It's going to get a little graphic here

Got home at midnight on Friday, noticed a missive from the IRS in the mail, the were merely explaining that my serial killer like handwriting precluded them from reading my banking info to direct deposit my refund. If you've got to get mail from the IRS or the initials as I fondly refer to them, that's the kind to get.

So after feeding the cats, and getting ready for bed, within 5 minutes of being in bed, got up to hurl. And felt rather crappy (not literally thankfully) for the rest of the night. Got up the next morning, tried a cracker and coughed that back up. Joy.

I hate stomach virii. Alot.

Unique Expertise

The mothership phoned me today. She was in need of expert advice about how long after the expiration date on the yogurt can one safely eat the yogurt. As I've been researching this very subject for most of my adult life, I can report the following = technically yogurt is not likely to go bad, it already is 'bad'. I've eaten yogurt that was one year past the date and no harm came to me. Although apparently my eyesight is questionable as I coulda sworn it said December 2005 not December 2004. Occasionally, if I have packed a yogurt in my lunch that's a bit well-aged, I will call the consumer advisory line on the container. That's often a hoot, more than once I've driven a frustrated consumer service rep to say "Look lady, if you're waiting for me to tell you it's okay to eat a 6 month old yogurt, it's just not gonna happen.' Call me silly, but that warms my evil little heart every time.

Do not under any circumstances ingest green/blue/pink moldy yogurt and eat it within the expiration date for your optimal enjoyment.

Playin' Hooky

The weather is delightful and work was quiet and stupid today so I ventured up to see the boss and asked him if I could take the afternoon off. He said sure. So I went to the beach, it's about 15 degrees cooler there and quite breezy. Then I went to the gym and did 2 hours of frolic. Now that it's shorts weather, one sees sights at the gym that one need not see. Fortunately, most folks run to baggy shorts, but very occasionally a guy will be wearing a pair of shorts that suffer from cheap hotel syndrome - No Ballroom. And said balls will make a break for it. Not for the faint of heart.

Another Reminder About Attachment

I had another object lesson in attachment recently. About 6 weeks ago I treated myself to the high tech bauble that is the Blackberry Pearl. It’s sleek, gets email and phone calls, plays mp3’s, and is a pda attached. And I quickly filled it up with the myriad mundane yet utterly necessary details of my life, including my exercise routines, my datebook, my phonebook and the all important keeping track of the money I squander. After all, the Pearl is what is euphemistically known as a smart phone. It is deluxe. It is not, however, immersible, let alone submersible.

I found this out the hard way when after excreting some of the coffee I ingested Sunday morning, I stood up to hear the tell-tale plop of something of substance falling out of the pocket into the toilet. The red LED blinked at me most ominously as I attempted to rapidly dry the Pearl. No joy. It no longer functioned and the red LED blinked its last in what I am now certain was Morse code for I’m drowning. Sigh…I had an appointment near the land of the mall and set out for it. After the appointment, I ventured to the mall, with my previously functioning Pearl and my old cell phone. Figuring I needed something of a cell phone ilk, with the weather and so forth. Got the old phone up and running, became well acquainted the fine fine folk at Asurion, the cell phone insurers, who are replacing the Crackberry even as we speak.

Then as news of the flooding from the storm, and the tragedy at VA TECH came up, I’m once again reminded of the fragility of the really important things in life, not just the baubles.

Juicing And Nudity

Damn that sounds nearly pornographic, anyway, I was making beet juice this morning. And beet juice makes for all red all the time all over the place. So I stripped down and of course, the doorbell rings. I must confess to being tempted to answer the door in the state of undress in which I found myself. Even went so far as to peer out the peephole but alas whomever it was, was travelling with small children so I refrained.

Panties

Hmmm, that got your attention. Didn't it?

I'm a functional kind of gal when it comes to me undies. I want the twins to stay where I put 'em and I want my drawers to cover both my business and my butt. I tend to wear black panties, with a rare foray into athletic grey. Once upon a time, a friend waxed so eloquently rhapsodic about the erotic nature of wearing a thong that she talked me into purchasing and wearing one, I can only conclude that either I was wearing it wrong or she's full of shit.

So as happens with most rejected undies that are still somewhat presentable, as presentable as underpants ever are anyway, I recently used it as a face mask whilst cleaning out the cat box. As invariably can be counted upon to happen in such a circumstance (because in addition to sporting the thong as a face mask, I'm clad in sportsbra, tattoos and rubber gloves, oh and sweatpants) the doorbell rings with what I presumed to be local Jehovah's but were, in fact, candidates for the boro council. 'Cuz that's the way my dumb luck runs.

Work

They say distance lends perspective, but sometimes it's difficult to gain perspective on one's work life when change is incremental (when it's not decremental) and one is spending a whole lot of time beating one's head against the wall because it feels so damned good when I stop.