Friday, January 30, 2004
I actually composed a post last night—a passive-aggressive rant about being busy at work and squirreling away my extra time rather than putting it on my timesheet because I don’t earn overtime but “comp” time that I can never really use. Yeah, it was that interesting. So I decided I just wasn’t meant to post yesterday. Not about Mia’s hopefully improving lazy eye. Not about our new water heater, or the weather. Not about the Seminoles respectable showing in the Cameron Center. And not even about how hungry I’ve been lately, and how I can’t stop putting food in my mouth . . . even when I’ve just started one course, I have to think about what I’m going to eat next. Yeah, none of that.
I’ve just been busy. I’m actually going to interrupt writing this several times so I can get things done. Just so you know.
The weekend is jam-packed with activities. Saturday, the remaining original members of the band are off to Jacksonville for a daytrip to attend the wedding of our ex-drummer. After I return home and help tuck my daughter into bed, Mr. ADD and others are coming over to watch Ultimate Fighting Championship on pay-per-view. (Mr. ADD tells me this is gonna be a good one.) Sunday, of course, are the Super Bowl commercials. I’ll be spending part of the day with my mom, helping her get groceries, etc. And I’ll be stocking up myself in preparation of playing host for the second night in a row. (Grocery note to self: beer, Diet Coke, chips, dips, Mylanta, Tums, Pepto, other snacks.)
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
How America’s Undying Love for Winners and Neatly Tied-Together Stories Causes Me to Fill a Miscellaneous Post with the Appropriate Amount of Segues
Yesterday was a flurry of activity. When I wasn’t busy trying to keep “admin” time from showing up on my timesheet, I was working the phones and making trips to the house to help solve the water-heater mystery. Yes, our water heater died (apparently) a quick, cold death sometime overnight Monday. I had a fairly warm shower yesterday morning, but Michelle said her bath was somewhat less than warm. Further testing revealed no hints of warmth from the faucets marked with an “H.”
First up was Sears. Bottom line: If you want a drill, or a power sander, or a flannel shirt, by all means go to Sears and buy it. If you want carpeting, or car repair, or a major appliance . . . for fuck’s sake, go someplace else. I went to Lowe’s and paid (with tax) $200 less for the water heater with installation than Sears wanted for about the same thing (before tax). Those fuckers. I’m glad we’ve paid off our account to them.
With any luck, Michelle is at home right about now while the plumber(s) install our new water heater.
I think I’ve expressed my distaste for bandwagonning and fair-weather fans. Now, I haven’t seen (I don’t think) any Carolina Panther fans around town. So, it’ll be interesting to see that, if they win (and I, as a result, lose $10) how many Panther fans suddenly appear. Because America loves a winner. And I hate that about America.
Speaking of America’s love for winners, I’m starting to feel more positive about the election this Fall. No, no, not because of John Kerry’s continued dominance. See, let’s say Kerry wins the nomination, gets someone strong on his ticket, and turns out to be a more energetic and appealing candidate. Now, my theory is that the Republicans really went overboard on “getting out the vote” in 2000 (to exorcise the Clinton legacy from the White House), whereas the Democrats didn’t do as much (because Al Gore barely registered on the enthusiasm-o-meter, and that was when he made out with Tipper at the Convention). So, if the Democrats can “get out the vote” to exorcise Bush from the White House (which most of them want to do at all costs), and the Republicans are more sedate / disenchanted (because their figurehead has the leadership capabilities of an oft-ridden blowup doll), we might just have a chance.
And, I’d suspect, the happy State of Florida will be a battleground once again.
Speaking of battlegrounds, if one more motherfucker knocks on my door during my lunch break, there’s gonna be a shivving.
Monday, January 26, 2004
Poker? I Don’t Even Know Her.
Saturday night, I finally had the opportunity to sit in on another poker game. I’d missed a few Texas Hold ‘Em get-togethers. The last one I went to was my best showing, winning $10 (not counting the pile of nickels I left in the pot when I departed).
Now, as it was pointed out Saturday night, our poker games have little in common with the ones you see on The World Series of Poker or Celebrity Poker. Besides the fact that we’re not playing with thousand-dollar chips or donating our winnings to our favorite charities. The biggest difference is that, in our games, bluffing usually doesn’t stand. Someone usually steps up to “keep him (or her) honest,” unless he or she is holding total shit, or the bet is outrageously high.
Now, knowing that people I play against could be reading this, I will reveal my strategy. First of all, I try and pay to see the “flop” (those first three cards). Even if I’m holding really bad cards. That’s because I’ve played too many hands where I’ve been holding bad cards and folded, only to see both of my cards pair up in the flop. So, unless someone raises to thin the herd, I’ll try and stay in. The other thing is that I rarely bluff. I might do it once or twice a game but, as has been shown, bluffs are often called at that table, so why bother? (I don’t want to get into a $10 pissing match over a broken straight.)
I showed up Saturday night with a mini Crown Royal bag full of $20 in quarters. (I also had a plastic grocery bag full of loose beers . . . two Yuenglings and two Mic Lights.) The night started out in typical fashion, with me losing about half my money in the span of 30 minutes. I even pulled out some paper money (read: real money) to bet with. My turnaround began when I threw a $5 bill in on someone’s ridiculous raise, and I won. From then on, I was winning fairly regularly. It was around that time that I let everyone know that I was leaving around midnight. I tried to shed some of my winnings over the next hour, but to no avail.
So, I ended up staying until after 2 a.m. And despite chasing stupid hands, betting on stupid cards, and calling stupid raises, I kept winning. It was one of those nights I’d been waiting for my entire “career.” The cards were all going my way. Winning two hands in a row with three 8’s became a joke for the rest of the
All told, I walked out between $45 and $50 ahead. (I had $56 in quarters, plus a lot of half-dollar and dollar coins.) I was immediately invited to play this Friday, which I don’t think I’ll be able to make. But I did make a $10 Super Bowl bet with one of the guys (I gave him 7 points on the Panthers).
The moral of the story is: After playing poker for several nights, and losing $10 to $20 each night, you’re eventually gonna win some of that back all at once. And it’s gonna feel good.
p.s. – I mailed off the rest of the CDs from last year, so I’m caught up now. (Except for yours, Ms. JAB.)
Friday, January 23, 2004
My court date (for jury duty) was postponed a couple weeks. We found out at 10 o'clock this morning. I'd already filled out my timesheet, anticipating that I'd be out all day. Did I go home to clean the house, or catch up on reading and movie-watching, or masturbate to the cast of The L Word? No. Because I'm a good boy, I went to work. There's a lot to do, and my civic duties were putting my boss in a bad position. So, here I am, at my desk, eating Frosted Mini Wheats and Michelle's white bean chili / soup and pizzeria pretzel Combos, and listening to George Michael's "Faith" on the retro adult-contemporary station.
The above paragraph is chock full of reasons why I could potentially be going to Hell, so I'll stop here. Enjoy your respective weekends, all four and a half of you.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Your Official Kamikaze Lunchbreak Voting Guide
With the primary voting season upon us (to be followed, ominously, by the general election in November), it might be time for a little primer. Between working and fulfilling my civic duties, I’ve done little else besides think about presidential politics. Monday night, for instance, I watched the Iowa caucus results come in. And, of course, last night I watched the amazingly incompetent antics taking place in the House chamber.
So, for your first lesson in voting, let’s go over some glossary terms:
“electable” – I think we set a pretty low standard for this back in 2000, don’t you? I mean, if we can “elect” George W. Bush to the White House, is anyone not electable? Yeah, I know this term is used to refer to a candidate’s party-crossover / centrist / swing-voter appeal (e.g., Howard Dean’s apparent lack of). I’m just saying that, after the criminal policies of the past three years, couldn’t we just stick this tag on anyone who’s not currently in the White House?
“centrist” – This term is used, supposedly, for people who are in the middle . . . between Democrats and Republicans. I’m not convinced that such people exist. And I’ll go a step further . . . I’m not sure the two parties aren’t connected . . . one big party. Seriously, the more-liberal Republicans and more-conservative Democrats are basically the same. Or similar, anyway. I mean, you could have a fairly liberal person who was staunchly anti-abortion, or an ultra-conservative who wanted to protect the environment. Where do you draw the line?
“swing voters” – These would be the on-the-fence people who could be swayed by either party’s candidate . . . another name for a “centrist.” After getting his party’s nomination, the candidate will run to the “middle” to court “swing voters.” Who, apparently, live in “swing states.”
“The Scream” – The barbaric yawp that Dean unleashed after coming in third in the Iowa caucuses. He then proceeded to list the home states of his major opponents as states he was going to win. Ho, boy. I say that now, but at the time, I was, like, “Man, look at that cocky motherfucker!”
“special interests” – These would be the lobbyists, large contributors, and charity groups that help “shape” a president’s policy. Apparently, John Kerry thinks (as he said in his post-caucus speech) that they’ll be swept out of the D.C. if he’s elected president. And that’s bullshit. Let’s not kid ourselves, Senator. The “special interests” that you manage to usher out will be replaced by other, different, “special interests.”
Okay, that got boring. (Did it really?) Kind-of like the State of the Union last night. (Maybe I should’ve played this game.*) I had a checklist of all the talking points that Dubya was going to use to prove that he, not Flash Gordon, savedeveryoneofus. And he hit them all: capturing Saddam (Hillary clapped half-heartedly at that one), providing seniors with cheap prescription drugs (the drug companies have never been happier), putting money right into our pockets using the ever-popular tax cuts, leaving no child behind, and protecting our country from
Let’s boil it down, shall we? If the powers of Compassionate Conservatism™ can get together and Frankenstein Bush into a successful candidate, why are people afraid of Howard Dean’s lack of foreign policy experience? Remember: Bush knew nothing about foreign policy during the 2000 campaign. The guy was, and still is, retarded. And you think he’ll lose votes when people realize that the only moderate cabinet member (who matters . . . Colin Powell) won’t serve with Bush for another term? Shit, I’d bet Colin Powell could announce his candidacy now and become the Republican nominee. Okay, maybe not NOW, but you get the picture.
Hey, let’s boil this down some more. Here is the best, most-distilled anti-Bush plea ever.** I can’t stop watching it.
* link borrowed from Lotus, Esq.
** link borrowed from Debbie
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
You’ve Been Chosen!
I’m one of those idiots too stupid to get out of jury duty. I mean, I guess you could look at it that way. However, I like to look at it through rose-colored glasses . . . ones that are surely scratched by my own lurid curiosity about what goes on during a trial. With real people. Not like the actors on CSI, or Law & Order. (I’m glad the helpful defense attorney pointed that one out for us. Admittedly, I was among some real winners, but I guess we’re shooting for the lowest common denominator, huh, Perry Mason.)
Anyway, I’m only in for a half-day, and I’ve been busy, so . . . yeah. Plus, I’m getting all psyched about watching the State of the Union tonight. Gotta watch what our
I can safely say that the jury’s not out on that guy. (“Survey says . . . LLLLOOOOOOOSSSER!”)
p.s.: Not sure how I feel about Kerry winning the Iowa caucuses. I’ll let you know after New Hampshire’s primary next Tuesday.
Monday, January 19, 2004
This Lazy Sloth Has Great Hair
I’m not gonna try and front like I’m organized and have my shit together. Yeah, I have a laundry list of things I need to accomplish on evenings and weekends when I don’t have band practice. Y’know, cleaning up the house and bookkeeping. (The house really isn’t that messy, just unorganized, but I’m a few months behind on updating the checkbook and reconciling the family budget.)
Saturday night turned out to be a textbook example my perpetual distraction / procrastination pitfalls. After Mia went to bed, I was going to have a few hours to be productive while Michelle was at practice. I made a mental list of things to accomplish. When Mia was in bed, I sat down with dinner in front of the T.V. (where we eat all our meals . . . the new coffee table / aircraft carrier runway makes this much easier). I surfed into an episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy on Bravo. (Oh, so this is what the show is like.) I quite enjoyed it. When that wrapped up, I sat through the commercial break and then a movie magically started. Looked promising. Oh, wait, it’s . . . Silverado. So, I found myself watching the most manipulative and neatly tied up, but strangely alluring, western ever (for the third or fourth time) and trying to “accomplish” during commercial breaks. Yeah, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to determine how much got done.
On the flipside, I went out to the park yesterday. I hadn’t had a hair cut in more than six weeks, and it had yet to wash it that day. So, rather than be bed-headed, I chose the CW-endorsed ponytail. Michelle said, “You should wear your hair like that more often.” I asked her if I looked like “Becks,” and she agreed that I did . . . somewhat. So, when I got my hair cut this morning, I made sure not to take too much off the length so I could continue to explore my outer Mr. Posh Spice.
I know . . . this post begs for photographic documentation. Maybe you’ll get it. Soon.
Friday, January 16, 2004
I Have to Keep My New-Found Momentum From Being Thrown Off
I Feel so Bad for Making a Not-So-Veiled Reference to Cunnilingus in Yesterday’s Post*
1) It’s Friday. The world is conspiring to throw a wrench into my perfectly oiled machine. To whack me in the shin with a steel pipe. To keep me down, basically. For instance, there’s a lot of work to do that I’m not doing. Not necessarily because I’m doing this. I’m just, y’know, not staying on task. (Okay, let’s not blame “the world” for that one.)
2) Next week is going to be busy, too. Our office doesn’t celebrate Martin Luther King Day. Neither does Michelle’s office. But the state offices do, which means Mia’s daycare will be closed. So, it’s “Take Your (toddler) Daughter to Work Day” . . . again. (And watch your daughter get into everything and get no work done.)
3) I’ve been summoned for jury duty on Tuesday. After being out for three days (and then some) last week, I can see how management is gonna love me next week.
4) We have a show tonight . . . our first in a couple months. Debuting a couple new songs, too. Our band has hitched a ride on the hype mobile (here in town, anyway), so we could get some attention for it. Of course, one of our more-prominent members has professed a need to be drunk for the show, so our performance may be off. Incidentally, there might be a shivving tonight.
5) We’ve been borrowing my mom’s minivan for the past several weeks, because the enviro-friendly Land Rover was making funny noises and flashing funny warning indicators. We were about to take it in to have it looked at and now it’s returned to acting normal (where “normal” is driving / sounding fine, all at 13 miles to the gallon).
6) I’m eating tofu . . . right now. And I’m enjoying it. Something is most definitely wrong.
* This post was created in the spirit of Estella because she can’t, due to a broken computer. I’m just filling a void. It’s been fun. I may keep doing this until she’s up and running. I like being Estella more than myself, actually. (I’ll try and be a man for you, though, honey.)
Thursday, January 15, 2004
So, This is the New Year . . .
We’re halfway through the first month of the year. How are your resolutions coming? Mine? Well, as Michelle and I have yet to celebrate the New Year by having our requisite bottle of champagne (or Asti Mondoro, as the case may be), I’m not entirely convinced that there’s been a New Year.
Still, I guess I should look back at my lengthy list of resolutions . . . y’know, the ones I posted here.
Hmmm. Let me see. I suppose I can divide these into three distinct categories: those that I’ve already made headway on, those that I still intend to make headway on, and those that are just lost causes.
First up, the lost causes. Actually, there’s just one that fits into this category . . . the flossing. My dental hygienist once scared me into it, and I almost made it a habit. Kept it up for five days a week, then two or three, then whenever I would remember. I still intend to do it again, someday.
Most of the rest of my resolutions fall into the “still intend” category. Because yesterday was the first day since around Christmas that I felt pretty much normal, I haven’t made too much progress on the physical-improvement, dietary-improvement, or artistic-endeavor fronts. I have, however, ratcheted up the reading. I already have two graphic novels under my belt for the year, with two more in progress. As for books without pictures, I’m reading Al Franken’s latest. And I’ll finish it . . . when I can remember where I left it.
And to help combat future illness and promote general health and well-being, I’ve been taking a multi-vitamin a day . . . every day (so far) in 2004. I predict that, soon, I’ll be holding up the “V” for victory symbol. Right now, though, I’m keeping the “V” at my mouth and flicking my tongue through it.
Yeah, eat that, 2004.
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
Settling In to Being Only a Little Bit Behind
I’m trying to get caught up on my CD-manufacturing duties. I have a few more to send out from the two previous distributions. And then I have a special CD to finish for someone’s birthday (ahem), and then it’s a brand-new mix that’s heavy with everyone’s favorite “merciful” doomster (and his faithful sidekick, Doktor Avalanche). Oh, but yes. It’s gonna be doom-tastic. Goth-a-licious. Black-o-graphic.
I had to get my mom some groceries during my lunch break. On the way to her house with the groceries, I picked up a double cheeseburger and some chicken nuggets from McDeath. While I ate my artery-clogging goodness, I was watching the Laci Peterson case on Court TV, specifically the defense’s motion-to-dismiss hearing. Fun stuff, really. Mark Gregaros was arguing that the prosecution’s case was ludicrous, and that it’s impossible to believe that his client could have murdered his wife. So, then, the prosecutor gets up and argues his side . . . basically spelling out just how Scott Peterson could have committed the crime and why he’s on trial. In the most sarcastic, asshole way possible.
Man, it was great. I really like that guy (the prosecutor, not the douchebag who murdered his wife or the other douchebag defending him).
My mom and I don’t agree on very much. She’s anti-Clinton and constantly brings up him getting blowjobs from Monica, and then lying about it. I have to bring up that Bush lied about why we should go to war with Iraq, and now hundreds of people have been needlessly killed. (I think Patricia agrees with me on that one.) Kind-of makes a few blowjobs look like not such a big deal, huh?
(And every time I’m there, she blathers on about Hillary, seemingly convinced that I’m a huge supporter. Where does she get this? I know mom's Republican cronies love to demonize her, but why does it fall to me to defend St. Hillary?)
Anyway, mom feels bad for Michael Jackson, and I feel like the guy brought it on himself. She feels bad for Rush Limbaugh, and I feel like the guy brought it on himself. But with Pete Rose, I think we both feel that the guy broke the rules, and that shouldn’t be rewarded. I mean, for Christ’s sake, he bet on his own team. Can you be any more wrong?
There seem to be a few housekeeping chores to do in the ol’ blogroll. A ‘blog or two to drop (extended hiatus / whatnot). A ‘blog or two to add (see if you can find yours). A ‘blog that’s changed its title so much, I’m just going with a pseudonym at this point. I’m trying to add some more hover text, too (Debbie’s post today begged for me to take action on that front). Anyway, there you have it. Enjoy.
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Subway. Eat Fresh. (If by “Eating Fresh” They Mean “Eating a Shitload”)
I won’t ever be featured in a Subway commercial, unless it’s one with Jared™ trying to turn me on to the next new low-fat / low-carb sub, and I’m, like, “C’mon, man, put some fuckin’ cheese on there. Seriously. No cheese? What about mayonnaise?” And then I’m run over by a bus. (The voiceover: “Subway. Good, so you don’t always have to be. Of course, you can choose to be bad, but then you die prematurely.”)
The standard not-so-much-of-a-value meal I go with is the 6-inch sandwich, with a side of deli-style sandwich. Today, for instance, was the 6-inch pizziata (or whatever they call it, with provolone and mayo) with a deli-style turkey breast (also with provolone and mayo). I guess it was healthy of me to NOT get the chips and/or cookies, too. This means I’ll have to reach into my desk for some Smarties. I also got the Sprite / pink lemonade suicide. The pink lemonade was apparently broken, because it was just drizzling out the syrup. But that’s okay. More sweets for the sweet, I say.
I blame the fact that Subway is both loaded with and lacking things I really want to eat. Oh, yeah, there’s lots of things I’ll settle for. (I usually get the authentic and fresh seafood and crab, but I was thinking outside the box today, I guess.) But couldn’t they have a gyro sub? Or a curry chicken sub? A pad thai sub? I’d wager that those would propel Subway right to the top.
Monday, January 12, 2004
Opinions are Like Kamikazes . . . Everyone Wants One of Mine
I actually sat down to watch the Democratic hopefuls debate from Iowa last night. And I have to say that I have a little more of a “team spirit” that includes the other candidates, meaning I could see myself supporting just about any of them in a crusade for the White House. Because it’s becoming less about getting the best person for the job, and more about getting anyone to replace the guy who’s in there.
But in light of the new allegations by a former White House cabinet member, I don’t think that any of the Democratic candidates (or voters, for that matter) are really angry enough about what’s happened in the past year. Most Americans believe that the capture of Saddam is the end of a dark chapter in the Middle East / Persian Gulf region. But it means nothing. It solves nothing. And it didn’t have to happen. Let’s step back, shall we?
The saber-rattling started in the Fall of 2002 (although it seems things may have started right around the time Dubya was sworn in). The president and vice president began lobbying the international community to have Saddam’s regime in Iraq taken out. They convinced the Congress to back them by giving the president the authority to go to war (as a last resort and with a U.N. mandate). The U.N. fought the president tooth and nail, figuring (accurately) that he just had a hard-on for getting rid of Saddam as a tribute to his daddy, but eventually agreed to back the president’s call for weapons inspections. The inspections lasted, oh, a few weeks before the president decided he’d had enough and dispatched Colin Powell to the U.N. to convince everyone that Saddam has hiding weapons of mass destruction. The American people were slowly convinced, but the U.N. Security Council wasn’t. The president said “Attack!” anyway.
The “evidence” used to convince us that Iraq needed to be attacked focused on Saddam’s imminent threat, his possession of WMD, and his possible connections to Al Quaeda . . . all of which have proven fruitless and not true. Essentially, we have been lied to. In a big, big way. Bush was score-settling, and the used us . . . and our money. Saddam, yes, was a very, very bad man, but he was contained. Meanwhile, Osama Bin Laden is dancing around in the mountains of Afghanistan, thumbing his nose at us and planning more attacks. I mean, Christ, we know roundabout where the guy is, and how much money he’s spending keeping things rolling in Iraq. Couldn’t we have spent tens (or hundreds) of billions of dollars catching / killing him instead of invading Iraq?
How does Dubya fuckin’ sleep at night? Hundreds of soldiers are dead because he wanted Saddam out of Iraq . . . and for no other reason. Now we have a country to rebuild. And we’ve ironically made the country safer for terrorists. All of which makes us poorer and less safe. Gee, thanks, George.
So, yeah, I’m mad. And I want to make sure that the guy I vote for is just as mad as I am.
Friday, January 09, 2004
Kamikaze Held Hostage: Week Four
And the flu lingers on. The Sturm und Drang of days ago has died down to general lethargy, an annoying sinus pressure on one (mostly clear) side of my head, and residual phlegm in my lungs that is just hanging on . . . fighting to avoid being coughed up. What kills me is that I love Winter . . . big time. And my enjoyment of it is being eaten up by a wide array of viruses.
So, here I am, on a dreary North Florida afternoon: Watching the sporadic drizzle outside and wishing it was snow. Choking down (all too literally) a Centrum to keep up with at least one of my goddamn resolutions. Turning off my radio when I hear another one of those seemingly countless Santana “collaborations.” Lashing out at the overpaid office assistant who brought me petty and unnecessary changes to a document I thought was long, long gone . . . even though it wasn’t her fault or her problem. Mourning my fantasy basketball team (yes, the Angry Dragons) for their current 11th place (out of 12) standing. Chuckling to myself that our band was chosen as the Band of the Month at this website, and now we have an interview set up with them for tomorrow. Trying to keep myself energized enough to type this entry, but not so energized that I feel like doing a bunch of work. Wondering what’s going on over at ABC Daytime . . . y’know, their fine afternoon programming . . . All My Children, One Life to Live, and General Hospital.
Will Bianca tell her mother that she’s the one carrying the baby of the murdered rapist, Michael, and not her half-sister, Kendall? Will Todd again be convicted of committing rape, this time against his own wife? And will Carly really shoot Alcazar, or is she going to profess her “undying” love for him?
Tune in next week. I’ll strive for humanity over the weekend. You do the same.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Scenes from a
I arrived at the pediatrician's office shortly after 8 a.m. There was one other car in the parking lot, with a woman talking on a cell phone. Presumably, she had a child in her back seat.
I waited for the staff to arrive and unlock the door. When it appeared that we were close to going in, I took Mia to sit by the front door. (It was a nice morning.) I sat on the concrete landing, and she sat on my lap while I fed her Cheerios.
The woman got out of her car and then extracted her child. We exchanged pleasantries, and then the following.
Scott: How old is your son?
Woman: He'll be one year old tomorrow.
Scott: Oh, wow. She's 16 months old.
Woman: When did she start walking?
Scott: Well, she hasn't yet. She has a lazy eye . . .
Woman: Yeah, he's lazy, too, but I make him walk anyway.
She was lying in bed, trying to sleep. He woke up from a strange dream (about giving someone directions that never ended) and was playing with his nose. Suddenly, he felt the chills. And the achiness. And the nasal congestion. She'd had these symptoms prior to going to sleep, and he'd hoped that they wouldn't both be sick at the same time . . . not while their daughter was sick, too.
He got up to go to the bathroom. When he came back, he told his half-awake wife that he had gotten whatever it was that she was (further) sick with. Repressing tears and/or a panic attack, he said, "I'm just worried that we're gonna give her something that will kill her."
Your doctor prescribes the same antidote for everything: antibiotics. This time was no different, even though he said not to expect "any magic." He also recommended some vitamin supplements and an expectorant.
His doctor, on the other hand, gave him a scrip for antibiotics (to hold, in case things got worse, not better), a sample of Rhinocort, a recommendation to get some Affrin for the nasal congestion, and a scrip for vicodin . . . for the cough. (The nurse had warned him not to take it if he was going to be driving . . . "It's a narcotic." Yeah, he knew that.)
"Yeah, apparently, I've been hit by a truck or something."
"I don't think you should take that."
"No. I probably won't even pick it up."
You made a joke about getting them anyway and keeping them on hand. For party favors, perhaps. Or to give away to friends.
After picking up the medications, he read the literature that came with the vicodin.
"Hey, I guess it is used to treat coughs."
I hadn't meant to leave last Friday's post up for that long. I just haven't had the time / energy to update. We all three stayed home from work / daycare Monday and yesterday. Mia is back in daycare today. I may try to put in a half-day if I feel up to it later. And Michelle will likely be out all week, unless she makes a dramatic turn for the better.
Oh, and I still haven't taken any of the vicodin. I'm pretty afraid of what it might do to me.
Friday, January 02, 2004
The Resolution Matrix
When I realized that I'd be putting together a lengthy laundry list of things to do in 2004, I decided I'd title the corresponding post in a way that echoes Matrix: Revolutions and the similarly titled TV show (The Threat Matrix). I've only seen one of these, so lemme tell you . . . I think I liked Kelly Rutherford better as the Hooker with a Heart of Gold™ on Melrose Place.
My gaybo tendencies aside here we go. In 2004, I resolve:
-- to exercise more.
-- to drink more water.
-- to make more time for writing.
-- to be a better husband.
-- to be a better father.
-- to be a better friend.
-- to take a multi-vitamin a day.
-- to eat a more balanced diet . . . and, on a related note, to prepare a larger part of my family's food using something other than a microwave.
-- to floss more regularly (read: to floss, period).
-- to remember people's birthdays.
-- to keep more in touch with family far away.
-- to 'blog less, and be more billable (whoa, ha, ha . . . just kidding there).
-- to put stuff back where I found it (or, alternately, where it belongs).
-- to watch at least one movie a week.
-- to read at least one book a month.
-- to take more pictures and, perhaps, finally start the project I formulated in my community-college photography class.
-- to be more organized (which should help me with several of the above items).
I told Jules, in her comments, that I'd have "like, 25" resolutions on my list. If you count them, you'll find that I'm a few short. And many of them are hard to quantify and/or pretty vague.
Now, here's a fun game (and the "winner" WON'T get a mix CD, either). See if you can pick out the resolutions that I'm least (or most) likely to keep. You can be the optimist or the pessimist!
I'll just say that when I make my kamikazes in my short-stemmed cocktail glass, it's always half-full. In all other facets of my life, the glass is half-empty . . . and cracked.
Oh, and, for the record, the New Year starts on January 5. I've been too sick and/or distracted to prepare myself for a long list of resolutions.
Okay, pop quiz, hot shot!
You've had a cold for two weeks. Your throat hurts like a motherfucker. Your head's stuffy. Which of these remedies will prove most effective?
a. Tylenol Nighttime Flu
c. three beers and some nasal spray
Actually, the answer is none of them cleared my nose or stopped my throat from hurting. But I think I slept much better after last night's beer. I foresee more of the same tonight.
See, I wanted to do the big, year-end "Best of" list and use it in the typical, snarky, 'blogger way . . . and also to pay tribute to my favorite 'blog sites. Y'know . . . shout out to my homies, like my straight-pimpin', rotisserie-chicken-buyin' host in Atlanta; the punk-rock, PBR-slammin' Queen of Richmond; the domestic Goddess / unemployed barista in Seattle; the geometry-hatin', pirate-lovin', shark-o-matic, not-legally-old-enough-to-drink-but-blogging-beyond-her-years girl in Peoria; the shingles-ridden Battleship player and all-too-gracious host of my comments in Chicago; the soon-to-be-single-mom college chick with a gorgeous daughter and who's much too close to her kitchen utensils (also) in Seattle; the Canadian soon-to-be-mother who turned me on to Helix; the Yankee fan / goth-song-quoting-mistress-of-darkness / hip-hopper / photographic artiste in L.A.; the prolific mother of two whose frisky husband will put his foot up your ass if you as his wife "for the sex"; the person I may have become had my father really moved us out to Phoenix when I was in high school . . . and had I been a girl; the girl named Poo, who has a boy named boy, and a job at the super-secret corporate entity that will destroy / save us all; the all-too-often swear-impaired hockey vixen / drug-pusher from Indianapolis; the child-protecting web-hostess whose Cowboys must be destroyed; the car-crashin' Hootress whose Mia will totally rule her school; NYC attorneys of the incompetent and Asian varieties (not that Asian lawyers can't also be incompetent, and vice versa); San Francisco's wandering wiseguy, who's quick with the imaginary barfight; and last, but not least, that random chick from West Virginia whose traumas and triumphs are what make the Blogsphere the special place that it is.
If only I could've come up with a clever way of doing that.