Reinforcement that the lessons of "What Not to Do" never end

Until today, I firmly believed that inhaling cola was pretty much the worst thing I could possibly do to my lungs (having nearly perished once in a freak cola accident). But people, let me tell you, the suffering cola can impart pales in comparison to inhaling salsa juice. I wanted to vomit from my lungs but could not do it.

From this day forward, I will not speak with a mouth full of chips and salsa. That is a personal vow. I encourage you to adopt this vow for yourself.

A Eulogy

I remember the day in color.
I strode into the bright, white Apple Store with purpose, my bonus check, yet uncashed, zipped tightly in my purse. I plucked you from the shelf with the knowledge that your fate was to be mine, and I handed you assertively to the nearest young man with square, black glasses in hipster-geek dress to make it official. I sped on the way home, daring the police to keep me from my task. And, when finally I arrived home and removed you from your box, I marveled at your beauty.

It's rare, my dad often says, to purchase an item that exceeds your expectations. You, my KBOL iPod (as I so aptly named you), did just that. Although I nearly broke you the first night we spent together (that wheel definitely does not mechanically spin like the originals... in case anyone was still wondering), we shared a magical companionship. We spent nearly every car ride together for the last three years. We traveled to Baltimore and D.C., to Seattle and Portland, to Wyoming and Montana, to Tennessee and to Kentucky, to Northside and to the West Side. You did everything I asked of you. You didn't even complain when I forced you to play the Best of Phil Collins or at the 91st repetition of Beyonce's "Work It Out." No, you were steadfast.

I thought we'd spend a lifetime together, but, in the end, your hard drive just wasn't strong enough. And the Apple Support geeks tell me it costs as much to replace your hard drive as it does to buy a brand new video iPod... So, with regret, it's time to say goodbye, my KBOL iPod. You've served me well, and I will never forget you.

Back from another tropical vacation...

The Virus Crashed Our Holiday

A plague has decended upon this town. Those lucky enough to have escaped its wretched grasp may not know what I'm referring to. It's the stomach flu, people. And it was the theme of our holiday.

It struck Brian first on Christmas Eve. As he recovered in the days that followed, I grew quietly more confident in the virility of my own immune system, somehow having miraculously managed to evade the virus thus far. That confidence turned out to be a false sense of security.

Can someone please provide me with a medical explanation as to why illness seems to arrive this way:
In the middle of the night you awaken with a faintly familiar sinking feeling in your gut. By the time you reach full consciousness, that sinking feeling has grown into an all-out nausea. And before you have time to shake an angry fist at the sky and curse the stars that have dealt you what is sure to be at least one day of pure hell, you are racing to the bathroom to begin the Great Purging.

Thankfully (for me, but possibly not for Brian), when the plague hit my belly early Saturday morning, Brian was there to bring me a pillow and a blanket as I lay writhing on the bathroom floor. I could not have asked for a greater comfort than to be cared for by someone I love so dearly. He survived three solid days of my constant requests - "Can you bring me water?" "Can you bring me coke with ice?" "Can you move my water seven inches to the left and put one more ice cube in that coke?" "Oh, and by the way, can you not walk around the house with your shoes on? The noise is making my stomach angrier." He filled my fridge with good food, brought me tylenol (extra strength) and tums, and rented movies for me. Best of all, though, he chased away the loneliness that accompanies sickness simply with his loving presence.

In between the many trips to the bathroom ("Only bad things happen in there") and waves of rattling nausea, all in all I'd say we managed to have a pretty darn good time together this holiday weekend. I may have had healthier New Years, but I doubt that I've had happier.