Things I’ve learned during my time staying home:
The real Jack and Jennifer on Days of Our Lives are apparently far more lame that I remembered. Jack was simpering and goofy yesterday and made me embarrassed for him. Also, Hope and Bo were entirely too wrapped up in their son’s love life.
And might I just add that I was a tad bit disturbed to see Belle and Brady have apparently aged 17 years since their births 8 years ago. Apparently, one should never leave the town of Salem… any prolonged absence brings about rapid aging, but a return to Salem freezes one in a state of eternal youth. It bothers me to see that Hope, born in 1974 and is three years younger than me, is now about to become a Grandmother. This show never ceases to make me feel really old.
The Snuggle Bear is possibly a minion of Satan. Look at its dead unfeeling eyes. The bear smiles but its eyes are cold and dead. It freaks me out.
Cleaning commercials are so blatantly aimed at women that it pisses me off. Where are the men who are scrubbing the floors or taking care of their children without making a comment like “When is your mother coming home?”
And the Pine Sol woman needs orthodontia. Badly.
Is it just me or is that Verizon “Can you hear me now? Good.” Guy kind of hot in a dorky 1940’s hair kind of way. I got a few naughty mind pictures of him yesterday…. Can you feel me now?…Good.
My house gets really damned cold during the day due to the fact that I’m a retard and can’t figure out how to override the programmable thermostat.
I surf the internet far too much.
Brushing your teeth? Way overrated.
Sex while feverish? Very surreal.
I will go through extraordinary heroic measures to locate some Pepperidge Farm Goldfish crackers to float in my Chicken & Stars soup.
Chris (played by John Corbett) from Northern Exposure is quite possibly my ideal one night stand. Not that I’m that kind of girl or anything, but if I were and he weren’t a fictional character…. damn!
It’s really hard to be the least bit productive while you’re sick. I did manage to trek down to the basement and start one load of laundry, but then I never took it out of the washer, so now it’s undoubtedly infected with that basement funk smell and it was all for naught.
My cats hibernate during the day. Seriously. The part of the house which is not covered with a fluffy down comforter is a cat-free zone during the day. It’s a little spooky.
High school kids take short cuts across my lawn and all go out and smoke on the neighbor lady’s porch during lunch.
It’s hard to drink lots of fluids when you can’t figure out which box contains the glasses and which box contains a pitcher in which to make juice. It’s a lot easier to just drink a can of Diet Coke.
Star Jones has a way better wardrobe than I do. And I hate her a little bit for that. Just a little. I hate Camryn Manheim more for her $900 suits on The Practice. They can all bite my fluffy off-the-shelf ass.
I guess I’m still a little grumpy and sick. Bah.
Oh, and I feel like a total nerd. When I go to Atlanta next week, I want to meet BadSnake in the worst way and I know that she’s hip to the real life Diarylander thing, so I sent her a simpering email requesting an audience with her. I actually blushed when I was writing it. I felt like I was writing fan mail, which I suppose I was. She probably thinks I’m John Hinckley Jr. or something, which I’m not, if only for the fact that I go by one name and not three. All psychos go by three names (John Wayne Gacy, Mark David Chapman, Tiffani-Amber Thiessen, Ed Begley Jr. She hasn’t responded, but I wrote it late last night. She probably thinks I’m a total freak. Maybe Belle can send her a reference stating I’m not a freak, but then I stepped on Belle’s foot so that’s a strike against me.
I may just die of anticipation or embarrassment. I’m not sure which. She’s so cool I may actually get the vapors, which is a very Southern thing, so I’ll have that going for me.
I’ve given into my illness and made an appointment to see the doctor this afternoon for my bronchitis, despite the fact that I am actually at work today and theoretically feeling better. The side benefit of this is that I will find out if I have actually lost any of my bulbous ass or if my slimming gut is only in my imagination. I hate the scale. I hate everything it represents. I hate the fact that I get all happy about my progress and the scale shouts back “Oh yeah, bitchtard, well take a look at THIS! Better start stocking up on the rice cakes, huh?” and then the tired rebuttal of “oh, well, muscle weighs more than fat, yada yada yada.” But it will all be worth it if I can manage to score myself some form of codeine. Bronchitis is a codeine illness, so keep your fingers crossed. Weetabix loves her happy golden sleep.
I should be probably concerned about my deep affection for that drug, but I’m not.
