tobermory's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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 he�s 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 I�m sitting here at work trapped in a goo infested barely functioning body. My mind feels sharp as a tack, but my body feels like it�s 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. I�m 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 I�ll have scaley peels of skin hanging off my nostrils and the �National Make-up Artist� slated to make me look beautiful will be afraid to touch me lest they contract leprosy. I�ll just have to keep slathering on the massively overpriced face cr�me that I was suckered into buying at the Nordstrom Spring Skin Care Bonanza that I went to last month. These Bonanzas � fun but expensive. By the time they�re all done with their spiels and they�ve paraded around the models and the samples I�m so addle-brained that I�d buy just about anything. I think that�s why they have them at 8am on a Saturday � you�re still so sleepy that you�ll hand over your charge card to anyone for things you don�t really understand or need. If they served Bloody Marys or Mimosas I�d 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 I�ve been coming home straight from work every night (Do not pass Gym, Do not lose 5 pounds) I�ve 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 I�d 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 I�ve been snot-ridden. He has made dinner all three nights this week. But let me discuss last night�s dinner. He called it goulash. OK, I�ve had goulash before and this wasn�t what I was expecting. My mom�s goulash is like little flat pieces of beef in a savory rich sauce over noodles or spaetzle. Steve�s 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 didn�t 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 I�ll opt for tuna-noodle casserole from Tuesday and leave the goulash for Steve. Or maybe I�ll just have a nice safe turkey sandwich. 10:18 a.m. - 2005-03-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||