So, like, sometimes I am sick or busy or whatever and I can't blog. If I miss ONE DAY, there is really no cause for alarm. Not that I didn't enjoy the 49595939393 "Are you DEAD!?" calls and emails while I was trying to rest.
Anyway, on Wednesday I woke up STILL feeling miserable. It was like, SERIOUSLY? SERIOUSLY? Because I am so over this. If I even moved I felt dreadful. So I finally went to the doctor. The good news is I've lost six pounds.
Peg's Diseased Parties. The new weight-loss plan that's sweeping Greensboro.
The woman who came in to take my pulse (which I don't know how she does THAT without hurling) was in all-pink scrubs, with a pink sparkly thingamabob holding her ID tag, and a pink sparkly watch and so forth. You can imagine how she was the wind beneath my wings.
"You look so cute!" I said, noting her almost-eating-disordered thinness. I wonder if she knows Peg. "Oh, I do not," she said, being Southern. "And you–"
Here she stopped, ready to tell me something, SOMETHING on me was cute. Oh, I looked miserable. I was lucky I was able to shower, seeing as all I wanted to do was lie still as Brook Burke's delivery style when she hosted Rock Star IXS.
"Well. You have an excuse because you don't feel well," she finally said. Anyway, the doctor bustled in and listened to my stomach with a stethoscope. "Oh, it's not happy," she told me. Thanks. Thank God you're here. Looking forward to that copay. "Tell me how you think you got sick."
So I told her the story of Peg and her typhoid party, and she said it wasn't food poisoning because none of us got ill until after 24 hours had gone by. "It really takes a perfect storm for healthy adults to catch a stomach bug," she said. Naturally I was riveted, as the topic of how to AVOID them has always riveted me.
"You have to have three things: a really virulent bug, a host that hasn't been exposed before (surely Peg has removed her clothes at least once. She has a daughter), (BAH!) and enough exposure to the bug. I can't imagine how all of you got exposed so well."
"Well, Peg did all the cooking, and she made this gazpacho (which I will never eat again)–" I began. "THAT'S IT!" said my doctor, who I kind of like and who I will miss when she inevitably quits me. "Oh, that IS a perfect storm. She's making that soup while infected, then she puts it in the fridge all day. Oh! That did it all right."
Hunh. Anyway, 250 paragraphs later, she prescribed me some pills to combat nausea. After I got them–and let's talk about how quiet Target is on a January Wednesday at 10:30 a.m. Holy pecans. Last time I was there was right before Christmas and you couldn't see the floor. You just kind of let the crowd carry you through. I could have run up and down the aisle with naked exposed Peg and no one but store workers would've seen us.
As I was SAYING, after I got them, I checked in with my boss with a very phony, "You want me to come in?" and he said yes. Oh, I didn't want to go to work. I still felt awful, but with that pill in me I headed off. And you know that thing kicked in?
And look! I had ALL of this for dinner! I mean, not that whole box of Nut-Thins, which is an excellent name. The Poet at work introduced me to these. "June, I'd like you to meet Nut-Thins. Nut-Thins, this is my coworker June."
Anyway, they are a thin rice cracker and I am happy to tell you I have little regret from eating that king-sized meal. Then I slept from 7 p.m. on.
In other news, I got business cards. Was tired of writing my blog name on scraps of paper when I met people at the glory hole or wherever. Kind of redundant to show it to you here, as you are already here. Kind of like when they have ads for Taco Bell at Taco Bell. Not that I would know this.
Oh, wait! I almost forgot. Was talking to Hulk the other night, and he said, "So I hired my mom to be my maid."
"Well, you know I work all those hours now, and I HATE coming home to all this dust and a floor that needs sweeping," he said, somehow sounding precisely like Jane Jetson. "And at Christmas I was telling my family I'm gonna get a cleaning lady (Hulk must be fascinating at the dinner table) and my mom said she was totally bored since retiring and she'd do it."
"…Can I blog about this? I mean, your mom wears so many HATS in your life."
Does that scenario strike you as hilarious as it does me? If you just got here, Hulk is my friend from high school. Somehow, while witnessing his mom's marriage at the courthouse a few years back, he signed the wrong line and technically married his mom. So now she's his mom/wife/maid. Which is many ways is redundant for a lot of men.
Also, he told me that his mom came over to peruse the house and discuss what she would and would not do, and she was wearing sweatpants. "This is how you come to a job interview?" Hulk asked her.
I can see this will go places we will gleefully explore. Hulk doesn't see why it's funny. I mean, really? How can you NOT see it? And how happy is Hulk's mom gonna be to be cleaning up after HIS grown-up ass once again? She probably thought she was done with all that.
Anyway, further news as developments warrant.