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10.19.2004 - 4:22 p.m.


It's crispity-cold outside, whooshy curlicued breezes kicking through piles of leaves that are gold and maroon and flaming bright red - my dream hair colors! - and by golly, it must be the start of cold season, because I have morphed into a human mucus machine. O what a festive time of year, when our thoughts turn to bonfires and carved pumpkins and warm pint glasses full of Robitussin.

I have learned something during this particular snotfest, that while I become quite the mother hen when JB is sick, and he thusly assumes the role of Plague Victim (On Death's Door), when it's ME that's hacking up a lung or three, I get no love. "Poor baby," he says perfunctorily, patting my shivering back, before trotting off to play Xbox. If I had any illusions of my husband tenderly mopping my brow or bringing me chicken soup, they were shattered yesterday when he spent several minutes repeating everything I said with his nose plugged.

"Wad?" he honked, "I can'd udderstad you."

Tell me, is that not grounds for divorce?

To his credit, he did clean up the kitchen this morning, ridding all evidence of a burrito concoction we made for dinner last night that is now doomed to forever turn my stomach, because either it was the onset of my viral goo, or the first ten minutes of this movie (after which we turned that sucker off - the blurb says "not for the squeamish" and brother, they are NOT kidding), but one bite sent whimpering to my bed, where I tossed and turned and vowed never to look a refried bean in the eye again.

I did manage to enjoy at least part of my weekend before succumbing to the crud; JB and I headed to Leavenworth to spend Saturday night in a cabin on the Wenatchee River. Leavenworth, for you non-Washingtonians, is a small town that at some point collectively decided it would be a cool idea to pretend to be a Bavarian village. From Starbucks to Subways, all the storefronts sport the same 2-D movie set "Germanic" decor, and cute little specialty shops with unfortunate names like "Das Muffinne Haus" are everywhere. You can actually buy Lederhosen in Leavenworth, should you so desire. And those milkmaid boob-hefting dresses. Also, Christmas ornaments. Every single store in Leavenworth, even Der Chevron Mini-Martte, sells holiday ornaments. But not a Bavarian cream donut to be found - what's up with that?

While I poked through many of the shoppes with an unbelievably patient JB, the only item we ended up purchasing was a slingshot. It's not from your Dennis the Menace forked-stick-and-rubber-band school of slingshots, either. This thing is serious - it's got a metal frame and a rubber armrest and surgical tubing and a leather pouch for cradling your ammunition of choice. It's hard to explain why, of all the, ho ho, incredibly tempting items in the Ye Olde Knives-n-Swords (and, inexplicably, crab pots) store, that particular one caught my eye. As it turns out, I'm a terrible shot, my rocks fly a weak couple of yards before dropping to the ground with an apologetic clunk, so what to do with my Bavarian weapon? Maybe I'll hang in on our tree this December.

In other news from the weekend, I bought a new vacuum cleaner (I know, I know, why pay for the full seat in THIS online journal, when you'll only need the edge?). My old vacuum had once been used for some nasty cleanup jobs, from our apartment days when Cat's apparent full time job was hanging her ass over the lid of her litter box and pumping turds onto the floor, then kicking litter all over them. While I did not actually vacuum up the turds themselves, I did make the mistake of hoovering up the litter, which was grodaciously aromatic and somehow infiltrated the entire machine - causing a delectable catshit cologne to spread throughout whatever room I was trying to clean forever after. And yes, I kept the stupid feces-smelling thing for years, because I am an idiot.

Let me tell you, my new vacuum is insane, it'd suck the hide off a damn bear. It's one of those bagless deals where you can peer in and actually see the dust and dog hair flying around its innards, which is both fascinating and disgusting. I ran it for about 5 minutes in the living room, and the dirt trap thingie was damn near filled. I could not believe the amount of junk that was in my carpet - no wonder I'm going through a box of kleenex every five minutes, considering our home air pollution level. Gross.

Speaking of kleenexes, I think I'll head back to bed, which is currently piled with handfuls of Puffs Plus with Aloe (for my delicate snout), an execrable Jackie Collins book, and several crumbs from a peanut-butter-chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookie, because everyone knows that head colds constitute pain and suffering, and there's no reason to add dieting on top of that, is there?

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17 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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