Wednesday
Cold : Had.
Aleve : Taken.
Work : Attended.
DVD Burner : Received, Installed.
Baby Shower Home Movie DVD : Burned.
Thursday
Cold : Had.
Aleve : Taken.
Work : Attended.
Baby : Sat.
Xmas 2002 Home Movie DVD : Burned.
Friday
Cold : Had.
Aleve : Taken.
Work : Attended.
Baby : Sat.
2003 Baby Home Movie DVD : Burned.
Saturday
Cold : Had.
Aleve : Taken.
Dad’s Kid Show : Watched, enjoyed.
Dinner Out : Eaten.
Flashlights : Played with.
Baby Pictures Slideshow DVD : Burned.
Upgraded motherboard and processor : Researched.
Sunday
Cold : Had.
Aleve : Taken.
Baby fence : Rearranged.
Mop and Broom Hooks : Hung.
New Pantry Shelving : Planned.
Baby : Strolled.
Buying of Brother-in-Law’s Car : Debated.
Pumpkin : Carved.
Monday
Cold : Had.
Aleve : Taken.
Work : Stumbled to.
Alka Seltzer, plop-plop, fizz-fizz, oh what a relief it is.
It’s good stuff, that Alka-Seltzer Plus. But it only lasts for a couple hours!
Aleve seems to do a moderately good job (though, admittedly, not quite as good as Alka), and lasts all day.
However, if I take the non-drowsy Aleve stuff after noon, then I’m up until 4am, so if I forgot morning dose of Aleve, I use Alka as my back up.
All in all, I’d just like this thing to go away. It’s been weeks!
Now see here. You grew up with medications that had to be taken every few hours or so. You can do it again. Just think of it as a fizzy and delicious treat.
Also, I don’t remember if you’ve got the throat agita, but if you do, gargle with peroxide, but don’t forget to spit it out. If you’re gargling with warm salty water, the salt has to be IODIZED or it won’t help.
This is like Liz Taylor yelling at her microwave to hurry.
Yes’m.
I don’t have the throat agita. Just six weeks of stuffy head.
Yelling at the microwave is silly. You have to kick it.
But swearing at Delta Airlines Automated Attendent gets you forwarded to a live operator.
I have only tried real swearing, but perhaps cartoon swearing would work as well.
Putting your head down on the counter and bawling and gasping for air and making great heaving sobs at the gate agent will get you on the next flight to Houston.
I’m sensing this is a bit of a modus operandi for you…
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Why are you sensing such a thing?
I feel the need to clarify this.
Things go my way so much of the time that when they don’t, I usually just take my lumps. You can’t win ’em all.
I am not above crying, if I’m upset enough, but it’s usually not necessary. I am far more inclined to hoist my short self up on the counter and tell whomever’s giving me the ag to see here now, or to get on the phone and offer to come help whoever them is figure it out and get me to yes.
I am unusually blessed or charmed or whatever you call it. Life’s been good to me, and I like to share it and I like to help and see others succeed.
I am also exceedingly fortunate that my friends and family pretty much shake their heads and think, “I’m just going to love her anyway.”
Oh, I’m just jealous. If I were to put my head on the counter and heave great heaving sobs, they would put me on the next flight to Houston in a straight jacket.
Overall, I view you as a person who Gets Things Done and has a suitably sized bag of tricks to do so, the least of which is the tear spigot.
Stacey is not above such things and in fact it came in handy when the doctor told us we absolutely needed to get a certain medicine for Roan (who was having asthma related breathing troubles). The pharmacy she went to didn’t have it and wouldn’t help her find somewhere that did, so she went into a ballistic crying fit that, while scaring Roan, also convinced the pharmacist to get on the stick and find her baby some medicine.
So, I’m all for it.
I am, in fact, a Doer.
One of the funniest things I have ever personally witnessed was a friend of mine, who is a psychologist, trying to buy a ticket at the airport. Her wallet had been stolen, so she didn’t have a credit card again yet. She wrote a check and produced her driver’s license. The ticket agent started giving her the business about accepting her check. Before I knew what had happened, she had hoisted herself up on the counter and said, “Listen! I am a DOCTOR! You can take this check, and if you don’t hurry up about it, I’m going to make a Very Big Scene.” She got the ticket.
One of the funniest things I’ve ever heard was when Trace had the staph infection a follicle in her nose. The PA had lanced it, but only partially, thus it was still swelling, and the antibiotics weren’t doing anything. Trace has lymphedema, so when she gets an infection, it’s worse than when, say, I get one, because her lymphatic system doesn’t drain. I had gone over to take her out for lunch, but she was just miserable. I looked up her nose with the flashlight and could see that it looked like a grape in there. She got on the phone and was talking to the PA, who was telling her to give the antibiotics time to work. All of a sudden, Trace says, “Kiss my fat ass, bitch. I’m coming in now.” She attributes this to the pain pills, but I don’t care, she’s still my hero. I took her to the doctor and she asked if I was coming in with her; I just said, “nooo, but you call on the cell when you’re done and I’ll come get you.” She called me about 20 minutes later and told me they were going in again, only from the outside of her nose, near the bridge, and had told her to take half a lortab and wait, but what she wanted to know was should she take 2. I told her maybe one. She split the difference and took three.
Neither of these women, by the way, would ever act this way unless it were a dire emergency.
Well, first I’d need to get a microwave, I suppose.
Only if you like to kick.
I’m not much of a kicker. And I don’t want to have to look at a microwave oven sitting there on the counter top.