This is my dog: suffering from Kennel Cough, doped up on cough medicine and sleeping whilst sitting up. His eyes are partly open, but don’t let this fool you. He is snoring.
Super Sabado, she said weakly…
I try not to be a complainer, really I don’t. Mainly because everybody I know is lots tougher than I am.
All my women friends went through childbirth without so much as an aspirin, whereas I accepted every drug known to medicine and still begged the nurse to hit me on the head with a hammer.
And Hubby? He went through some tough surgery several years ago where they took a mallet and a chisel and chopped off a piece of his hip just so they could screw it into his wrist, and he only took ONE pain pill afterward, whereas I—well, I’d rather not admit to all the pharmaceuticals I sucked down after I had my appendix out.
I admit it: I have no tolerance for pain, a character flaw that makes me look like a real weanie next to friends like Sang:
SANG: It may be this phone connection, but you still sound like you’re under the weather.
BONNIE: No, I’m fine, I’m fine!
SANG: Are you sure?
BONNIE: Please, enough about me! Tell me how that Widow’s Support Group meeting went.
SANG: Oh, it was really helpful. Can you believe it’s been 14 months already? The kids are hanging in there, I think.
BONNIE: That’s good, Sang, that’s good. But now, tell me how your chemo is going.
SANG: Oh, great! The doc says I’m responding really well. Frankly, I refuse to let it slow me down. Only 8 more months of treatment to go!
BONNIE: (gulps) You are WAY tougher than I am. Are you sure you don’t need any help unpacking?
SANG: No, no, no. I’ve only got one more room to unpack!
Mind you, where it takes Sang to unpack an entire house in two months while undergoing chemo and dealing with the loss of her man, when we moved it took me three years to unpack and the biggest excuse I had was chronic hangnails.
So as much as I like to complain, with friends and family like I’ve got, it’s best not to.
That said…
On Wednesday Mojo was diagnosed with Kennel Cough, which he got from Clara, who is vaccinated but still brought a case home from Doggy Daycare. All he does is sneeze and cough and shoot bulldog snot every which way and trust me: you definitely do NOT want to be walking barefoot on my floors any time soon.
And then on Thursday I came down with the flu that Squirt gave me—the generous little booger that he is—but whereas I take care of my men when they are sick, they don’t seem to want to return the favor, not even with yardsticks and haz mat suits. Not that I cared at the time, as I was busy hoping one of them would at least hit me over the head with a hammer and put me out of my misery.
Now that I’m a little better, I probably could forgive them for overlooking piddly little details about their mom—like whether or not she’s eaten anything in the last 48 hours—sure, but LORD. I cannot forgive them for THE KITCHEN. While Mojo and I wasted away in Viral Hell, this pack of feral Wren dogs took over our kitchen and DESTROYED IT.
I would’ve thought at least ONE of them would’ve said, “Hey! I don’t wanna wash dishes, so let’s use paper plates!” But I guess it stands to reason if they weren’t saying things like “Hey! Has anyone fed Mom?” they sure as heck wouldn’t be worried about paper plates.
And the WORST THING OF ALL about this flu?
Well. Normally a flu is like, the best diet, ever. But this flu? I only lost TWO pounds.
What the hell kind of flu is it if it knocks you flat for three days, your kids forget to feed you, and you only lose two pounds? It’s the Screw You Flu, that’s what it is.
So. Now that I’ve done a super job of complaining, I want to get Super Sabado Continue reading “Super Sabado, she said weakly…”
Blame it on M.G. Tarquini
I had absolutely nothing to do with this one. I was just minding my own business, la la la, not bothering anyone—and kapow! This shows up in my email box from M.G. Tarquini:
That’s DISGUSTING.
Heh!
The rest of the site is a real treat. Click on the little curly-cue icon to wander around Nobody‘s world, but be careful! It can suck up lots of time better spent on rewrites and/or taxes. Eh, Mindy?
Monday Morning Mojo: He got it
Oy! No matter how often I swear I’ll get these out before 6 pm on Sunday night, it’s always after ten, and my man is really grouchy about it, too.
So I’ll make this quick! Launch today’s comic either by clicking on the image to the right or clicking on this link, and watch out for the dots!
Super Sabado: do Klingons get the flu?
Thanks to the excellent pharmaceuticals available over the counter I barely remember writing anything in February.
In fact, in looking back at all the entries made in February I can only wonder who is the woman who figured out my password and why the heck she thinks she can tell tourists where to go in La Jolla.
Well, that usurper can just move on out because I’m BACK. I can breathe. I still sound like a Klingon but hey! That just adds a little mystery to my marital relationship.
BONNIE: (on phone) Hello, Honey.
HUBBY: I don’t know who this is but please, go ahead and tell me what you’re wearing.
Yes, well, I may be back in the blogging saddle but I warn you: there’s a big old target painted right on my forehead. This is because in addition to my chronic respiratory problems, Tiger and Squirt keep tag-teaming me with their own viral variations. Why, I just spent the last 72 hours in close proximity to Squirt, who had the mother of all flus and tried his hardest to share it with me.
SQUIRT: (moaning) I’m hot! My legs hurt! And, um, what is that?
BONNIE: It’s a twelve-foot pole. Your Advil is balanced on the end of it, see? Careful you don’t knock them off.
Okay, so I exaggerated. It wasn’t a twelve-foot pole, it was a yardstick. And I only used a yardstick because it’s nearly impossible to balance ibuprofen caplets on a pole.
And if any of you think I’m heartless, I’ll have you know I cleaned up the vomit, I changed the sweat-soaked sheets, I kept reloading the washing machine, I ran up and down the stairs with Advil and water and applesauce, and I did it at midnight, 2 am, 4 am, 6 am, ad nauseum throughout the 48 hours of viral intensity WITHOUT COMPLAINT because that’s what we women do when our loved ones are setting records in Projectile Vomiting. WE SERVE. Without complaint.
And yesterday morning, when Squirt’s fever finally broke and I breathed a sigh of relief, something strange happened:
HUBBY: I’m off to work. (puckers up)
BONNIE: You want a kiss? You haven’t wanted a kiss from me in a whole month!
HUBBY: Yeah, well…
BONNIE: (backs away) You’re coming down with something, aren’t you?!?
My instincts were spot on, too. After infecting everyone at work Hubby came home early yesterday afternoon feeling pretty rummy. So far it looks like he’s got the Extreme Sore Throat, Aches and Mild Fever bug Tiger brought home, instead of the High Fever, Severe Aches and Puke Your Guts Out bug that Squirt had. Good for him.
With my luck, I’ll get both at the same time—unless I take super duper precautionary measures. So if you’re thinking of visiting us in the old Wren Casa any time soon, I’ll be the Klingon in the Ladies size XL Haz Mat suit, passing out yardsticks.
Today’s Super Sábado is brought to you by the Continue reading “Super Sabado: do Klingons get the flu?”
Word Shoot: Arrgh! “Emtpy” and “Bliss” got me!
Finally! Something I’m better at than my boys, and in a game they don’t turn up their jaded Wren noses at, either.
But I warn you: this is a blood bath, in a geeky, typewritery sort of way.
Those of you who can type well will have a blast with the “hard” setting. I tried the “impossible” setting but got overwhelmed by the HORDES of five letter words hiding behind the three letters, and oh, how sneaky they all were.
Type the “fullhealth” when you see it to give you some immunity when the HORDES come. “Detonate” will take everybody out except you. That includes any “fullhealth” buttons that were hanging around, trying to save your sorry hide.
Do NOT play this game to relax. No, no, no. I think I’m going to have to run around the block just to get over my post-battle shell shock.
Via Patrick Says.
Monday Morning Mojo: To sleep, perchance to chew
Goodness, I barely made this one in on my deadline. I would say something witty to introduce it, too, but it’s bedtime for Bonzo and I can’t think of anything except my nice, cozy bed.
So you may launch today’s comic either by clicking on the image to the right or clicking on this link, and if you hear any snoring, well, sorry!
Super Sabado: Grasping for straws
Things to do in La Jolla
Glitterati asked what she might do when visiting La Jolla, and I started answering in the comment section, but I’m so verbose I thought I’d just post it up here, instead.
La Jolla is like Beverly Hills, only much prettier and Continue reading “Things to do in La Jolla”
Moai Shla-mo-a-ee
Allow me to introduce you to a bunch of blockheads. They keep climbing to the top of a building that tips and sways, and your job is to swing the building around so the ladder can rescue some of the blockheads without them sliding off.
(At least I THINK this is the point of the game. Seriously. I don’t know for sure because EVERYTHING IS IN JAPANESE.)
Sometimes big, heavy things land on the building and shake everybody off and that’s bad, or at least I think it is—did I mention it’s ALL IN JAPANESE?
At any rate the a cappella music is always happy and lighthearted even when everybody slides off into the abyss so there’s a plus. And sometimes you WANT to shake the heavy thing off even if a few blockheads go with it because it is obviously a bomb—and thank goodness I can at least understand that a bomb is BAD.
Sometimes surprising game announcements are made in Japanese, too, like this: 
Who knows what this means, but it sounds good and it LOOKS like a happy little announcement, so maybe I did better than you guys, hunh?