Today finds me stuck in bed (as you can see by my disheveled hair). Yesterday did too. Saturday I felt a slight tickle in my throat, Sunday morning that tickle was a grip, and today it’s a punch in my face.

(sigh)

Being sickly isn’t fun, not for me. I’m fighting it with echinacea and Sudafed plus lots and lots of water. Ok, so I’m not JUST in bed, I’m either there or going potty from all the water. TMI? Maybe. But if I didn’t report that then some smart alec would probably suggest I pee’d myself if I only stayed in bed. I don’t pee myself… anymore.

There was that one time when I was borrowing Icky Dave’s (my boyfriend at the time; we had several Dave’s in our circle of friend’s so they crowned him the icky one because of his long hair and sideless t-shirts, and I met him at a roller skating rink… at 18 years old… it didn’t last long) black Camaro and he was late showing up at his (parents) empty, locked house. As I crouched around to the back yard to find a secluded spot, the FLOOD LIGHTS CAME BLARING ON and the neighbor dog began to bark, ruining my chance for quick relief. Sitting in his driver’s seat trying to think of anything but peeing, the urge worsened. Not to reveal how aged I am, but I will say this was pre-cell phone days when pagers were for the rich & famous so I had no way of contacting him for his ETA. Then I pee’d a little, then a lot and it wouldn’t stop. Shocked, I sat in self-humiliation wondering what I would do next: get out and panic, stay and face the music, drive home to shower my bottom half and change then come back? I did the latter, tried to paper towel dry the seat (it was leather, I’m pretty sure it just seeped down the crack and got into the padding and carpet, I couldn’t tell) and came back changed. We broke up soon after (thank goodness because had I married him we would’ve lived in his parents dank basement with his unkept pet rats) but for reasons other than my temporary incontinence.

So here’s a photo essay of today from bed…

My companion, Posie (named after Ben's favorite band, The Posies; she's a ShihTzu-Maltese). She's not here necessarily because I am lonely, it's mostly because if she were downstairs she would just bark at people walking by our house and THAT is annoying when one is trying to rest.

The chandelier to be installed above the master tub, that shelf is supposed to be above the bed (but the bed is on the floor, so I don't want to hang it until I know for sure how high it should be), then the pile of decorative pillows that only see the bed when we think someone other than family or close friends might enter our bed chamber with my painted pajama pants I only wear because I'm chilly.

A perk to having a self-employed spouse is that sometimes he happens to be working from home the same day I'm sickly so he brings me lunch in bed. And there's some tissues that I can use when I stand up and all of a sudden my nose starts to drip from the gravity change.

Dudes, my husband makes THE BEST muffins (moist and textured just right).

My view of some mountain tops out my bedroom window (I'm 3 floors up from the backyard).

And the buttery, flakey, blueberry (all those antioxidants should do me good, yes?) pie from Eliane's French Bakery (yes, I DID lick the plate... I wasn't about to let all those heavenly flakes go to waste).

Here’s to hoping tomorrow I’ll be on the mend and leave my room. I’m bored. Learning how to transition from PC to Mac is a lot of work for me. And there’s only so much Pinterest, Facebook, and Twitter a girl can do all in a row before everything starts to look the same!

P.S. Thankful for the most awesome husband I could ever wish for and y’all should be jealous because he takes care of EVERYTHING when I’m sick (and all the time, really). (He took the kids up the canyon for sledding after school today so the house would be quiet for me.) Ben, you’re amazing and I love you hard. And I’m glad our marriage isn’t, like, whatever ;)

XoxO

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

A quick to update you on what’s happening.

My blog eats 1/2 of what I come up with because it’s so yummy (I guess that’s the reason, I should ask). Since I’m not fond of doing the work, it getting deleted, then trying to come up with the genius I already had come up with the first time (my genius is limited, sorry), I’ve paused until the guy I sleep with (who happens to be my internal IT Department) gets something on the back end reprogrammed or someping.

Until then, check out some previous stuff or look forward to seeing me in a bathing suit. I can’t believe I just typed that.

I’m serious… on both the suit and that I typed it.

Yikes.

(looks around for the razor)

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

After hearing about a drool inducing, new-to-me burrito place over and over and over on Twitter, I finally went this week with a friend who’d never been either. We were going to have so much fun, eating YUMMY food, we just knew it.

The man behind the counter charmingly greeted us. We told him Twitter sent us, it’s our first time and we needed to know what we should try. He insisted that just because it’s a burrito place, we don’t have to get one, all the items on the menu are as tasty as each other. Steak nachos for me, steak quesadilla for my friend.

I have a thing for food, particularly the kind that I didn’t cook, and I’m a stickler for good service. Excellent service is better, but I’ll settle for good as a minimum rank. Give me lousy service and you’ll likely hear about it from your manager if you didn’t get the message from me (because you weren’t around to tell, not because I’m shy, or maybe because I didn’t want to embarrass you by putting you on the spot; yeah, I’m not mean, usually). I’m even known for making friends with people in the service industry. Friendly enough that we trade phone #’s, I set them up on dates (one got engaged because of me), we have them over for Game Night, exchange Christmas cards, and give each other gifts. You know, like, REAL friends. I’m not one of those crazy ladies that servers draw straws to see who has to deal with her. Remember my salty-goodness story? That flight attendant dug me.

For example… we ended up with a new-to-us server at my favorite restaurant recently. Bless his heart and all, but he wasn’t very good that night. Instead of admitting that he didn’t know what I was talking about when I ordered off-menu (the kitchen staff & other seasoned servers are familiar with it, I’m not completely When Harry Met Sally-esque), he kept saying, “Absolutely!” I even told him the ingredients, “Absolutely!” It was delivered without grilled chicken, peas, and mushrooms. Basically, not at all what I ordered. Ben asked for spinach (“Absolutely!”), got broccoli. We were fine (mine was fixed) but have a new saying in our house when we don’t know what the other person is talking about… “Absolutely!”

Back to my Nachos. As I kept picking up naked chip after naked chip (just chips, no cheese or anything on them) and setting them aside in their own little nudist section of my plate, the guy came up next to me and asked how my nachos were. Mind you, I said this kindly with a lift at the end of my words, like they were skipping down the sidewalk on a lazy summer day, “I should’ve ordered the burrito because (rifling through the nudist section) look at all these naked chips.” Because he was standing next to me and I was doing a Vanna White with my food, I didn’t look at him as I spoke so I didn’t see his face or realize until I turned that he

WALKED AWAY.

O_O    >_<    O_O

(that’s a wide, open-eyed look followed by a blink and another wide, open-eyed look)

Yes, without a reply, gesture, or acknowledgement of my predicament, he turned around and left. Gone. Sayanara. Adios. Ariversdirty (my dad’s phonetic version of goodbye in Italian). Had he stayed there for us to converse about the ordeal, he would’ve heard me say how much I enjoyed the flavor of the food, the steak is a lovely smokey goodness and easy to eat because it’s cubed, but that next time I would like to see better spreading of the cheesy goodness and avoid the nudists. I have a thing about equal opportunity cheese love. Yes, it’s a thing. (The quesadilla had little cheese and not all of it was melted; but it was loaded with steak.)

My friend and I did the O_o look and laughed at the awkwardness of what just happened. We speculated that he might return with a burrito (it was my first time and I told him how I’d be Tweeting about our experience) or at least some cheese or salsa for the nudists. But he never came back. EVER. Just vanished. Well, not really VANISHED like in the Keiffer Sutherland movie, because we could see him behind the counter helping more customers have partial nudity nachos. Oh, and yeah, when we were there it was completely dead so there’s no excuse that it was too busy to handle my dilemma. It was just so Twilight Zone.

Then we speculated that I hurt his feelings, made him cry, or that he quit his job on the spot and sped away distraught with plans to leave the country and hide out in Mexico. I don’t know. I have a wild imagination. Plus, HE WALKED AWAY!

Don’t ask me what I think if you don’t really want to know or can’t handle the truth. Because I tell it. The truth. It’s all I know how to do.

P.S. I tweeted a little about it with my friends who knew I was there, but I didn’t tag the restaurant or bash on it because I think it was just a fluke thing because the food (minus the nudists) was tasty and I’d go there again… with an extra bag of cheese in my bag, just in case.

{ Comments on this entry are closed }

Anyone I’ve talked to who has read The Hunger Games series vows that EVERYONE should read them. They claim they were hooked just a few pages in. Sleepless nights were had because they loved them so much. Waiting for the next saga sent them to a realm where they couldn’t understand what to do with themselves.

I. Don’t. Get. It.

Here’s why. I watched someone read the first book within a few days. Throughout that time, she described the story as sad and depressing, but she hoped for a twist, turning it into something positive and worthy of her time. She sulked more and smiled less.

The gist: It’s a story about starving children killing other children for food.

Um, excuse me? O_o

“But it’s MORE than that,” friends would claim. “If you get past that part of it, you’ll enjoy the books,” they’d press. “You won’t understand until you read them yourself.”

Nope. Not interested.

I’d rather watch stupid TV than read about children in pain, sorry. No, I’m not sorry, scratch that. I don’t mind not following the crowd and giving in to peer pressure. Call me feisty ;)

“But you read the Twilight series,” you argue? There’s an explanation for that.

I read it in the very beginning before anyone heard about it and was told (by a trustworthy friend) not to read the flap or find out what it’s about… “Just start reading it,” she instructed, “you will LOVE it!” Grabbing it on my way to the airport for a two-hour flight, I promised I’d give it a whirl even though I don’t read (oh, I mean, I can read, of course… Thank You, Mr. Bingley).

She was right, I did, and do, LOVE it. Not that it’s superbly written, has a strong female main character, follows proper writing technique, or deserves an award; but it did keep me occupied, gave me an escape from reality, and made me imagine what I would do in a similar situation.

Which, I think, we all THINK we’d behave a certain way when confronted with something crazy like a sparkling, supernatural hot guy (not that I’m saying Mr. Pattison is hot, he’s NOT what I pictured Edward would look like… Team Jacob!) But when push comes to shove our instincts either kick in or we retract/freeze with fear.

Having said that, my friends, I’m going to hit PUBLISH and run away from all the HG’s fans who will try and convince me it’s the best, most amazing, definite read EVER!!!

{ Comments on this entry are closed }