I know I promised you the dog entry (with PICTURES!!) but you know how I hate html. And I still have to resize. Excuses, excuses, excuses, I know, but think of it as an important lesson in patience.
It’s good to want things.
It’s day 12 of Bacterium Infinitum. Day 8 of Antibiotics. Yesterday, things started looking up’ in the morning, I had more energy and a great outlook on life. I declared to myself ‘Finally, I have gotten over the hump! I’m going to live!’ and a symphony swelled up and birds chirped (despite the negative 5 degree temperature’ it was hearty birds, ok?) and all was right with the world. For about four hours. Then the hump decided to turn around and kick my ass again. This morning, I’m feeling ok, but cautiously so. Germs don’t kill people’ hubris kills people.
The wonderful thing is that I don’t SOUND like I feel ok. I sound as though I am speaking from beyond the grave through some miracle of medical technology. I sound as though I have crossed over, perhaps with the help of Jonathon Edwards, with the sole purpose of coming to the office to answer a slew of emails and participate on conference calls. It is very dramatic, very last scene of Camille. I think people are afraid that a large request will have me in remission. Or perhaps they are afraid they might catch the QuaziStrepSinusDeath thing over the phone.
Strange moment yesterday: I looked up and thought, ‘Ooh’ Mister Rogers is on right now!’ and then remembered that I couldn’t watch it because I was at work and not in a semi-coma on my bed and no longer limited in movement to only finger flicks on the TiVo remote. And then I had chagrin, which is pretty painful right there, a good case of chagrin, because I actually had gotten to the point where I didn’t want to miss my stories. And my stories involved Lady Elaine Fairchild and Mror Mror Dan’l Tiger Mror.
Not that ‘A something Story’ on Lifetime though. That shit makes me all teary. Doesn’t matter what it is. Baby Story, Wedding Story, even the damn Makeover Story gets me. I think I’ve somehow gotten conditioned on the music. Who knew Rupert Murdoch’s middle name was Pavlov?
More randomness: you know that video for ‘Beautiful’ by Christina Aguilera? Does she NOT have the most freakish feet in the universe? I mean, I know that I have serious prejudice against feet in general but her toes are like six inches long. She could hang from tree limbs with those things. The whole time, she’s singing about how everyone, even the anorexic girls, are beautiful, no matter how they are, and how words can’t bring you down, I just keep thinking ‘Good God and Mother Mary, put away those freakish feet before you kill someone! Cover yourself, girl! Cover yourself and wish for a pair of acid-filled socks!’ They are very much like Gwen Stefani’s abs, in that whenever they are on the screen I cannot look away, but for a completely different reason. I wonder if she actually touches them with her bare hands?
Gah. That thought just gave me an actual chill.
Don’t worry. God is punishing me for making fun of Christina Aguilera’s fingertoes because I have had the song ‘Landslide’ stuck in my head since 2 pm yesterday afternoon, coinciding nicely with the moment I was coming down from the last of my Dayquil caplets. Mirror in the sky, why do you torment me so? And it’s not the Fleetwood Mac version (which, for the record, I like Fleetwood Mac, but I do not like ‘Landslide’, feeling myself more a ‘Gypsy’ or a ‘Dreams’ kind of girl). No. It’s the Dixie Chicks version. You know, they almost fooled me into liking country music awhile back, with their catchy harmonies in ‘Wide Open Spaces’ and the way Natalie Maine sings as though her mouth were too full of teeth, but then I hear that Earl song and it was all over, people. Dashed were any hopes country music had of winning me over, right there. Get thee behind me, Shania Twain and Faith Hill. Country don’t like you and rock doesn’t want you, you little pipe cleaner cross over wannabes.
And now this ‘Landslide’ thing haunts me. I’ve tried everything to exorcise it from my brain. Why are there so many. Songs about rainbows? Because the landslide brings them down. Sweet Caroline.. bam bam bam.. good times never seemed so good’ I’ve been inclined’ bam bam bam’ to believe they never would’ well, time makes you bolder, children get older, and I’m getting older too.
Mickey Fickey Dixie Chicks.
Which actually sounds like an appetizer at TGI Fridays, non? With perhaps a zesty ranch dipping sauce?
Dear Marti Noxon,
That was a close call last night. I was already to get my bitch on for you. Just let’s leave it at this’ I’m still watching you. One misstep and be prepared to get bitchslapped. I still haven’t forgiven you for the attempted rape thing. Or for the singing in the musical episode. You best be watching yourself.
Peace out,
Weetabix
