So, update on Aunt Brunhilda. Apparently, she’s stopped eating completely. She hasn’t been brought to justice for the identity fraud and we’re not sure if she realizes that they’re onto her yet, but she’s simply stopped eating. The woman only probably weighs 98 pounds soaking wet already. Maybe she’s going to try to go into hiding by standing sideways. Mafia Grandma is aware of this and was quoted as saying ‘She has a food demon.’ She’s said this before, actually. It’s all getting pretty interesting. I have this urge to pull up a bench and a bucket of popcorn to watch. But that is why I’m going to Hades. Not for dropping the Spirit Stick at JournalCon, but rather because I relish family drama. But I’ll probably be blamed for this all somehow. Like because she was afraid she might catch fat from me or something. Man, Tennessee Williams has nothing on my family. NOTHING, I say!
I think I’m sick. I’ve been alternately hot and cold for the last twenty-four hours and now I have a headachey-turned-backachey thing going on. I think Bev and I shouldn’t have been making out at JournalCon.
Oh, no, we didn’t. Cripes. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.
But seriously, I suspect that the elevators somehow made me sick. For mocking their garrulous color scheme and their music ‘Songs To Commit Serial Crimes To’.
Thus, because I am sick, I made honest to goodness chicken soup tonight, with carrots, celery (from the salad bar in the grocery store, so I wouldn’t have to wield sharp instruments too long, as I might have fainted and then impaled myself, proving my belief that I will die in the stupidest manner possible, such as Death By Celery Chopping), white mushrooms, red cabbage, red peppers, onions, tons of garlic, chicken breasts, broccoli slaw (going for the nutrients there), enoki mushrooms, and Italian parsley. Yum. I made something like 20 servings, although I know that only I will be eating it. Esteban is in Miami right now. It sucked. He left, he came back, I left, I came back, he left, I made soup. It is the cycle of life. Elton John and Tim Rice should write a song.
Damn, would you shut that window, it’s FREEZING in here!
Gah, remind me never to do two html-intensive entries in a row. This crap is giving me a headache. Like, I don’t want to even look at the diary for awhile after the last two entries.
Here’s the long awaited banner ad contest. Participants will not only receive the additional hits on their page, but will also receive some leftover JournalCon Weetaswag if you send me your address. (And yes, I know that I already promised one half of the Two Bobs a thing of blue Doh because he helped me deal with Adobe when I was making the labels, so I’ll throw a little something extra in yours so you don’t pout too much, b. )
Louise (who as far as I know did not send me a link to a website)
Go vote in the comments section. You have no more than three days. Once again, the judges have the final say in the matter. And don’t be a big cheating poopy head and vote more than once. It’s just a goofy contest. It’s not worth the bad karma, people. Be good girl and boy scouts. And then bring me my heating pad and some more orange juice.
Oh. And the remote too. I gots to watch my TiVo’d episode of Soap.
