brand new thoughts (I swear!)

I finally left the house. But somewhere in my two and a half days of moping around, whining about my gurbling innards and the severe lack of cleanliness in my apartment, I managed to have a few original thoughts I'd like to share.

(surprise, surprise, right?)

First: Fernando tried to kill me the other day. He gave me a piece of this new gum that tasted, I'm not kidding, like a perfumed ass. Sort of a cross between a bottle of hairspray or the cologne department of Macy's with a ne'er-mucked stable, this eighth inch cubed piece of death was supposed to be "Apple Raspberry" flavored. (More like "Ass-pull Rass-bury")

My advice? Stay away from any gum claiming to have this flavor. (Also: stay away from Fernando. He's evil.)

Second, suspicious of the cleanliness of my sponge and its potential responsibility for the onset of my plague (I'm seeing everything with new eyes, much like I did after reading The Stand), I started using a new one. A blue one. This is exciting, mostly because a new sponge gives off bubbles in the color of the sponge and I've never had a blue sponge (or, for that matter, blue bubbles) before.

Wheee!

(Help!)

Third: In my office, I can often be heard saying, while lacing up my shoes, "I don't want to go to the gym." I go, but I donwanna. I've stopped saying it, just to spare Fernando, but the other day I slipped on my sneaks and looked at him. "You know what I'm about to say, right?"

"Yes" he replied. "Something about the local gymnasium and your general reluctance to attend?"

Fourth, I think the Oxygen Network tried to kill me while I was sick. They showed me movies that tugged on my heartstrings, like Love, Actually or Laws of Attraction (listen, I had a fever of 102, and that makes your heartstrings very vulnerable to pulling) and then, in the commercial breaks, four out of five of the commercials showed lusty, half-naked couples running around well-appointed (enormous) bedrooms spraying perfume on each other, whispering things like "when intense is not enough" or "don't pretend, feel what's real." I'm NOT KIDDING. Innocently sitting there, rubbing my poor little tummy, I was completely happy with my singlehood. Two hours and sixty five commercials later, I'm scouring every online dating site looking for a man with a sexy neck and hoping I look good in a piece of string.

Meanwhile, I told the chiropractor that he wasn't like all the other guys I meet. Mostly, I said, because I rarely meet guys who will jab their thumbs just the right way into just the right places to make my back feel better. He told me I wasn't trying hard enough.

Touche, doctor, touche.