Weekend Phlegm Leaves Me In Stitches, Among Other Things

oh, what a difference a day makes. i got sick about a week ago to this very night. within 24 hours, the illness vanished without a trace. actually, with some traces of phlegm and sputtery respiration. but still, it was on its way out. needless to say, i got cocky. yeah, that was me out on the town tuesday, wednesday and thursday nights. i was boozing and cruising and wining and dining and dancing…and guess who wanted back in? that’s right. sicky. the little friend i thought was just visiting for a few days. is back in town. at the exact time he showed up last week. can you believe he wanted to book me two weekends in a row?! what a loser. what a looooooser. i’m soooo erasing his digits out of my cellphone after he pulled this little trifling number (enjoy the pun, enjoy it).

cupcakes have nothing to do with being sick. but they are beyond awesome.

lucky for me, the NCAA semifinal games didn’t require much activity on my part this eventide. i sighed when mason lost. i whimpered over LSU. at least jj won the lowe’s award. he could improve many a home. yeah i said it. i love men in uniform. i know it’s cliched but i have a weakness. turtles too.

i ate their cereal. that’s loyalty.

yesterday i got out of work at 11pm. when i was walking to the subway with some coworkers, we bumped into a gaggle of ladies out on the town. but apparently they weren’t synchronized enough because as we were trying to pass through the trendy pack (seriously the skimpy top + faded jeans + funky belt/flats combos were through the roof…one girl even had a side ponytail! a side ponytail!), one of them [the gang leader] squawked “meeting. we need to call a meeting right now! step to the side, ladies.” on the agenda for tonight: hammer hammer bang bang. just kidding. maybe their agenda was more altruistic. i didn’t stick around to find out.
these girls don’t know it. but they’re about to have a meeting. before the night is over. it’s inevitable.

furthermore, the evening held my father giving me a sewing lesson. that’s right. my dad knows how to sew. and cook. and dust. and lawnmow. and build shelves. and sandpaper wood. and garden. and not sleep. he loooooves being useful. so i needed to pull the hem up on this skirt so i asked for his aid. not for him to do it but for me to learn. because yo. i need to learn this stitching business. after a few sessions of measuring and modeling and threading and unthreading and tentative hemming, he started getting angry at my skirt. then he started cussing out whoever in the hell made the skirt. then he angrily queried to me “who in the hell makes these kinds of skirts?!” then i realized the line of thread was weaving up and down on the fabric more than a drunken chap on his way down the sidewalk. and since i’m grateful and supportive, i held up the fabric and said “what the heck is this?” and he said “it’s their fault. who makes skirts like this?!” and then he finally threw the skirt on the table. and walked away. he walked away. he’ll have it to me by open of business tomorrow morning, he says. because tomorrow morning. there will be daylight. and coffee. and second chances.
one of the main reasons sewing machines don’t get respect as objects of utility

so in reponse to the cough that wouldn’t die. my parents decided to go all mother country on me and bring out the old world medical treatments, despite their both claiming to be doctors of the non-quack variety. my mother prepared for me a little pot of scalding water. and then instructed me to go get a towel. so i did. and then she made me put the towel over my head and sit in front of the pot of boiling water.

but first. there’s always a first. first she had to add the yellow powder to the water to make the concoction magically powerful. and she did it. and i kid you not. the water started bubbling. and foaming. even my mother looked shocked at this point. and then the water turned blood red and settled at a frightening orange tone. the likes of which i did not want all up in my face. which is exactly where it was going. and then my ma she says “quick! before the vapors subside, put the towel over the pot and start inhaling with deep breaths.” so i did. expecting nothing short of a very large miracle. you want to know what i got?

well first of all, you can’t see crap under there. not a darn thing. you do feel like your throat is going to burn up because the air is so hot. i squealed and my mother said “don’t get too close. i think the water’s too hot.” great. she didn’t even troubleshoot this so-called “treatment” first. anyway, then, at the very least, i was hoping for some hallucinations. because that would have been worth the struggle. nawpe. nada. i did start sweating like a mother until my eyes felt like two squares of butter that were about to fall into the water and scald my face. seriously. if you want to feel some sweaty eyeballs, stick your face under a towel over a pot of steaming water. long story short. i had a coughing spasm shortly before the treatment ended. but my mother claimed they were wet coughs and all the goop was coming up. i’m still skeptical. i did burp several times today and slightly throw up in my mouth each time. that actually was kind of cleansing.

no the QUICKEST vicks is putting your face over a pot of steaming water

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