dreams

Last night I had this dream where Mitch was tickling me and poking me at a fancy work function in front of all my coworkers and bosses and he wouldn't stop and I got really pissed at him. Then in my dream I woke up and Mitch and I were lying in bed and I woke him up and yelled at him and he was like, "but it was a dream." It was a dream within a dream. So here's a creamy (typo, it stays) picture of Joseph Gordon-Leavitt for your enjoyment.

Also, according to the Dream Moods Dictionary, being tickled means that I need more humor in my life, and dreaming about being at parties means I need to get out more. So apparently this no-fun budget we're on (while we save up for our trip to Portugal in February) is not working out for me.

being micromanaged

Today I painted my fingernails at work. So I'm going to blog instead just in case someone walks in my office. This way I'll at least look like I'm typing something really important.

I just booked my first show back since my surgery, and I'm pretty nervous about it. It's only a 30 minute set, but it's in the ballroom of the Southgate House, which for those of you who know nothing of the music scene in northern Kentucky (for shame!), is a pretty cool gig. It's a nice way to come back, but I don't want to blow it. I told my dad about it, and this is the e-mail he sent me:

"On the Southgate House:
1.) Pick songs you perform well, not necessarily your favorite ones.
2.) Start with something strong so people will notice your voice. Don't take this personally, but almost no one will have heard of you, the crowd will be thin and probably talking a lot. You don't have to shout over them, but do something to get them to pay attention at least for a little while.
3.) Be careful about how many slow/quiet songs you do in the middle, because they'll talk over you.
4.) End the set upbeat.
5.) Do the Tom Waits tune."

Okay I get it. People talk a lot at shows, and I should play covers. Regardless, although I've played a lot of shows (over 100), my dad has been to more. Perhaps he gets some credibility for being a competent concert attendee.

never-ending (allergy) story

So back when this vocal cord cyst bullshit started, my team of doctors (including, but not limited to, my PCP, two speech therapists, an ENT and a surgeon) decided that we needed to figure out why I got cysts in the first place. I said, "duh. I'm the loudest mother-f***er at the party." They said, "no, you're allergic to everything." Fine, whatever. At least my social life doesn't have to end.

Anyway, this led to several prescriptions, many cameras being stuck down my nose and into my throat, and two rounds of allergy testing. I was told that I should rip up all the carpeting in my house, put a bed condom on my mattress, and get rid of my curtains. Further, Nasonex was simply not enough, so I was put on a second environmental allergy medication called Xyzal.

One fateful night, I went to a party celebrating the 10th anniversary of one of those married friends we have, and I had a couple, nay...several (pitchers of) margaritas. Needless to say, I was largely unproductive the next day. Part of the unproductivity came from the fact that I was glued to the toilet for most of it. I blamed it on guacamole and tequila. Unfortunately, almost two weeks later, I had still not come unglued, and began to wonder if the tequila had ripped a permanent hole in my sigmoid colon. Enter doctor, who, based on the fact that I hadn't been to a third world country recently, I'm still relatively mobile, and I haven't eaten a dog turd in the last few weeks, decided that I was allergic to Xyzal. ALLERGIC TO MY ALLERGY MEDICINE. F this S. So now I'm taking acidophilus twice a day and yogurt at every meal. Which I'm allergic to.

I'm at least worth a Mallow Cup

I work in the dungeon of a research building of a hospital, which basically means we're all the rejects who aren't becoming enough to have contact with patients. We're like the Children Under the Stairs of the hospital. The building we inhabit usually leaks from several of its cracks, and recently our fresh air valve got shut off because it was next to the sewer, and whenever it rained the offices smelled like a Diaper Genie. This also means that we get the reject vending machine. Not that I eat things from the vending machine very often, but the fact that it holds Chuckles, smokey beef-flavored sticks, and off-brand salsa flavored tortilla chips kind of makes me feel second-rate. One day, I aspire to have a job fancy enough that my vending machine will have normal stuff like Snickers bars.

Happy Birthday-versary to me

I did not want to be a teenage bride, so I waited until 4 days after my 20th birthday to get married. As a result, my poor husband has to celebrate my birthday and our anniversary in the same week. My birthday usually comes with several demands, and by our anniversary, we're usually too tired to do anything. This year, I demanded the following:

• delectable breakfast at a diner
• a mother-f***ing stamp in my national parks passport thingy
• a sand dune hike
• wine tasting
• a designated driver
  
• delectable dinner at a classy-ass restaurant with hostesses and shit
  
• f***ing birthday pie

As a result, we did crap for our anniversary, except for go to a wedding for some of our goober friends (love you Rach and Yo!) who decided to steal our anniversary. Which is to say, we got free dinner, booze, and transportation back to the hotel on our anniversary. Not that bad. Any of our other friends can feel free to throw weddings and/or parties and/or miscellaneous celebrations on our anniversary. We have passed the point of caring, and really just want free entertainment.

things you should not do while watching Weeds

• Drink anything that would hurt coming out your nose (i.e. red wine)
• Do yoga
• Eat cornbread
• Get the hots for Kevin Nealon
• Work
  
• Paint your toenails
• Talk to your mother-in-law on the phone (I have not personally done this, but I don't think it would be fun)
• Plan your community garden plot for the next year
• See how many quarters you can stick up your nose
  
• Name your children
• Feel bad about your life
  
• Smoke weed...seriously, you have to pay attention to keep this show straight.