Archive for October 2009

Sickly Observations

While spending the last two days chained to my couch, being incredibly dramatic over my non-swine related head cold and rocking sweatpants and my gigantic WEEI long sleeved t-shirt, whose origins remain a mystery (this shirt is my favorite thing to lounge about in, and yet I have no idea how I came to own it), I’ve made several meaningful observations:

1) Despite the common notion that men whine like babies whenever they catch so much as the sniffles, the Chef has schooled my ass this week. He had the cold first, and basically acted like it was no big deal. I on the other hand, act as though I’m on my deathbed. Or, in this case, deathcouch. Also, I’m pretty sure it’s love when he still thinks you’re cute with a red nose, glassy eyes and couch hair.

2) That old “feed a cold, feed a fever” thing (yeah, I don’t do starving, have we met?) really just doesn’t work. The more cookies I eat, the more sick I end up feeling. It’s like, great, now I’ve got a head cold and a stomachache. Thanks, cookies.

3) When you have a friend in town for one night only who wants to go out, just go to the bar across the street. That way if you keel over, the couch is 50 yards away, and whiskey and NyQuil have very similar scientific makeup.

4) When delirious with cabin fever and dry mouth (caused by all the mouth breathing) (and all the cookies), don’t decide it’s a great idea to get “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past” On Demand. Just….don’t.

5) No matter how much you want them to taste good, those blue corn tortilla chips from Trader Joe’s will never taste good. Even with salt. Move on.

6) You know how when people who cannot sing do karaoke, they always make those lame excuses beforehand “Oh, you guys are in for it tonight!” or “Ohmigod, I can’t believe I let them talk me into this!”….well I do that with cooking. I made breakfast this morning, and it was a constant stream of excuses. It’s that way every time I cook, or really every time I allow anyone in my kitchen:

“Okay, this pancake might taste like bacon, becuase I only have one frying pan. It might also taste like burning, because that one frying pan kind of has scorched-on something or other on it. Also, the pancake itself is burnt, soooo. Yeah.”

“Okay, we can make dinner here, but first let me take all my dirty dishes out of the oven….What? I don’t have a dishwasher, and sometimes you need to get them out of the way!”

“Sorry about that container of ricotta cheese that’s six months old, every time I want to throw it away I have a fresh bag in the garbage, and if I threw it away it would reek!….What? The garbage chute is all the way down the hall!”

7) I can sew buttons! I have this fab red coat that, for reasons entirely unrelated to my corpulence since the coat is not too small AT ALL (no really!!!) lost almost all its buttons last fall. I decided to use two hours (yes, really) of my couch time today sewing them back on, and it totally came out well! I think! We’ll see!! I pricked three fingers, my leg twice, and my lips. But check me out, I am like, totally domestic.

8. No, I was really serious about “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past.”

9) My cat keeps trying to get in the fridge. I am tempted to let him to teach him a lesson, but with my luck I’d forget he was in there and then I’d have to give him mouth-to-mouth like that “Punky Brewster” episode where Cherry got stuck in the old fridge that scared the bejesus out of me when I was 8:

Troubling Development

I gotta say, I’m not sure how I feel about this. One day you go to bed with a relatively normal, if a bit oversized, head, and the next morning it’s a giant brick.

As if I didn’t already have enough trouble hat shopping.

Ummm…Facebook? (Part 2)

Facebook ads are a near constant source of blog posts when you have nothing else to say.

I used to complain about how Facebook used my single status to taunt me with ads questioning whether I was “29 and alone again?” or “Worried he’s not out there?”

Or they’d try to sell me on birth control pills while simultaneously claiming to “accept” my Virginia baby.

And then there’s the incident with the man-boobs.

The latest? They are trying, like an 80s soap opera villain with a faked pregnancy, to drive a wedge between me and my boyfriend:

This is a good point. Where IS my boyfriend!???? He’s in Chevy Chase, according to this very reliable Facebook ad. WHO DOES HE KNOW IN CHEVY CHASE???

Thanks Facebook. I’ll take care of this immediately and then you can get back to taunting me with singles ads. But this time, I’m 30! So they’ll be like “Hey Old Maid, worried about your womb cobwebs? Freeze what few eggs you have left today!”