spoooooky!

I came down with some bug. Last year I was rarely sick but it seems this year will be the year of the Funkyflus for me.

As you may or may not know, you simply cannot be sick while working at the Asylum. People immediately start shielding themselves from you and spraying every area you touch with bleachlike substances. While your hand is still touching the object! I don't know why they treat people like pariahs when they're ill. With the exception of OZ, it's not like we go out licking unsanitary hookers on purpose!

So, I decided to keep my illness (which I believe was passed on to me by that evil OZ!) on the down-low. Unfortunately for me, at the earliest sign of any illness, my voice is the first to go. Added to that, I have this creepy cough that I haven't been able to get rid of for over a month. That cough has irritated my throat and, I'm assuming because I am not a licensed professional, my vocal chords. So instead of my sweet HIGH PITCHED voice OF A NINE YEAR OLD, I sound like a 1920s hustler whose had too many cigarettes, booze and good times. The voice is a little less Mae West and a lot more Elmer Fudd-y. I will call this my alter ego and name her Lullibell. What the hell was I talking about? Oh right! I'm sick.

I went to work and as soon as I said something, everyone pounced on me.

"Are you sick?"
"Sounds like something's cookin'!"
"Your hair looks great!"

I told them I felt fine but I felt a little congested. Immediately Glynda told me to go home. Since I no longer have any more time off left in the season, I told her that I would go home if they paid me for the day. She stared at me blankly and said "No, but I don't want you to give it to us" and that's when I said "This is harassment!" no I actually told her that if she did not get it from kissing OZ's ass, then she wouldn't get it from me.

I struggled the whole day to appear healthy but once I got home that evening, my bravado evaporated. I sat on the sofa coughing and whimpering, waiting for Tom Cruise to come heal me. Bastard never showed.

I managed to run some errands on Saturday but on Sunday all I did was wallow in self pity, vowing to make the world a bitter place if I came out of this alive.

On Monday, I called in sick because I had trouble sleeping and I knew I would look like a zombie on meth and therefore be judged by the bats because even though looking like zombies on meth is their permanent look, it's unacceptable for me to come down with any illness. I decided to stay home and rest. I slept until 2pm. TWO PM! It was almost dinner time! I felt better, still a little cough-y but the headache and lightheadedness were gone.

Join me in the present day, Tuesday, where I'm driving to work and practicing my 'good mornings' because I don't want my voice to sound all scratchy when I greet Glynda.

First, I sounded like Lurch  "Good morning!" nope try again "GOOD MORNING!" that sounded like Jack McFarland on helium. Bring it down a few notches "Good morning!" now I'm Oscar the freaking Grouch! Good, I'm getting closer! I would be able to fool people into thinking I was 100% better and they wouldn't irritate me with their obnoxious insinuations of me infecting the whole office thereby taking years off their lives. I high fived myself in the rear view mirror and that's when I realized . . .

My life? Pathetic.

The flush heard around the world.

You know how some people suffer from shy bladders? Not me! I'm never self conscious when I use a public bathroom. I go in there, do my bizness and then exit stage left as quick as I can. However, on Monday day of the lord October 5th, I had a couple of weird bathroom encounters (not like George Michael's bathroom encounters, okay?) that shook my confidence to its core. I know it's hard to imagine me trembling in a corner while pulling out my eyebrows but there you have it.

Usually, when I use the public ladies-room, it's empty and I don't have to compete with anyone for the primo first stall. On Monday, I walked in and went to push the door so I could go in but there was something odd about the door. I couldn't quite figure out what because my brain stopped functioning at this strange change to my routine.

I stood in front of the door, what must have only been about 3 seconds, but I'm sure to the person inside the stall, with their pants down, it probably seemed an eternity.

When the old wheezing hamster that resides in my brain finally sent the message that it was locked because somebody was inside, I took that extra step and opened the handicapped stall.

I couldn't help but wonder what my neighbor was thinking. Would she walk out and report me to Norm? As I sat with my feet dangling, the handicapped toilet is way higher than the regular one which doesn't make any sense because people who typically use the handicapped stall ARE HANDICAPPED, wouldn't they have a harder time than I, with my semi functioning limbs, to get on that toilet, I wondered why my brain reacted so slowly. Sure, it was Monday and Mondays are famous for their torturing of innocents but I still should have been able to walk into the bathroom and registered the new door development without so much as pause. Meh. I shrugged and decided to not ponder too much so early in the morning. (I know it seems like I must have been in there a long time but I "think" REALLY fast)

Later in the day, I went back into the bathroom and sighed with relief because the first stall was empty. I couldn't have been in there for more than 30 seconds when the main door to the bathroom opened. I peeked through the crack (uhhh the crack on the stall's wall) and my gaze collided with an eyeball!

Damn pervert! But then I decided to let bygones because it may have been an accidental peek (maybe she too couldn't believe someone was in the first stall).

I heard the other stall door open and then I heard a groan. I thought 'what a weirdo!' and then finished up by bidness. When I opened my stall door, there was the eyeball attached to a whole person. Standing right outside my stall! I could have kissed her she was that close!

Guess what I did. I froze again.

It was like the earlier incident all over again! It took me a few seconds to realize she was waiting for me to come out of my stall so she may use it. When I finally went to move, she did too so we did that awkward mambo step (you know the one, right? where you step to the right and the other person steps to the left but you stepped to their left and they stepped to your right thereby canceling out each others step? my head hurts) until I broke free of the rhythm (not unusual since I seemed to have lost my rhythm back in the 90s) (okay 80s)(okay birth) and sidestepped her so that I may wash my hands.

There is nothing more awkward than the "I'm trying to get by" mambo unless it's the "I'm in the bathroom trying to get by" mambo. It's even weirder because neither she nor I wanted to make eye contact so we would look up quickly, mutter something (mine came out like 'sooprry')(sorry-oops) then try again.

Anyway, once I was washing my hands, I questioned how I had left the toilet 'did I make sure all the TP went into the bowl?' (Because let's remember that I always line the seat. I've been doing it since I was 6 and my parents took us to see Bambi at the drive-in and my mom showed me how to line the seat so that I wouldn't get any awful diseases. Like stupidity.) I again shrugged and thought it was no longer my problem.

The rest of the day, I tried holding it (and by 'it', I don't mean 'IT') but when I felt my eyeballs floating, I took my chances and prayed for the best.

I grab the bathroom key from the wall and open the office door.
I peek my head out, look from side to side. CLEAR!
I walk quickly to the bathroom. Insert bathroom key, twist, shove door, hurt arm because, in my frenzy, I didn't twist the key all the way, try again, the door opens.
I scan the place quickly. Empty.
I push the door to the first stall, lock it, [censored], sit down.

I wasn't in there more than 10 seconds when some wild gorilla starts rattling the bathroom door handle! I have to say I'm glad I was already on the pot when it happened because I may have peed myself from shock!
I hurry up, exit the stall, wash my hands and open the door. There is nobody out there! Am I nuts? Don't answer that.

I walk back to the office and no sooner do I open the door when this big, loud lady starts yelling at me!

Big loud lady:
Didn't you hear me knocking at the door???

Bee [while handing over the key]:
Didn't you hear me peeing? Did you want me to stop midstream, hobble out and unlock the door?

BLL:
::gasp::

2 other women in the waiting room chuckle.

And I'm baaack!

'Dream Catcher'? Not so much! More like 'Dream Stealer'!

Scene:
Dark bedroom, approximately midnight, man, woman and dogs snoring. When suddenly! Man is jolted awake by ""noise"" coming ""inside"" the house!

Andy [shakes Bee awake]: Bee! Did you hear that?

Bee [is jolted from a deep sleep]: Whaa?? Who? Cheese?

Andy: Did you hear that? There was a loud bang!

Bee [punches pillow]: No. And if the dogs aren't barking then you were probably dreaming.

Andy: I'm gonna go check it out. You stay here.

Bee: ::sigh:: [gets up]

Andy: Where are you going?

Bee: You know that, of the two of us, I'm the one who can really kick ass.

Andy: I'm tempted to let you go out there and get your butt kicked just to bring you down a notch.

Bee: Hey, if you want to unleash me solo, I won't disappoint. [gets in karate kid bird position, almost topples]  The intruders will get a roundhouse kick to their—

Andy: Ankles? Shush and go back to bed.

Bee: Hell no. [notices Mocha] Mocha! Go back to bed! It's like Scooby and the gang meet the mummy over here.

Andy carefully peeks around the corner, leans his head out of the hallway and slowly makes his way towards the kitchen. I cough. Loudly.

Andy: BEE! What the hell! You want to give away our position?

Bee: "give away our position"? This isn't 'Nam. Besides, why aren't you yelling at Mocha?? Her tags have been jingling the whole time!

Andy: You know what? I'm kicking you both off of my island.

Bee: Oh my goodness! Listen!

Andy: What? WHAT??

Bee: Silence. It's just me and the chickens. [points at him and the cowering Mocha]

Andy: Okay. So maybe I was dreaming.

Bee: Ya'think?

Andy:  It felt real. . . [goes back to bed]

Bee: Does this feel real. [smacks Andy on the butt-ocks]

Andy: Ouch! Now I'll never be able to go back to slee— ::SNORE::

2 hours later, Andy is snoring, Mocha is wheezing, Tazz (who never woke up for the midnight adventure) is snorting. Bee? Bee is still wide awake, tossing and turning. PUNCHING HER PILLOW!

 

Stay tuned for the illustrated version on Sunday.

The *experience* of Nyquil

Nyquil? My Nyquil!

My droopy eyes shine brightly as I struggle with your childproof latch.

I curse the sadistic bastards who designed your container. They mock me!

I push down and turn the lid, nothing!

I blink until my watery gaze focuses on some random diagram...

I immediately notice their trickery!

After years of practice they have changed the rules!

Like all perverted heathens, their new dictum is "pinch and twist"!

Many attempts, and tears,  later, I successfully snap the top off and victoriously hold it up in the air, "In your faces, evil bottle manufacturers!"

My hand shakes, I pour 6 ounces of your emerald liquid into my tumbler.

Overdose? Maybe.

I breathe deeply of your intoxicating aroma, my sinuses clear.

The taste of your bitterness numbs my tongue, I gently swallow.

You coat my throat as you inch your way through my esophagus.

Warming my heart on your journey to my large intestine.

I feel a deep burning sensation as you mix with my stomach acid.

You slowly spread throughout my veins until coherent thought is abandoned...

MUSHROOMS!!

The drowsiness overcomes me instantly.

The need for sleep and a last trip to the bathroom battle inside me.

The fear of wetting the bed is too powerful.

I lumber through the hall, crashing into imaginary vases.

Your influence over me terrifying but... in a non threatening way.

A way that says you will cradle me with the same love a wino protects his last few ounces of Chablis.

As I make my way back to the safety of my bed, my ears start tingling.

Allergic reaction? Probably.

In the far distance, I hear the chimes of antique bells lulling me to sleep.

Hallucinating? Definitely.

My lids, heavy. My whispers, slurred. My drool, flowing freely.

Do you hear that?

Those are the labored snores of one who is blissfully medicated and dreaming of swimming in an emerald river.

Also available in cherry flavor.

Aliens, Julia Childs, Nemo*! Movies that are polar opposites!

**This post is brought to you from under my blankies while I'm valiantly fighting off what I'm hoping isn't the flu but it feels very flu-y to me which sucks and my beloved Nyquil seems to be too far for me to reach which only leaves me the option to call out for Andy but that just takes too much energy so instead I'm gonna try and devise a rope toss fashioned out of toilet paper and hope it's strong enough to pull it to my my side. Or maybe I'll just sleep. Anyway, I decided to raid my draft folder for post that didn't quite make the cut so if they suck you know why. Like always, I absolve myself of any actual blame for being mediocre. God! I feel like an alien is trying to claw his way out of my throat! If I survive, and I'm not amongst the 30-90,000 predicted victims of the swine flu (relax, I don't really think I have the swine flu just a plain old regular phlem producing flu but the flu is the flu no matter what fancy name you give it. kinda like a rose I guess), I'll see you guys next week.**

Last Monday, Labor Day, Andy and I went to a double feature. Let's step back for a second so we may discuss the meaning of a *double feature*. In the olden days, days of poodle skirts, sock hops, the ability to disguise hickies via a kicky polka dot scarf and girls who would go away to visit aunts in other states for about 8-9 months and come back all weepy and smoking cigarettes, a double feature was something you paid oh I don't know, a nickel, to see two movies.

It was usually at the drive-in (and you would really only see one because you were typically too involved doing other things, like knitting) and you had those metal box thingies you'd attach to your window (the last time I went to a drive-in, Before-Andy, we had to tune our radio to a certain station and what fun is that? I used to love forgetting to remove the metal speaker thing and then remember when I couldn't put my window up while driving on the highway!) (by the way, I know I went to see Wolf with Jack Nicholson but I can't remember what the second movie was. . .).

In the year 2009, we did not pay a nickel to see 2 movies and instead paid $14 to see one movie (matinee), went home and then came back to pay $18 for the second movie.

The first movie we saw was District 9, totally Andy's pick. I liked it well enough but I wouldn't recommend it to everybody. For example, I'd tell my brothers Rick and Sergio to go see it but I'd discourage my brother Dan and sister Nancy from seeing it. Because of their delicate sensibilities.

The movie left me with more questions than I care to live with after seeing a movie but I don't want to voice those questions for 2 reasons. One, you wouldn't know what I'm talking about and two, I don't feel like ruining it for other people. Maybe tomorrow.

We left the theater and went home to feed the dogs, feed fish, and load clothes in the washer (BECAUSE I NOW HAVE THAT OPTION).

We went back to the movie theater to see Julie and Julia. I learned a few things about myself that day.

The first was that I can simultaneously make fun of old men who sit in yellow corvette convertibles while parked in a handicapped section and jamming to Barry White's "can't get enough of your love baby" all the while I'm dry heaving.

The second is that I hate watching people eat in movies. In real life too but I don't really have an option if I'm to socialize with others but in movies I want to throw things at the screen. But not my nachos. People in movies love to chew and talk. Chew, talk, then pick up their drinks and attempt to do all 3 things at once. Why? Do directors think that the entire population was raised by Brad Pitt's character in Kalifornia (he picked his feet on the kitchen table while eating, if I remember correctly).

The third is that I hate watching people kiss. In real life too but I usually just spray them with toilet water but in the movies I get all sorts of the ickies. Especially when those kissing are people in their senior years (because now they're also kissing to "can't get enough of your love baby" in my head). Sorry, I don't mean to sound like an age-ist but that's how I feel and the last I heard I had the right to feel icked out at whatever I wanted.

Also, if anybody has seen that movie, do you remember the part where that Julie chick is saying "Bon Appetite" over and over then her husband says it like 3 times and then starts mauling her and the last time he says it he practically throws his junk in her face? How boorish right? He was all "Bon Appetite, here's my crotch!" I whispered that to Andy and he sprayed the old ladies in front of us with soda.

True Story.

*If you're wondering where Nemo comes into the whole story because he was in the title, he doesn't. I think Nemo's dead. Tell your children.

**I just read this and now I know why I didn't hit publish but you know what? I'm sweating right now and cold at the same time so I'm going to hit publish anyway. Tazz keeps crying. Can dogs predict the future? Is he trying to tell me something?**

So… my hallucinations.

Wednesday night I took the Mirapex for the first time. The instructions were to take one pill 45 minutes to an hour before bed. I took it at 10pm figuring that by the time I went to bed, the devil within would be tamed or at least high.

I started getting groggy at about 10:30 and could barely form a coherent thought much less say anything that didn’t come out all slurred. My head hit the pillow and BAM! I was in the arms of some random hot actor, I’m not really picky nowadays, within seconds.

Fast forward about 4 hours and I wake up to the smell of skunk. Not unusual in our area and since our windows are open, the smell is totally believable. Until Andy wakes up and I say “effin skunk!” and he’s all “what?”

Bee:
There must be a skunk outside cuz it reeks!

Andy:
Are you dreaming? It doesn’t smell like skunk!

Bee:

Yes it does.

Andy:

No, babe, it doesn't.

Bee:
Holy Moses!! Am I hallucinating?

I’m serious you guys! I had to get up and walk around until I no longer could smell the ""skunk"". I went back to bed but then I started freaking myself out by wondering if I was hallucinating so I couldn't go back to sleep right away. When I finally did fall asleep, I dreamt I was hallucinating having imaginary arguments with Milton and my brother Dan and in my dream I was telling myself they were not really in front of me! Scary shit right there. I can’t have anything else messing with my mind since I’m already halfway to batville without hallucinogens.

Before you go out and get your own personal stash of Mirapex, I have to warn you that the hangover is a bitch. I woke up with dry mouth and a headache. I also went all of Thursday typing with my eyes closed because I was so drowsy and only opening them to proofread at the end.

When I got home from work Thursday, I swear everything I said to Andy went like this:

"Mofracka dinnnnt e" translation= "Mocha didn't eat"

"Pfsuhgakjkss jknsh akhuhngtyskk lskhuhshgshsh" translation= "Ouch"

I only took it that once and I'm gonna take one again tonight so it'll be interesting to see what the side effects will be this time, if any. We're going to my brother's house for a BBQ on Saturday so my brain needs to be on its A-game. Siblings sense weakness and attack.

Happy Fourth

of July!!!

How big are mothballs? Get it? Moth BALLS?? I crack myself up!

We finally found the SOURCE of the moths. It seems my front coat storage closet has been their home for quite a while. I think I saw a hot tub in there.

The discovery was like something out of a Hitchcock horror flick. I went to put away a couple of my purses and when I opened the door, there were about 10 moths still as can be, probably waiting to attack me at just the right moment. Lucky for me, my reflexes are finely tuned when it comes to bugs so I valiantly screamed and closed the door in one quick move.

I looked up ways to kill moths (besides swatting them I mean, or drowning them, or burning them)(PETA STAY AWAY I don't really burn moths) and I couldn't find anything even remotely helpful. We decided to try mothballs but after we brought them home, we read the instructions and I am now fearing for my life because the stupid warnings say not to let that crap touch your skin and here I rolled them in my hands and played dice with them!

I put a few in the closet and closed the door but I can smell them where I'm sitting and I'm about 14 feet away. Right now I'm trying to decide which is worse. Constantly battling moths or the smell of poisoned old lady house.

My eyes are burning. Maybe I have some moth genes in me. Maybe I have moth balls. Get it? It's a good thing you cant see me right now because you'd be wondering what the hell I'm on.

Also, I remember when I was a little kid I did some experiment with moth balls and uh something else for a school science project. I can't remember what it was about and I'm too stoned to google it but if those suckers are that poisonous, why didn't anybody warn me? Can I sue my teacher? Only I don't remember what grade I was in or what state I was living in and maybe what planet I was on. Seriously, should I get rid of those things? Cameron Diaz is playing a mom on her next movie. It's about time they gave her an age appropriate role. She still looks great but I don't need to keep seeing her underroo covered hiney dancing around. The word hiney makes me laugh. Oh lord! Emiio Esteves is like 400 pounds! I think that's Emilio Estevez. I'm watching Burn Unit. No, that can't be him!

Little side convo:

Bee:

Andy! I spelled Hitchcock wrong! And then I realized--

Andy:

How did you spell it?

Bee:

H-i-t-c-o-c-k-- but that's when I realized--

Andy:

That's not how it's spelled!

Bee:

I know! I'm trying to say that's when I realized his name is HITCH-COCK!

Andy:

Yeaaaaaaah? What are you saying? He should have changed his name?

Bee:

Yeah to uhm Tetherpenis or maybe Strappenis hahahahahahaha

Andy:

... That's not funny.

Bee:

It's not? Oh. Never mind then.

Whatever, I thought it was funny.

If somebody knows if that was Emilio Estevez on Burn Unit or just some dude that looks just like him, let me know. I'm tired of thinking. Stay tuned tomorrow.I'm sharing our experience at a late night viewing of The Hangover.

Being a Mexican American PPVO (Post Pig Virus Outbreak).

I tell ya’ guys, I’m afraid to get sick. Not because I think my lungs will fill up with mucus and I’ll die face down in my sleep. No, that doesn't keep me up at night but if I walk in with a hoarse voice (HOARSE not WHORE'S) the ladies are on my case about going to the doctor to get myself checked.

I have to tell them that they are the only people I’ve come in contact with and it’s not like there’s a gene we, the Aztec people, carry in our DNA! It’s a fucking flu.

I don’t know if they seriously think that if I get a run of the mill cold, it will mutate into the dreaded porky germs or what but they are working the reserve of nerves I keep for emergency situations. Like, for example, the time Andy came home late for lunch when he knew we were hosting his parents and we’d only been living together a couple of months and instead he went for lunch and drinks with his buddy (we will call him Peter) Peter after their field trip to some museum of electricity during his apprentice years, and then lied to me about where he had been and I didn’t find out until our first year anniversary when he accidentally goofed by knowing his way around a restaurant we’ve supposedly never been to (damn you cheesecake factory!) and I was so mad I nearly speared him with the little sword from my Piña Colada. I know you think it wouldn’t have been too painful for him because those things are tiny and plastic but believe me, the surgeons would have needed sedatives for themselves to assist in the removal of said sword from his left testicle. --- Okay, I guess I’m still mad about it. But now you know why I need that extra reserve of nerves. My Andy uses them up like they were Kleenexes.

Speaking of stuff to wipe yourselves with. We went to Costco, post blueberry muffin catastrophe SO WE DID NOT BUY MORE MUFFINS, and you know how they have stations of samples they give out? I am against sampling stuff because I don’t know what’s flying around Costco. Maybe somebody’s kid has the dreaded Feline Flu that will kill us all I don’t know but anyway there was a lady giving samples of, get this, TOILET PAPER!

Andy and I walked by, did a double take and I said “I’m gonna go over there and take a sample then tell her I’ll come back to let her know how it was.” he stopped me because he always ruins my fun. Also, she was only giving out 2 squares and it may be enough for Sheryl Crow but I need a little bit more to ensure freshness.

A couple of weeks ago, when I went with my sister, some lady bitched because my sister stopped in the middle of the aisle. The lady asked the girl she was with “why do people have to stop in the middle of the aisle??” (apparently the little girl must be some sort of mind reader?) I turned around and gave her a nasty look since my sister had stopped because other people were blocking the aisle she was trying to turn into. I guess she could have run them over but then there would be an accident report to fill out and I’m not sure auto insurance covers shopping carts.

Later, while looking for my Advil, I bumped into the lady again. To be mean, I started following her, at a safe distance where it could seem like I was shopping and it was just a coincidence, she kept looking back at me and then she started sprinting down the aisles while I calmly followed each turn she made. At the end of one of the aisles, she was blocked by a lady who was just standing there with her cart. The stalkee says “Excuse me!” and the stander says “go around me!” and then I laughed and let her get away. My sister said I was insane but she was the one to cause the lady’s wrath so she’s not an innocent party in this story.

Karma being the bitch that she is, when I went back to Costco today (I'm the KM at work this week so I went to get a veggie tray and some chocolate muffins), the dude that was ringing me up took my Costco membership card, looked at my picture then looked at me then looked at my picture then looked at me until I finally had to say "yeah, it's me" because my picture is that bad! It's a cross between a teletubby and an albino cricket. I know, frightening!

Uh, anyway, I got distracted. What I was trying to say is that my throat hurts (but this will not keep me from singing at the top of my lungs m'kay) and I’ve been sneezing (okay I just sneezed mid bite into my muffin and a small piece went through my windpipe OUCHY!) and coughing a lot. But don’t worry. No need to come over here wearing a hazmat suit. I was out all weekend without a sweater because I mistook the sun being out to mean it was also warm but it was definitely too cold to be so bold.

If the bats so much as hint at me being infected, I will give them a close up of my left foot followed rapidly by my right.

I'm taking a mini vacation to do fun things like helping my mom move back downstairs (Yay!) dusting, re-organizing my life and LAUNDRY so I won't be around this weekend. Yeah, I know it makes you sad and you're probably wondering what you'll do without me until Tuesday. Don't worry, you'll be okay. Maybe.

 

Have a safe Memorial Day and in Brian's case, a safe Bank Holiday!

Antibiotics and you. First step stop being a whoooooore.

P.P.S.
Damn! I have too much to say today!

Milton is looking up side effects on the antibiotics she’s taking. Now she is self diagnosing herself with a lot of other diseases, “she feels swollen, is having palpitations, her joints hurt”.

How about safe sex next time, Milton?

Just kidding.

Also, the paint fumes are making me sleepy and happy. That’s 2 out of the seven dwarfs, right? My Snow White is a little rusty. That’s what she said!

I am so mean.