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.

'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.

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?**

"The *fresh foods* store, conductor of hostility?" A woman's boring account of her trip to the grocery store.

I had to stop at Shop n Save on Wednesday to pick up some miscellaneous items my mom needed.

I stood at the entrance and pulled out my list so that I may study it and map out my path. (Only, mappers usually know the geographical details before they execute their mapping.) (I assume.) Granted, I only had 7 items on my list but those 7 items would be the cause of a wild scavenger hunt that would nearly bring me to tears!

It all started when I couldn't find the tomatillos. What's that, you ask. It is a small green tomato that is grown in a husk.

Its yummy uses are for salsa and... throwing at people? I'm not sure what else since I'm not a cook. I took my cart and rolled here, over there, next to the sauerkraut and nuthin'!

I stopped and asked one of the veggie organizer dudes where they were and he was all 'The what?' me 'TOE-MAH-TEE-YOS' my latino friend looked at me as if to say 'why does this chick need tomatillos' so I said to him, in Spanish, 'Mi mami quiere hacer salsa' (my mommy wants to make salsa) and then he said 'OH! Tomatillos!' Lost in translation? I don't think so since I speak PERFECT Spanish (that is the one thing I can brag about)!

He pointed me in the right direction so I took my wobbly SELF cart and made my way to the other side of the produce section. As I was sorting through them, I was hearing my mom's voice in my head "do you even know how to pick out tomatillos correctly?" I answered, out loud, 'how hard can it be?' and the man next to me gave me a dirty look. Like I was asking him a personal question. However, the fact that he was all defensive answers it all.

My next item was a loaf of bread. But not just any loaf of bread since my mom had written 'package has the word *butter* on the top'. Ummmm okay?

DO YOU GUYS HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY VARIETIES OF BREAD ARE IN THE BREAD AISLE??

I called my mom and asked her for other distinguishing features to this buttery bread. Clue #2 yellow bag. Okay narrowed that down to 10 so I closed my eyes and eeny meeny mineey moed it.

Next up, cumin (Q-MEN or COO-MIN).

That should be easy, right? Went to the Aisle of Spice and looked high and low for cumin with these specifications "don't get the one in the bottle because it's more expensive. Look for a plastic bag with a white sticker that says 'comino de Mexico' ". While looking at each individual bag, because I could not find the cOminO, some lady asks me "can you move your cart?" and I did because I thought she needed to get a closer look at the oregano but all she did was park her cart where mine was and leave to go on her own hunt. I may or may not have moved her cart to another aisle.

After putting a BOTTLE of cumin in my cart, I moved on to look for the next thing on my list. Cream Soda. No, that wasn't on my list but for 79 cents I was taking it home. Chicken legs. I went to the back of the store and stood over the amputated chicken limbs trying to decide which was better. Smaller legs but a larger quantity or larger legs, smaller quantity? What to do? Whaaaat to do? I hadn't realized someone was clearing their throat and tapping their foot behind me.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Please go ahead." to a European lady giving me the stink eye. She sighed as if I had just taken the last schnitzel and proceeded to rustle through the packages pretty much doing the same thing I was minus the apparent disregard for chicken bruising. And then she started mumbling under her breath.

So I went in there and mimicked her because I thought maybe this was proper market etiquette. Only she had an advantage over me because she was taller and had gorilla-like arms.

She stopped once to huff at me again and I smiled at her and took over more space because clearly we were both looking for that ONE perfect package that had the right amount of legs that were the perfect size. . . EUREKA! I found it! I held it up triumphantly and gave her a sideways-half-turned-lopsided smug look and she tried looking at it over my shoulder but I walked away with my prize without giving her that pleasure.

::sigh:: I'm tired. Shopping for groceries isn't as fun as they make it out to be in movies.

Okay. Next is "80% Ground Beef". Crap! I had walked away from the dead animal section because I wanted to get away from the lady! Now I had to go back. I wobbled my way back and tried to guess as to what "80%" meant. Oh! Here is an 80% lean ground chuck. I put chuck in my cart and went "Poor chuck" out loud again and realized my latino friend from the veggies was following me at a distance.

I gave him a look as if to ask "Que onda vato?" but I don't think he understood because he scurried away.

Next on my list, milk. Ahhhh finally! Something I could pick out without having to tear my eyelashes out!

A tiny woman stood between me and the 2% and I found myself sighing and tapping my foot like my European lady friend with the chicken legs. It didn't work though! The tiny woman stood her ground! Okay, plan B. "Excuse me!" as I lean around her in all my extra poundage glory. She didn't seem to mind my invasion of her space. Weird.

Last item on my list, Jalapeños. For the love of... ! I remembered seeing the Jalapenos next to the tomatillos! All the way at the entrance of the store. Oh well. I walked back to the produce section and waved at my veggie organizing latino friend who was staring at me but he looked away. My list said she needed one pound of Jalapeños. I didn't see a single weigh station in the area. I wondered if my mom would get mad if I eyeballed the pound.

"Mom, I can't find anything to weigh the Jalapeños, does it have to be ONE pound?"

"Are you still at the store?"

"Yep. Does it have to be a pou--"

"It's almost 6:30! How long have you been there?"

"I got here a little past five I think. I couldn't find a few things-anyway! Does it have to be a poun--"

"Andy hasn't come down to dinner and I told him his plate was ready. Now it's cold."

"Mom, I need you to answer my question because I am going insane over here!"

"Calm down. What?"

"Jalapeños, pound yes or no"

"yes"

"::sigh:: Okay, bye."

I look for my veggie organizer dude who doesn't want to make eye contact with me.

"Donde esta la vascula?" (Spanish for 'Where in the freakin hell is the damned produce scale because I need to get out of this hell hole??')(well, sorta)

He points to the scale behind me. Of course.

I weighed the damned Jalapeños and made my way to the register. Along the way, the hunger within took over and added 4 candy bars, a cheese danish, something called "Crust" and some Italian seasoning (in the hopes that I would one day make bruschetta again).

I arrived at my house tired, sweaty, and hungry... with melted chocolate on my butt. Just like in the 90s.

The life lesson in this story?

One, I don't want to grow up. Two, I should stop talking to myself out loud. Three, people are mean. Four, wobbly carts make your hands hurt. Five, moms have no sympathy and will often say things like "2 of the tomatillos you picked out were rotten."

Sometimes there just isn't anything to laugh about.

Today I’m at my other blog “Take a Walk on the Dark Side” because I feel shitty and bitter and impotent and can’t seem to find the funny. Go there at your own risk because I can guarantee you there will be nothing to smile about.

Because of those events, I’ll be taking a couple of days off of blogging so I may stabilize my emotions.

I'll see you guys on the flip side.