Get In Mah Bellah!

Christ, I fell off the "eating healthy" wagon, hard. So hard, in fact, that I bounced into the "chow down like a fat ass" truck that was driving in the opposite direction.

I've had an assortment of bad choices* find their way into my digestive system lately. Today I had a meatball sub! And yesterday I had chorizo con papas y huevos! (That's chorizo** with potatoes and eggs for all you gringos.) The day before that? Bacon and eggs. I had Arby's last week, people. ARBY'S.

I'm kind of afraid to step on a scale and find out if I've gained back all the weight I lost. I think I'll wait until after I have my pepperoni and sausage pizza for dinner.

* Bad...but delicious.

** What's English for chorizo?

W. T. F.

Seriously, my head is all jangly right now. I've been weepy and grouchy all day. And my cycle, which technically started and ended two weeks ago, has returned. Um, body, perhaps you would like to once again become normal and stop being all nutty and ruining my life? Because this is not so much fun.

In better news (I think), all of the tests I've had so far have found nothing wrong with me, which means I guess I don't have the cancer or a cyst or something else horrible up inside my lady parts. (I just typed "lady party", which in times past would more accurately describe my lady parts, but not for quite some time now.)

I still feel like something isn't quite right, but you know what? I am not going to keep going to doctors until someone diagnoses me with chronic craziness. If something's really wrong, I'm sure it will turn up on a test at some point in the future. And if it's all in my head or it's no big deal, then it will go away on its own. (I think this line of logic may actually describe the substance of McCain's health care plan.)

Having had two and a half glasses of wine and a Vicodin, it may be time to go to bed instead of worrying about things over which I have no control.

Bluuuuuurgh

I was supposed to go to the lab this morning to have blood drawn, as I promised Wendy last night I would finally do so. I need to figure out if my constant hot flashes are a symptom of early menopause or perhaps a sign that I am developing a superpower, which would be the ability to combust at will if the temperature around me fluctuates by more than one degree Fahrenheit.

Instead I woke up at 7 with a sore, scratchy throat and clogged right ear. NOT GOOD. My body can only handle so much stress before it freaks out and expresses itself through sickness, and almost always those sicknesses are sore throats, terrible colds, phlegmatic coughs, and inflamed sinuses. (Sometimes all of the above!) Given that Michael is still in the hospital, plus last week was the anniversary of Martha's death, and work is a horrible thorn in my side, and Romeo's birthday is coming up this week, and Ken is not only moving away, but was in the hospital yesterday and likely will have to have a pacemaker installed very soon...I AM VERY STRESSED OUT.

I was due to get sick. I only hope I can get well quickly, but I kinda feel the sore throat migrating down into my lungs. We'll see how I feel in the morning.

I can't really take anything for a cold like this unless I go to the doctor and she prescribes antibiotics, but I'm holding off on that until tomorrow (only if I feel worse). So for today, I've settled for Robitussin and Nyquil.

I actually took the Robitussin in the middle of the day, despite its clearly marked label that reads NIGHTTIME alongside a picture of a crescent moon and three stars. Because my body is semi-impervious to sleep-inducing agents*, it took about two hours for the ginormous swig I drank to take effect, right in the middle of a game of Eight Letters in Search of a Word (they really need an editor for that title, seriously) which resulted in me trying to lose and somehow not being able to do so until I closed my eyes in the middle of a round. I felt like one of those angry bears being shot by tranquilizers that finally falls out of a tree and into someone's kiddie pool.

Oh, I did actually go get blood drawn, and it was quick and fairly painless. (For me at least, though not for the little boy who screamed in terror throughout his blood draw, begging for mercy, and then weepily told his mother afterwards, "I just want to go home please.") I ate like a giant seacow afterwards but this must be excused because I hadn't eaten anything all day and it was already three and plus isn't it feed a cold, starve a fever, or is that the other way around?

And now I've taken some Nyquil and would like to go to sleep but probably won't be tired for hours.

* Isn't it odd that someone who loves sleep as much as me has a body that fights off soporifics? I believe that's ironic, Alanis.

I Should Have Had The Biscuit

Had a sausage McMuffin and a hashbrown along with some very suspect "orange juice" (tasted mysteriously like orange drink mixed with watered-down juice to me) from McDonald's this morning, watched the sky turn pink as the morning light crested the mountains, and then climbed into bed and fell asleep. I don't know if I can stay awake for a steak dinner at Ruth's Chris tonight; I'm already zoning and it's only 3:00. McDonald's is so not the breakfast of champions.

Blurgh

I am tired, but I can't sleep.

I'm also hot, but I can't cool down.

I have no idea how it is possible for one person to generate so much damn heat. Whenever I shift positions, the spot I was just in is practically on fire. Maybe I can start generating my own electricity.

I Was Deceived!

I popped my Tommy's cherry tonight, only because I was already driving and wanted a quick burger. I didn't go to In-N-Out because there are always like a dozen cars in the drive-through and I just wanted to hurry up and go home.

To my credit, I didn't get any chili on my order, yet it was still disgusting. The burger was flat and semi-burnt; the bun was both stale and overtoasted. How can they have been in business for sixty years selling this crap?

Next time I'll just wait in line at INO - at least I'll get a Neapolitan shake out of it, and not just heartburn.

I Broke The Seal

I wasn't all that hungry today until I finally ate around 1:30. I had leftover yellow curry (of course) and an orange popsicle. Then I was starving an hour later but I staved it off until I had two pieces of toast around 4:30. Now my stomach hurts and I've still got a cold. Being sick sucks!

Ugh

Blurgh! I'm sick! I woke up this morning and my nose feels like someone poured rubber cement into it all night. My throat doesn't feel so hot either.

I haven't even had the energy to get up and make some coffee, which I probably couldn't taste anyways. I had a glass of orange juice instead.

I actually had a dentist appointment scheduled for this afternoon, so I called to cancel. The lady I talked to had the nerve to say they prefer 48 hours notice. I was like, uh, first of all, that would have been Sunday so you would have been closed, and secondly, I'M SICK, not psychic. Grr.

Also, my return key is all fucked up and I have to hit it like three times to make it work. Blurgh!

The Day After

I am so effing tired. Yet my cats woke me up repeatedly all night (they were mad because I locked them up in the office yesterday during the party), so I finally decided to get up about an hour ago.

And either I am very stuffed up from running the a/c last night, or I am congested and coming down with a cold. I kind of get the feeling it's the latter. Ugh.

Tastes Like Ass

Michael and Wendy invited me over for a barbecue on Sunday night, and for fun, they got me to try the vile San Pelligrino Chinotto drink they bought from Galco.

The stuff is so nasty - it looks like Coke but it tastes horrendous, almost like a thwarted, terrible, poisonous, and (worst of all) non-alcoholic Jagermeister. It's bitter and herbal. We actually didn't believe it was made from citrus, as was claimed on the label, but a Wiki search shows that it is made from the fruit of the "myrtle-leaved" orange tree. (Don't ask me about the quotes; I'm just telling you what Wikipedia told me.)

Anyhow, don't let anyone trick you into drinking it. No es bueno.

This Is Not A Celebration, Bitches.

So we had a "celebration" in our office today (actually in every office across the country) in honor of our organization's 50th anniversary.

Alas, it was not very celebratory, as the teleconference was a complete clusterfuck (has no one ever heard of muting the phone when herding their rugrats and yappy dogs during a conference call?) replete with bad music from the era of poodle skirts.

Worst of all, though, was our stupid office manager ordered the crappiest food ever and didn't even bother to order dessert! Seriously, what kind of person doesn't order at least cookies for a celebration? Fruit...fruit is not dessert.

Also, if he orders everything with onions ONE MORE TIME, I am going to stab him in the eye.

Today, I am very sour about food. I better have a really kick-ass dinner to make up for this.

Not Again...

Another dream. About the same stupid person. Blurgh!

At least this one was interesting, as it involved this really cool apartment and a cute little mouse (weird, I know) but I'm ready for these to stop any day now.

I'm sure eating jelly donuts at 11pm really helps the situation.

Leave My Subconscious Alone!

I've sort of made it a point to avoid thinking about or talking to someone who recently irritated me. So imagine my dismay at having a dream about this person last night, and despite trying hard to stay mad even in my dream, being really happy to be hanging out together. I woke up very confused and aggravated.

You jerk! Stay out of my dreams!

Mixed Emotions

A friend of mine dropped some news on me via email last week that was unexpected and also, in a small and secret way, a disappointment.

This is one of the few people in my life who gets an almost immediate response whenever he emails, but I couldn't think of anything I wanted to say after reading what he'd written. Instead, I took all of our correspondence from the last few months and put it in a folder so I wouldn't see his name pop up every day when I checked my email. I wanted to mull things over on my own schedule, once whatever I was feeling settled into something more normal, before I wrote him back. (I'll admit I half-considered just ignoring the email altogether and starting fresh on a different tangent in a few weeks, hoping he wouldn't notice.)

Instead, he wrote me today - which was also a bit unexpected, seeing as how I am usually the one to initiate our contact when I start to miss him - asking what had made me speechless. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I simply said I was giving myself some time to process, which is true.

I guess I'm just feeling a little confused and uncertain about exactly why we're writing to each other at all, and why this person from my past knows so much more about me than I do about him, and why it matters to me at all.

I'm thinking I still need more time to figure this all out. *sigh*

Like Sand In My Bathing Suit

So the phone rang last night while I was not in the best of moods, mainly because I driving around halfway lost in pursuit of a late dinner. It was a little before 10 o'clock, not too late to call me (especially on a Friday night) but it was an unfamiliar number and I thought for half a second it might be somebody to whom I recently gave my digits. I was a bit cross at that, thinking it takes either really big balls or a complete lack of game to call a girl on a Friday night to follow up on flirtation.

Anyhow, I needn't have worried about that scenario, as it turned out it was the last guy I dated, calling out of the blue just to irritate the hell out of me. The conversation was abrupt, since, as I mentioned, I wasn't really in the mood to be talking, and also because I was seriously feeling creeped out by him calling me.

We dated VERY briefly earlier this year, and while it started off very intensely and enjoyably, I sort of hit a brick wall when I went into a dark depression around Martha's birthday. I asked repeatedly for some space in order to collect myself and hopefully salvage the budding relationship, but the dude just did NOT understand the concept. He kept calling and emailing, accused me of cheating, and just generally went kind of psycho. (He also did something really stupid around this point which proved that he was immature and idiotic, so ultimately, it was easier just to dump him than try to deal with him in addition to my general emotional malaise.)

After the break-up, he showed up at my door unannounced (he lives like two hours away), called repeatedly (and drunkenly), emailed me some unpleasantness, and then followed up a few weeks later with an apology letter. Quite frankly, I didn't want anything to do with him after the first nutjob stunt of arriving at my home when I wasn't expecting him. So the latest call was just another in a long series of annoyances from this guy.

Look, I realize I am irresistible to the opposite sex. I realize I engender dangerous passions. But having dated this guy for less than two months and broken up almost four months ago, wouldn't you agree that it's time he got over it and moved on? Sheesh.

Put A Number On It

So the insurance company for the motorcyclist who hit me recently (it turned out he was insured - yay!) has finally contacted me and they are trying to work out how much they want to give me for being injured.

Now, keeping in mind that my medical bills are being paid by worker's comp, I haven't had too much in the way of out of pocket costs. However, I did have to take a sick day that I would have preferred to have for a time when I was actually sick instead of just in agonizing pain. (And by "sick", I mean, of course, "hungover".) I've had a few other costs, like towing my car. And despite feeling really lucky to have escaped with only a back/shoulder injury, I am in a lot of pain these days.

I'm exhausted all the time but I'm not sleeping that well. I'm taking pain relievers every day that don't do that much good; going through physical therapy that helps while it's happening but hasn't yet made me feel much better; generally anxious about driving; and feeling anti-social. I haven't been able to work out with Melody in over a month. The only reason I went on my vacation home was because I knew that would make me feel better - if I'd had plans to go to Hawaii, I definitely would have cancelled.

How do they put a price on something like what I'm feeling? How is it possible to say that the pain, stress, and exhaustion I feel is worth a certain amount of money? Bah! And grr! And *sad little sigh*.

Blurgh!

Unsalted butter - especially very, very old unsalted butter (which you probably shouldn't eat anyways) - makes otherwise perfectly good toast taste like ass.

I have eaten like twelve meals today, and each of them involved ridiculous amounts of carbohydrates. Who needs five pieces of toast and cereal and a mini-bagel and a pita all in one day?

One eensy-weensy baby container (seriously, it's like doll-sized) of Haagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream has FORTY-FIVE PERCENT of your saturated fat for the day. This is why I put it back in the freezer after eating about three bites.

In un-blurgh news, my sister called me today; Enterprise upgraded me to a really nice Nissan Altima this morning; and I'm watching episodes of Lost on my DVR. Life could be much worse.