Today I am so tired that y’all can just wheel in the industrial sized gallon of Mountain Dew and hook it up, IV-style, to my right forearm. Man.
Esteban has contracted some sort of Smoker’s Pennance illness. Bronchitis-type thing. He had it three weeks ago but it mostly went away, so what does he do to celebrate. Smoke cigarettes again. If you duct-taped the amount of cigarettes that he smoked together, they would have the circumference of a Frisbee. The executives of Phillip-Morris have sent him a FDS Get-Well Bouquet.
He actually said to me “You should be happy to know that at least I’m not smoking.” Because you know, my day is made or not upon whether or not he smokes. I think he thinks I’m his mom. Maybe it’s because I pack his lunch for him and give him a cookie if he’s been a good boy.
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Yesterday, after my diary entry, I realized that there was no way in hell that everything was going to get done in preparation for camping. So I took a half-day of vacation and went grocery shopping, spent $140 worth of stuff (about 1/4 of the carpeting in the living room, in case you’re keeping track!). Then I came home, did a bunch of laundry, took out the garbage, picked up around the house, etc.
This morning, I checked the weather in Manitowish Waters for the weekend. In the mid-40’s and raining all weekend. Oh. Good. Lie on the ground and be cold and wet. That’s not a vacation… that’s Basic Training.
So I talk to Esteban, who’s condition has worsened over the night (which I am fully aware of, since I only got 4 hours of sleep last night, in between the coughs, rattles, and pukes). He said “Joel checked the weather and he said it was going to be 70 and sunny all weekend.” Um. Well. Joel’s wrong.
I call Joel. Ask him if he’s heard the weather. Joel, for the record, sounds even more sick than Esteban. They have the same cough, cold, death rattle. Have they been deep kissing or something that they share this illness? Do they have mono?
Joel tells me that it will be mid 70’s and sunny. I ask where he heard that. “Just now on the radio” Ok, but see, Joel, that’s for Green Bay, dude. We’re going 200 miles NORTH of here. So I said, “What the fuck, you delusional bastard?” No really, actually, I explain that www.weather.com is specific to the zip code and it says that it will be mid 40’s and raining. And miserable.
“oh” he says.
OH????? OHHHH???
I explain that I don’t think that this is the weather to be sick in, not to mention laying on the ground trying to sleep kind of weather.
He must check with the wife.
To his credit, “the wife” Cheri is very sensible. Would have just called her directly, but she is a high school teacher and is too busy pulling the needles from the arms of her students and stopping Bloods and the Crypts from their gang war over in the band room.
So maybe we won’t go camping. And life will be sweet. And I can play on my computer and work on my web page all weekend. And maybe even go golfing. Sweet.
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I found a nude girl on the internet who looks disturbingly like me. I won’t go into how I found this girl (ok. She’s on www.kinkycards.com. I was sending a joke card. It just occurred to me that what you are thinking is probably worse than the reality.) I started wondering if maybe perhaps I had gotten very drunk at one of those frat parties in college and possibly posed for those pictures. But then I realized several things: a) my hair was never that length and that color at the same time b) I have bigger hips that that girl, c) the girl doesn’t LOOK drunk and d) I was NEVER THAT drunk. In my life. Ok, well maybe I was drunk enough to do that when I was 19, but I still remember most of that night.
But still. Very strange.
Speaking of skin, I have a dermatologist appointment today. Must go and have my face checked.
I am Jack’s hairy pimple-ridden ass.
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On a strange sad note: Buffy died last night. Seriously. She’s dead, dude.
I’m in total denial. In my opinion, it was all shock value, because the plot point made no sense. She died to save her sister from having to die. But her “sister” is a mystical thing and needed to die to stop the ritual. Just any old person, not even a slayer, would be able to stop the ritual. Didn’t make sense. But sad just the same.
The thing that sold the moment was Spike, my luscious Spike, sobbing his bad boy eyes out. It was unreal. James Marsters should get a fucking Emmy. That man has acting chops. Wow. I’m still in denial.
But then I sort of forgot about it as I watched Angel. The karaoke guy wasn’t dead! His head had just been chopped off… no big. All ok. YAY!! The Angel crew came back from the alternate dimension ok! WOOHOO! And then in the last minutes, they walk back into Angel Central and there is Willow, looking forlorn. And Angel sees her and she doesn’t even say a fucking word. And he knows. He just says “It’s Buffy”. End credits.
Joss & Co didn’t even have to pay Allyson Hannigan SAG requirements for speaking roles. She probably only got union minimum.
So that started my misery all over again. Poor Buffy! Poor Spike. Buffy’s a selfish bitch. The only reason she stepped in for Dawn was because she couldn’t live with losing Dawn after losing her mother. It was selfish really. Buffy saves lives ever day. Just think… each vamp she dusts will probably save 100 lives in the future or more. She dusts hundreds of vamps. How many will Dawnie dust? How many lives will Dawnie save?
The thing is: I knew that I’d be hearing from my friend Susan today, even though she’s moved to Chicago and I never see her anymore. Whenever Susan is disturbed by something on Buffy, she emails me. Today, she called. That’s how harsh it was. She needed reassurance. We needed to mourn. In times of loss, people cling to those who share their grief. We consoled each other. It was a moment.
But then I got to thinking. Angel is “owed” a life when he tried to save Darla way back in the beginning season of “Angel”. He’s got one coming. He can use that to save Buffy. So she’s probably coming back.
That’s what I’m telling myself.
{sniff}
Yup. She’ll be back.
