Stream of Consciousness

(Note: This monster-of-a-post was actually written on Thursday night, but since I don’t have Internet at home right now, I had to type it as a Word document, save it, and copy and paste it into Blogger at work this morning. My friends, that’s dedication.)

I’m running a low grade fever right now, and it’s just warm enough for my brain to be a little fuzzy. This should make for some interesting blogging. Also, I have so much to write about!

First of all, as for the fever, I haven’t quite figured out what is causing it. My throat’s been sore since Sunday, and usually when I have a sore throat like that, it means I’m getting a cold. However, said sore throat also usually only lasts a day or two, and it’s definitely been longer than two days. I don’t feel sick enough to have strep throat, and I’ve already had mono, so who knows. It’s probably just a terrible cold that’s taking its sweet time to “brew.”

Secondly, I love how, whenever I’m sick, everyone I know has a different suggestion for what I should do/take to get better. One of my aunts, for instance, is convinced that Alka-Seltzer will cure absolutely anything, maybe even AIDS. Philly, on the other hand, believes that apple cider vinegar is the remedy to end all remedies, so she suggests drinking as much of it as I can possibly stand. Which, I’m here to tell you, ain’t much. And then there’s Teeny, who is a veritable treasure chest when it comes to home remedies. She told me to take four thousand milligrams of Vitamin C (not an exaggeration) and to use ear candles, as she claims this one-two punch recently cured her own case of strep throat.

Personally, I’m a big fan of sleeping it off. But then, I’m a big fan of sleeping in general.

Also, I have recently proven my own theory, which is that, although I may only be 26, I have the body of an 85-year-old woman. I mean, it’s not wrinkly (yet), but I do have the joints (and ailments…see: shingles) of an octogenarian. You know those pill boxes with a separate compartment for each day of the week? I am now officially carrying one of those in my purse. And each slot is FULL. True, some of that is vitamins and supplements, but still. Octogenarian.

In other news, as you may or may not have gathered from my vague references, Slim and I were recently seeing each other again. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know. I think it was clear to both of us that that ship had sailed a long time ago, but leave it to us to beat the proverbial dead horse. And leave it to me to use one too many metaphors in once sentence. Point is, when I got home from Tunica the other day, we talked on the phone and pretty much came to the mutual conclusion that, whatever passion we may have once had (and I’m not even sure we did), it’s completely gone now, and we’re really doing each other a disservice by pretending we’re still in love.

And that was that.

I don’t know if men have radar or what, but I swear to you, not even twelve hours after the “breakup,” I heard from another guy whom I used to date, all the way back in early 2005. And he doesn’t even live here any more. He said he might be coming to town soon, and he’d like to take me to dinner while he’s here. I don’t know that it would lead to anything, but the timing certainly is interesting.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, though. Philly warned me about men “coming around again” (she’s such a Carly Simon fan). Of course, this particular guy didn’t really go out of my life willingly; I just sort of stopped talking to him. Perhaps it was the lack of a dramatic ending that has kept him intrigued. It’s just not what they’re used to.

So…The Office just came on, and I don’t care if it is a rerun, this shit is funny. I mean, how can you not love these people? I could totally do a show about The Firm. I should look into that.

Alright, back to my (mental) list of things I wanted to write about. There’s just so much. So, Philly and I got back from Tunica the other night, and while I was gone, my landlords came to fix my toilet, which had been running constantly for, like, the past three weeks. First of all, the thought of someone being in my apartment really bothers me in general. It’s not that I have anything to hide; I just don’t like the idea of someone looking through my shit. And who are we kidding, you know you look through people’s shit when you know you won’t get caught. To make matters worse, it appears that my landlords didn’t bother to bring a towel with them, and I don’t know what went down while they were here, but a) the bathtub was filthy, and b) my hand towel—yes, my hand towel—was draped over the side of the tub, still soaking wet. What the fuuuuuuuuuck. Is this acceptable landlord behavior? I think not.

Random interjection: I can not get the bottle of NyQuil open. And all of my neighbors are girls. What the hell am I supposed to do here? Also, the TV just asked what 3 Rock times 10 Rock is, and the answer was “30 Rock!” Um, no, I believe it’s 30 Rock squared. Boo-yah, NBC. (Twenty minutes later: After several attempts, involving rubber gloves, a towel, salad tongs, and pliers, I have finally opened the bottle of NyQuil. Let it never be said that I let child-proofing get the best of me. Candy—1, NyQuil—0.)

Second random interjection: I just called Target to get a $16 late charge on my credit card bill removed, and the guy on the phone told me he could credit me seven dollars. “That’s not what I want,” I said. “I want the whole sixteen dollars credited. I sent my bill before it was due, and it arrived one day after the due date. Also, I paid the balance in full.” “Okay,” he said [in an accent I could barely understand, of course], “I see you have been our customer for more than ten years, so I am going to credit sixteen dollars to your account. Your new balance is zero.”

Tee hee hee. (I would like to note, however, that I have not been a Target credit card customer for ten years. Ten years ago, I was 16. But I didn’t tell him that. On the other hand, I have been shopping at Target for more than ten years, as evidenced by the fact that, while I still had my baby teeth--thank goodness--I once fell flat on my face in Target, resulting in my two front teeth being just a little bit gray until they fell out and my permanent ones grew in. Which just reiterates the point that Target owed me that sixteen dollars. For pain and suffering.)

Okay, back to the trip to Tunica. Before now, I had never stayed in a casino for five straight nights. Well, except in Vegas, of course, but that doesn’t count, because in Vegas I rarely make it back to my room before dawn. But I digress. What I learned on this trip is that, once you’ve spent about three nights staying in a casino hotel and have eaten the majority of your meals in that same casino’s restaurants, it starts to feel like, well, home. I got so comfortable that, eventually, I wasn’t even taking my purse with me to the casino, just my ID and some cash. When I got hungry, I went to the “kitchen” (the buffet), and when I wanted something to do, I went to the “living room” (the poker room) or the “den” (the Keno lounge). When I got tired, I went back up to the bedroom. I am such a casino rat.

Incidentally, Tunica is the first place I’ve ever eaten at a casino buffet. In Vegas, we never eat at the buffet, as there are so many other interesting options. I’m not a big fan of buffets in general, because I don’t like how everyone’s getting up to get more food at different times, so you never really eat together. Also, I don’t normally eat enough to get my money’s worth at all-you-can-eat buffets. However, in Tunica, eating at the buffet is the same price (or less) as any of the other restaurants, so that’s where we usually end up eating. And where else would we be able to have lasagna, enchiladas, and General Tso’s chicken, all on the same plate? Gross.

As for the poker, I didn’t win any tournaments this time, which I blame partly on the fact that I was sick, partly on the fact that I didn’t catch cards the entire time I was down there, and partly on my lack of skill. Okay, mostly on my lack of skill. I did sit beside a true “pro” (Was he a pro? At this point, we don’t know. If you get that reference, you’re my new best friend.) during the World Series of Poker Circuit tournament that I entered, and that was pretty cool. He wasn’t famous or anything, but he was a damn good card player. Also a total ass, but that’s to be expected. With more than 600 people, this was by far the biggest tournament I’ve ever entered, and even though I only lasted five and a half hours, it was still really fun. I felt like I was at the real WSOP main event.

Because I wasn’t feeling well, I spent a lot of time in the hotel room, mostly reading and watching CNN. I read two cute books that I had recently ordered from Amazon: French Milk and I Was Told There’d Be Cake. (Apparently I am more likely to order books that have food or drinks in the title.) What I did not do was get on the Internet, for FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT. I was soooo jonesing by the time I got home. Naturally, as soon as we walked in the door at Philly’s, I ran straight to the computer and got on Facebook to look at all the status updates I had missed. Philly does not understand why this was so pressing. I’m not sure I do either.

Before we left Tunica, Philly and I stopped at the Gap Outlet, which has become somewhat of a tradition for us, mainly because we both have raging shopping addictions. I am not kidding—it’s bad. At least on my part. Only a few days before, I had received several items that I had ordered online from Old Navy, and how sad is this: For the first time ever, they got one of my items wrong (it was supposed to be a pink-and-white-striped pullover sweater, and instead they sent a solid black cardigan…however, it was my size…), and instead of calling to complain, I just decided to keep it. Philly is convinced that I have ordered so many clothes from Old Navy that they have decided to assign me a personal shopper, and she (or he) thought I would like the cardigan more than the pullover. Of course, I already have two other black cardigans, but this one is different. And new.

Confessions of a (Bargain) Shopaholic.

Finally, upon returning to work on Thursday, I came to the realization that, once you’re in the real world, vacations can sometimes be more trouble than they’re worth. Sure, it’s nice having a few days away from the office, but good Lord is it a pain when you have to come back to an overflowing inbox and a whole new pile of work. Sheesh.

Okay, are y’all tired of me yet? (Yes.)

I’m out. (Literally, that NyQuil is starting to kick in.)