Well you might be missing me for a little while...I'm studying, and when I'm not studying I'm bitching about studying and railing against the injustice that I'm not allowed to bring notes to this test...C'mon, seriously? I have to memorize outlines for nine essays?!? Bullshit!

But rest assured, I'm sure I'll want to take a study break (study avoidance), so I'll probably post again soon.

PS. I'm hacking up a lung, John has been sick since Sunday and I've been his naughty nurse every step of the way so you do the math...how'd I get sick? If you see him in passing, stick a shiv in him, ok?

PPS. I totally look like that nurse over there every night that John comes home sick...disregard anyone who tells you that I'm wearing glasses, my hair is pulled into a ponytail and that I'm forever wandering around in my hoodie!

****this just in at 4:58 pm***** I just spilled Lea and Perrins ALL over my notes, why I left worchestershire sauce out, I'll never know but I do know that my stress level just spiked. Xanax anyone???

It's unbelievable but last night was the first time that John heard me yell...and yet he did nothing about it. Let me explain. We bundled up almost the second that he got home in search of the ever elusive cheap diet meals. Once we hit the six month mark, we looked around and I realized that I was carrying more of a caboose than I've been used to in the past few years and John's work pants were getting a wee bit tighter than they had been. I blame it all on love...and maybe just a tad bit on getting comfortable and maybe even the tiniest bit on being lazy (those are my excuses, John's excuse is that he has a bitch of a commute and by the time he gets home in the dark hours of the night there's just no time). But all that's neither here nor there.
We figured let's get the calorie thing under control and then we can both figure out where exercise can enter our little married utopia after that.

So our hunt began. In the neighboring town, there is a discount supermarket that was supposed to have hundreds upon hundreds of Lean Cuisines, Healthy Choices and Smart Ones all at the lowest prices anywhere. But first...we needed gas. Now here's the thing. I drop money like it's nothing on stupid things like say beer, or clothes but when it comes to gas, I never put more than $10 in my tank at a time. I have no idea why I'm so gas stingy, really I don't! Because I wasn't feeling well, John offered to pump it for me. I forgot to tell him about my gas stinginess and so when I saw the pump click closer to $6.00 I yelled, "John! Stop at $10!" As it neared $10, I screamed, "Stop! Stop! What the hell are you doing?" (as if he was murdering someone or something). When he neared $15, I hit the steering wheel and said, "Just what the fu#% does this son of a bitch think he's doing!" Finally, he stopped at $21, when the tank was full and he got back into the car.
"Did you hear someone screaming Tom?"
"That was me!"
"You were screaming Tom?"
"No, you idiot I was screaming John!"
"It sounded like...." (and then he did an impersonation of a pterodactyl screaming Tom)
"Well I was screaming John!"
"Why?"
"Because I wanted $10 worth of gas!"
"Huh? Why?"
"Because that's all ever get at one time."
"Well you shouldn't, it's winter and you don't want condensation in your gas tank!"
I laughed, "Thanks Dad."
"No, seriously, condensation is no laughing matter."
Again I laughed, actually, I snorted mostly since my nose is all stuffy.
"That was really you, yelling like that?"
"Uh-huh."
"You sound funny when you yell. Do it again for me." (had I looked over, I'm sure he would have had his hands clasped with glee)
"No, I'm sure there will be plenty more times when a cold, my period and you pumping over $10 of gas all coincide again, Sweetpea."

The worst part? After getting all that gas and making the trip to the "Mecca of all Food Stores" all we found were a few deals..mostly, I got creeped out by the poor lighting, weird old carts and narrow aisles (grocery store aesthetics are very important to me apparently). I felt the whole way home it was a waste of gas. Call me a gas miser, I don't mind.

As I wrap the blanket tighter to ward off the chills which will in a few minutes switch over to waves of heat that will force me to rip the blanket away from my body and fan myself, I attempt to remember about the last time took care of me when I was sick, other than my mom or dad when I was younger...and I thought hard...and I realized that in fact, I've never had anyone play nursemaid for me other than John.

He's a wonderful nursey. He doesn't make fun of my raw face from countless blows into the plethora o' tissues. He doesn't even make fun of the sounds my nose makes either. This is quite a feat not to laugh at because the sound is a cross between an evil Canadian goose and an angry elephant. He forces liquids on me, and fizzes up my Alka-selzer. And then he searches the house for Nyquil for me so that he too, can get some rest.

or something like that.

Last Wednesday night I had the best sex of my life...officially, don't know what it was about it--maybe the semi-drunkeness, or the fact that we both tasted like hot wings...but it was Grrrreeeat...at least for me. And because the best experience of my life must be tempered with horrible moments, at approximately 2:45am I woke up with a choking cough that racked my body and made me unable to sleep for the rest of the night. Please note: John is able to roll over and sleep through someone hacking her entire lung up (that was me, if you didn't know).

During my reign as Queen of the Sick, John took excellent care of me. Thursday, I was just semi-zombiefied so I managed on my own. Friday I went to watch some girls play a little Flag Football and supported a good cause, unfortunately, I should've been supporting my cause for healthiness. I came home and shivered, shook and just whined a lot. John answered my whines by handing me the Tivo remote and running out to get me Wendy's...because greasy food cures all that ails you my friends. And then...then he left me blissfully alone to watch Dateline NBC catch sexual predators...with junk food for my brain and body I drifted blissfully to sleep on the couch (hopped up on tons o' vitamin C and Nyquil) while John painted the basement. (Truly, I'm not sure how I managed to get the well trained husband, but he rocks!)

Saturday was the highlight of my weekend because I hardly remember it due to various reasons. First, in the morning I dragged my body behind me and went to the grocery store because I wanted to make breakfast (feed a cold people, feed a cold). I ran into my mom's friends and they then told my mom that my "husband was sending me out in the cold and sick to buy him breakfast foods" ha ha...I love it when rumors get spread about him! He gets all defensive and hangs his cute little head and says, "Your mom thinks I'm a scumbag, doesn't she?" which isn't the case but it's just too much fun to solemnly nod to him whenever he asks. This is the night that I also attempted to drink...but it didn't really work. I claim it was all the Dayquil I was swilling, John claims I just had a lot to drink before we left the house (He's says tomato, I say I'm right). Either way, I think it was the first time I've been in bed by 8 o'clock on a Saturday in my life.


Notice there hasn't been any mention of any sex...you know for curative purposes of bronchitis type symptoms? Well no, there was no sex, why?? Because for some reason my friend/Aunt Flo/the crimson tide/the curse/lady trouble whatever in the hell you want to call it decided to make an encore presentation--this time in a way in which I wished I had purchased stock in Tampax. It made me very sad, because when you're feeling crummy...sex is the best cure, better than all the Nyquil in all the land...but cramps made me feel less than amorous and because I couldn't breathe through my nose John also suffered a bit because I couldn't perform my other favorite wifely duties.

Monday we took off together for recuperation purposes...it really became errand day. I have to say that we were ultra productive, but again my mom said to him, "She should really be recovering, you know?" Again, he just can't win!!! he he he...

Tomorrow: The origin of the term forking
When John slipped and called me Porkin
And possibly a recap of what occurs at Wing Night

Don't mix cold meds and beer...they will have you leaving a house party 25 mins after you get there so that you can sniffle, fall over and pass out before 7:30 pm.

Have I told you how much I hate being sick? bleech.

Whine....

I'm getting sick.

It hurts.

I think it's bronchitis...a common ailment for asthmatics like myself...boo.
I have returned home from work and I'm ready to lay on my couch with one leg hanging out of the blanket so that I can balance the hot/cold/chill/fever ratio that my body is waging war on me right now. My sinuses are about ready to explode and my lungs couldn't feel any more raw as I wheeze, rasp, sneeze and sweet jesus---cough, ever so painfully.

On another front...John and I decided that we're going to be these guys for Halloween, I think it was a brilliant decision--of course, John came up with it. We both will have to wear wigs...as I do not have blond short hair (nor am I going to be cutting my dark locks) and John doesn't quite have the long hair that Ritchie has either. We're going to be the cutest married couple playing brother and (adopted) sister in love. What could be more perfect???