Yesterday, I learned that the hardest substance known to man is the head of an average three-year-old.
Jonathon came over to ‘visit’ with me yesterday (read: play The Sims on Esteban’s computer while I played the Sims and surfed the internet on MY computer’. It was a nice brother/sister moment, I tell ya’. knowing my mom, that’s probably the most quality time he’s had in months) and when I brought him back home, it turned out that Mo and Abby were at my mom’s to celebrate Mo’s birthday. I invited myself and ate some of my mom’s cooking, which is always nice. I got to play with Abby, which is even nicer. We had an elaborate game of tickle torture during commercial breaks of the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.
It was during one of those commercial breaks when the back of her head smashed into my mouth and made me look bee-stung, like Barbara Hershey’s cosmetically-enhanced Beaches lips.
I spent the rest of the night kissing one of our freezer packs. It smelled mildly of corn. Time for a new box of baking soda, I guess.
Man, I’m amazed people read this thing sometimes.
Last night I went to bed with a horrible headache, much to Esteban’s chagrin. Apparently, my body must give off pheromones without my approval and this makes me irresistible. I sent him to the far corner of our bed for a time out at one point. Then I tried to snuggle into my lofty goosedown pillow and Esteban was right there again, chastising me for being an undulating sex kitten, all stretching and purring and such.
‘I’m just getting comfortable!’ I said.
‘I’m very fragile when I’m turned on,’ he said, accusing me. ‘I’m like erotic china.’
I suppose it was my fault. I was probably dressed provocatively, with my extra roomie Green Bay Packers t-shirt and pink flowered boxer shorts. This is probably how Lolita and Jezebel got their reputations. Most likely, my untimely death will involve towers and hungry dogs.
The headache was actually a precursor to some horrible gut cramping which woke me up at 3:00 this morning. You know it’s really bad when all you want to do is collapse on the floor of the bathroom. My ass hates me for forsaking its bulbous qualities, and thus was seeking revenge in the only way it knew how…. explosive gastrointestinal pain, complete with gurgles and strange internal moans which sounded like a far too rusty hinge being forcibly opened after many years. Tilly had followed me into the bathroom and actually fled at the sound. I think she feared possible projectiles, using her keen feline intuition.
I haven’t felt like that since the time I contracted food poisoning during my stay in London. I’ve always blamed the mayonnaise at the Robert Browning pub. It was room temperature when I slapped it on my red bean burger. My buds were eating the red bean burger too and suffered no ill effects. I was sick for four days, living on plain brioches and Evian water. I could only nibble on the slightest pieces, as anything larger than pea made my stomach twist and convulse. Thus, I carried plain rolls in my bag wherever I went, like some dysenteric Gretal, nibbling tiny pieces of bread here and there, searching for my Hansel and house made out of candy.
My first ever use of a pay toilet was in Canterbury cathedral. I got my money’s worth there. I’m certain that my 40 pence went toward hiring a Haz-Mat crew to clean up. I bent in prayer for Thomas A’Becket to relieve my sour gut. Later, one of my flatmates made me some chicken soup and I was cured.
I’m not sure what did it to me this time. Yesterday, I had grilled salmon, rice pilaf and grilled veggies at Applebee’s and spaghetti at my mom’s. Later, I had an Eggo Nutrigrain waffle with real maple syrup as a snack. While the jury is still out on the culprit, Applebees, I’m looking your way. Whichever the guilty party, I was cursing them up a storm between 3:00 A.M. and 6:00 A.M. this morning, between the stomach cramps and the uncontrollable shivering.
On the upside, I’m almost certain that I’ve lost a good five pounds from the incident. And today, I’m only eating dry french bread and Dasani, so I’ve got the whole minimum security affluent prison diet going on very well. If it continues, I should be in DisneyWorld by summer.
Go anorexia!
No. Not really. But a little dysentary is good for the soul. Maybe it will knock all of that unconscious tawdry temptress attitude out of me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night, anyway.
