You know, every workday morning, the alarm goes off, and I hit snooze, and Lily is on top of me, and I hit snooze again and my POINT is, every time I get here to blog I go, MOTHER OF GOD WHY IS IT SO LATE ALREADY?
Today I figured out my goddamn alarm clock is 10 minutes slow compared to the rest of the, you know, clocks in the house. Son of a BITCH.
Am I the only person in America these things happen to? Doesn't everybody else set their alarm clock a little fast? Did you ever see Same Time Next Year? I love that movie. Alan Alda's watch is really fast, and he never fixes it, and he tells Ellen Burstyn something like, "I knew what time I fell in love with you. It was 11:02 p.m. I know because I looked at my watch and it was 3:15."
In other news, I am pretty sure I am getting a cold. This whole season, with everyone hacking and dying and aching and it sounding like a TB WARD in my office, I have escaped illness. I was just thinking, Maybe this year I have some kind of magical power that wards off colds, even though I have no spleen, which makes me more susceptible to illness, and even though I never got a flu shot this year.
That was some logical thinking. Yeah, that's it. A magical power. And now my throat distinctly hurts.
Which is fine. Ned leaves for ANOTHER GODDAMN BUSINESS TRIP tomorrow morning–I know. A Saturday. That isn't even fair–so as long as I can slog through tonight I can spend the rest of the weekend on the couch with my fixed TV.
I do have plans to see the tsunami movie tomorrow night with a friend but if I get ill those plans will be a wash. I'll be bowled over by the wave of this cold. I'll be drowning in NyQuil.
Tsunami jokes. Why did god see fit to punish me with a cold, do you think?
Ned and I don't really know what we're doing tonight, although what Ned does NOT know is he has a whole night of hearing about my cold up ahead of him, but last night when we were on the phone he said, "We can do whatever you want to do tomorrow, June."
"Makeovers! Long Island Medium marathon on TV and makeovers!" I said.
Since my TV got fixed earlier this week, I've been making up for lost time. Have not sat around looking at television since at least September. And oh! That Long Island Medium! That there is a good show. I've also continued to catch up on my Brady Bunch and my Andy Griffith.
Last night I saw the one where Marcia runs for class hostess at Filmore Junior High. The winner of class hostess gets to escort an astronaut to dinner at school or something. I mean, bitch ALREADY gets to take Davy Jones to the prom. Does she ALSO need to score her an astronaut?
Anyway, just to throw an unpopular girl a bone, Marcia helps this mousy chick run for the position, too, and under her fine tutelage, old Molly the Unpopular gets all pretty and shit and WINS THE COMPETITION.
I mean, the Brady Bunch had some hard-hitting issues. After her loss, Marcia OD and we see the whole family watch her get her stomach pumped. Alice makes some great wisecracks in the emergency room. Oh, Alice.
You know what's sad? Alice probably plays my age in that show. Sam is her Ned. God, that's depressing.
Oh, crap, I have to go. Thank heavens I stopped to write this important post. Talk to you tomorrow, when I will surely be stoic and brave about my cold, as I am wont to be.