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Twenty four hours ago I was in bed with a fever, body aches, and a horrible spasmodic cough that left me gasping for air like a just-caught fish, and I was praying for a quick death. I woke up this morning at 7:00 a.m. and showered, did laundry, took the kid shopping, cleaned my bathroom, did more laundry, cooked supper, did more laundry, cleaned my bedroom, and had to stop myself from cleaning the kitchen because I was feeling a little dizzy. How did this happen? Part of it was a pretty heavy duty antibiotic. But I suspect a big part of it was my old friend methylprednisone, which I last met in injectible form with a slightly different name.
When the doctor (not Dr New and Improved, or even Dr Sparkle, but Dr Take Your Best Shot at the Random Walkin Clinic, who turned out to be surprisingly nice and diligent) said he was going to prescribe a pill version of that particular steroid, I was a bit concerned. When J brought it back from the pharmacist and said "Heather said you'll probably have the same sleep issues, and it also tends to make people a little grumpy" it didn't make me feel any better. But still, you know, praying for death and all that. It seemed like a decent alternative.
Who knows if I'll sleep tonight. But if I could manage to get my hands on this stuff, maybe one week a month? My whole damn house would finally be clean.
(Also? Am I the only person who has to decide whether or not to call in sick before I put on makeup? Because once I've gone that far, I'm not going to waste it - I'm going to work.)
(Also also? Does anyone else feel like you need to do something productive while you're home sick? Or am I the only who says "As soon as the dizziness stops, I'm going to vacuum the living room." Why do we feel that way?)
It's the time of year when charities and non-profits are all hitting us up for donations, and I've filled out my United Way payroll deduction form and bought food and magazines from various school groups. But there's one request that gives me pause - someone whose daycare is fundraising. I just don't understand how businesses that exist to make a profit can do "fundraising," especially when it involves children. Cute little children. I mean, unless that daycare does something charitable, like offer services on a sliding scale to families with low incomes, why would I want to help them "fundraise?" And maybe they do. I don't know. I'm not here to investigate, I'm here to gripe.
The whole United Way thing reminds me of a woman I used to work for... I'll call her Mrs. Nice. That's not her real name, but it carries the same irony that her real name did, since she was anything but "nice." Mrs. Nice is the one who told me, on my first day working for her, "I want you to call me Mrs. Nice because that will make you respect me." (Um, someone is confusing cause and effect here, I think.) She also had a tendency to call me by her previous secretary's name, and while she could have apologized and said it was a habit, and our names were close (Tracy and Stacy), instead she said "Well, you should be flattered, because she was the best secretary I ever had." (Um, yeah. "You're not my best secretary." That's oozing with flattery. Not that being her best secretary, or anybody's secretary, was a career goal of mine, but still.) I wish I had said "So you don't mind if I call you Linda? Because she was a much better boss than you." (I never would have done that, though... it would have been an insult to Linda.)
Anyway, back to the United Way. If you've ever filled out a payroll deduction form, you know that you can designate what percentage of your donation goes to any particular agency. She always directed 100% of her donation to the Boy Scouts "because my sons are in Scouts, so that's the only one we use." Well, I guess charity begins and ends at home, doesn't it?
You can't really read the window stickers on this car (seriously, Apple, that much money and you couldn't provide a better camera?), so I've provided some helpful callouts.
Anyway, it looks like someone has a chip on her shoulder.
Boo and I saw this decoration (and I use the term loosely) at a Halloween store.
My immediate thought was "Holy crap. Some joker took a couple of cat decorations and decided to make one hump the other. Nice." And then Boo said "Oh, look. The cat was so scared that it jumped out of its skin." Which is a valid theory. But come on, take a look at that cat's face. I don't see fear. I see humping.
So, we have dogs now. Did I mention that we have dogs? I thought I did. Anyway, we have dogs. (And dang, they're cute, aren't they? Click to see them bigger, if you dare!) And I’ve learned quite a few things about dogs in the last year and a half. Please take a moment to benefit from my experience.
More to come, I’m sure.
I love these shoes. Pink! Huge honkin' flower! They're so completely over the top! But my favorite is the fact that they're named Charlene. I love that. I love shoe style names. I want to buy these shoes just so I can introduce them to people. "Hello, I'm Tracy, and this is my festive women's mule, Charlene."
BTW, the shoes I'm wearing now are named Viva. Not nearly as festive as Charlene (and not even as festive as the ones pictured here, since my are brown leather and not orange! suede), but I sure do love them.
(Oh, and I will totally pronounce it with a hard "ch," not like "Sharlene," but like Charlene Darling from The Andy Griffith Show. Or like in Scooby Doo and the Monster of Mexico, since that's more likely to be my cultural reference nowadays.)
To: The People Who Run the Polly Pockets Website
My daughter printed this from the official Polly Pockets website. You call it a "coloring page." I call it a "fetish page." Does the world really need to see Polly Pockets in a latex catsuit? More importantly, does your average Polly Pockets customer really need to see this? I'm not a prude, but seriously, folks, this is just wrong.
Also, the fact that this instantly makes me think of Michelle Pfeiffer kind of shows my age, doesn't it?
And to the people who will inevitably find this by Googling "Polly Pockets fetish latex catsuit?" You are a bunch of sick little monkeys.
To: The Greater Valley (AL) Area Chamber of Commerce
I read that you're having a Giant Crappy Yardsale this weekend. I can't begin to tell you how much I love that name. Giant! Crappy! Yardsale! Could I generate some interest in a garage sale if I called it a Small Crappy Garage Sale? Probably not.
To: The Guy in the Black Lexus With the Jesus Fish
First, I'm pretty sure Jesus is against tailgating. Second, did you notice that even though you passed me really quickly once you got the chance, and sped on down the road just to show me who was boss, that we ended up at the stoplight at the same time? Did it amuse you as much as it amused me? No?
To: The Angry Guy in the Red Honda
Did you see the people behind you pointing and laughing? Were you afraid we were pointing and laughing at you? Well, we were. Because right before that other driver pissed you off (inspiring a temper tantrum the likes of which I've never seen by someone actually old enough to drive a car, complete with fist-waving), you rudely and stupidly cut us off. I've never seen karma work so quickly.
To: The Parents Who Let Their Daughter Dress Like That
Okay, it's none of my business. I realize that. But I just don't think letting your pre-teen or young teen daughter wear teeny tiny tight bright pink shorts with writing across the back is a good idea. Unless you really did intend for her to convey the message "Hey! All you people at the grade school carnival! Take a look at my ass!" If that was your goal, congratulations on a job well done. Perhaps she'll have some boobs next year, so you can encourage her to draw attention to those as well.
To: My Darling Daughter
I love you more than life itself. But the next time you tell me the shoes are "comfy" when you try them on in the store, and two wearings later they "hurt your feet," you're going to find yourself going to school with your feet wrapped in duct tape in lieu of shoes. Understand?
To: The Various People I Noticed Staring at my Feet Last Weekend
Yes, I am wearing big plastic pink shoes that make me look like a cartoon character. Jealous?
To My New Car:
Don't worry, baby. I don't care that it takes $50 to fill your tank. I still love you. Smooches.
To My Beloved Husband, Who Crawled Out of Bed to go to Walgreens and Get Me Some Badly Needed Sinus Medicine:
Thank you. I love you.
No time to write about WDW now, so here are a couple of random thoughts.
If you get a new credit card to replace one that expired, and you let it sit on your desk for 6 months without activating it, and then you activate it and use it on a cross-country shopping spree, the good folks at Capital One will put a fraud alert on it. Just FYI.
Why does my dentist's appointment reminder card have a place to check off a.m. or p.m.? Am I likely to get confused about that? "What, you people expected me at 8:30 in the morning? Are you insane?"
Why would a doctor's office tell you "We might be able to fit you in at 10:30 on Thursday"? I mean, either you can or you can't. Am I supposed to show up and just see if I get in?
Never buy chicken salad that lists breadcrumbs as an ingredient. That's just wrong.
Have you ever noticed that if you see someone wearing a nametag, it's impossible to not look at their nametag, even when you know their name? Or is it just me?
If you want to wish someone a Merry Christmas, wish them a Merry Christmas. But don't boycott them because they won't wish it back. That's just stupid.
Speaking of Christmas...
See you on the other side!