tobermory's Diaryland Diary

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You call that goulash?

So, still with the snot. I feel like a small troll carrying buckets of green goo has taken up residence in my head. He has moved in an old smelly frat-house sofa and heís settled in to take a long nap and no amount of blowing or schnorking is going to unseat him. The Dayquil/Nyquil rollercoaster is beginning to take its toll and Iím sitting here at work trapped in a goo infested barely functioning body. My mind feels sharp as a tack, but my body feels like itís encased in a fuzzy mascot suit. Perhaps Ribbie or Roobarb one of the ill-fated White Sox mascots of yore. And my nose! The redness cannot be described. I have been very careful to only use the aloe infused Kleenex, but apparently if you blow your nose 30 times per hour it still chafes. Iím supposed to go to a Nordstrom Spring Make-up Bonanza on Saturday morning followed up by a make-up consultation at my beloved Trish McEvoy counter, but I fear that by then Iíll have scaley peels of skin hanging off my nostrils and the ĎNational Make-up Artistí slated to make me look beautiful will be afraid to touch me lest they contract leprosy. Iíll just have to keep slathering on the massively overpriced face crŤme that I was suckered into buying at the Nordstrom Spring Skin Care Bonanza that I went to last month. These Bonanzas Ė fun but expensive. By the time theyíre all done with their spiels and theyíve paraded around the models and the samples Iím so addle-brained that Iíd buy just about anything. I think thatís why they have them at 8am on a Saturday Ė youíre still so sleepy that youíll hand over your charge card to anyone for things you donít really understand or need. If they served Bloody Marys or Mimosas Iíd probably need a U-Haul to get my purchases home. Luckily they have yet to figure out the connection between drunkenness and frivolous spending.

Since Iíve been coming home straight from work every night (Do not pass Gym, Do not lose 5 pounds) Iíve managed to watch all the Gilmore Girls episodes that my TiVo had so obediently recorded for me, but now I have no Lorelai fix. I think I have a girl-crush on Lorelai. She has the best clothes and the best hair and Iíd sell my soul to Satan for her legs. I want to live in Stars Hollow in a quaint wood sided farmhouse filled with comfortable antiques and have wacky friends. I can at least take solace in the fact that Steve is just as handy as Luke and (I think) looks even better in a tool belt.

Speaking of Steve he has been Mr. Nice Guy since Iíve been snot-ridden. He has made dinner all three nights this week. But let me discuss last nightís dinner. He called it goulash. OK, Iíve had goulash before and this wasnít what I was expecting. My momís goulash is like little flat pieces of beef in a savory rich sauce over noodles or spaetzle. Steveís family goulash turned out to be more like unseasoned spaghetti sauce over linguini with some limp greasy bacon. Basically, I was not so into the goulash. I think he was disappointed that I didnít fall culinarily in love with his family recipe, but what can I say? It was like glorified hamburger helper, and the limp fatty bacon parts were totally grossing me out. If one had made it past my fat/gristle radar and into my mouth I would have had to make a quick trip to vomitsville. Luckily I managed to detect all the fat particles and dump them on a cocktail napkin where they bled a greasy ring and made me wish I could have been more chipper and perky and just pulled it together long enough to make an edible dinner. Tonight we are having leftovers and I think Iíll opt for tuna-noodle casserole from Tuesday and leave the goulash for Steve. Or maybe Iíll just have a nice safe turkey sandwich.

10:18 a.m. - 2005-03-10

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