It's Swine Time

It's swine time! My son has been confirmed, and now my husband is convinced that he has it, although his only symptoms seem to be lethargy, whining, being pathetic, and inability to do anything besides eat and use the remote control. He did, however, take a nap today. But why he felt the need to fall asleep drooling his germs all over my side of the bed, I have no idea. I would have rolled him over to his side, but he would only tell me, that as usual, I am mean to him when he is "sick". I am on day 4 with my son, and Florence Nightingale has left the building. When Ethan asked me to pull a tissue out of the box for him because "my hands are too tired", is about the same time I snapped. In the last 2 years I have had 5 surgeries (one during which I was accidentally punctured in an organ, and one during which they paralyzed my vocal cord), been diagnosed with a lung disease, and almost died from pulmonary embolisms. Let me tell you something people...I still wrote funny stories about being sick, did laundry, cooked for my family, and ran errands. In fact, I was so jolly during one of my long hospital stays that a few nurses took their lunch breaks in my room because it was "the fun room." So, I have about a 4 day maximum on patience for my sick child, and a zero day allowance for my husband. I really have no tolerance for a 40 year old man who whines about his "sore throat." Take it from me...wash those hands, spray the Lysol and pray to God your husband's stay well. And if you hear police sirens in the 'hood in the next day or two, turn on the evening news, 'cause it might be me finally losing my mind.

A Trip To Hollister

Today my friend Stephanie and I went into Hollister. What is going on with this store? It is so dark that I can barely see any of the clothes. The music is so loud you can't talk. I felt like I was drunk, slipped a roofie, and wandered off during a rave party and got lost in the walk-in closet of a rich frat boy. I was sure that I was going to be sexually assaulted at any moment, but I could never ID the perp because I was blind as a bat in there. For one brief moment, a small ray of light somehow made it's way into the store and bounced off my watch, shinning a bigger beam of light onto a top, allowing me to actually see that it was cute, and I decided I would try it on. After bumping into 2 walls and tripping over a plant, I finally made my way into the dressing room. Shockingly, it is also dark in there, except for one bright spotlight that shines in the middle of the floor. At this point I felt as if my roofie had taken full affect and I was on some stage, topless, against my will. It was all very discombobulating. When I was finally able to get the top on and see myself in the mirror, I realized something: These clothes are made for tiny teens with no boobies, because my girls were not about to be contained in this "cute" top. I looked like I had been attacked by the aforementioned frat boys, and my clothes torn half off. Suffice it to say, I learned today that I am too old for all the teen stores that have taken over our mall. I also learned that you shouldn't let your young daughters go in there either. If you wouldn't drop them off on frat row, don't drop them off at Hollister.

Beagle Stalker

I am being stalked by a beagle. This dog won't leave me alone. I would call the number on his collar, but do you think he has one? Hell-to-the-no. This annoying dog has been at my house at least once a week for a couple of months. He goes to my back door and scratches it, howls, goes to the front door, repeat. One night, he got quiet so I thought he left, but I got up to get more wine, er, I mean, water, and he spotted me through the window and started to bark. That was the night I spent crawling around on my floor like a Navy Seal, albeit, a tired, slightly buzzed, deep pore cleaning facial mask wearing, navy seal. Last week I saw him coming in through a tunnel under our fence. I heard that he lived a few yards back from mine, so he must have made an elaborate series of tunnels to reach my door. I have dubbed his yard Shawshank, and mine Zihuatenejo.