Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

The package made it. Amazon’s ass is saved. I’m going to lose my shit if I don’t get some sleep soon.

The good news is that the original boob wound is healed. The bad news is that the new one is dime-sized and is apparently affecting a vein or something (veins are supposed to appear blue; this one is brown). What. The hell.

I’m exceedingly grouchy tonight. The Grinch ain’t got nothing on me. I slept for 2 hours last night. We took the kids to see Santa at the mall today. AT THE MALL. ON CHRISTMAS EVE. I’m off my freaking nut.

I placed an order on 12/14 with Amazon for some Christmas presents for the kids. Amazon said on their website that the order would be delivered on or before 12/24. They partially shipped it about a week ago, so I received one item. Checking on the “Where’s my stuff” link shows that it has an estimated delivery of 12/24. Checking on UPS’s website says that it will be delivered 12/26.

Who should I yell at, Amazon or UPS? Amazon didn’t even ship it until late Saturday night.

I haven’t talked about my boob in a while. The wound’s still there, although barely. It started out being something like 4 cm wide and 2 cm deep. Now there is no depth and it’s about .5 cm square. My wound care lady sang “You’ll be healed for Christmas” to me last week, which I take as a good sign. Occasionally it still pains me considerably, but it’s mostly tolerable.

If you can avoid it, I highly recommend not having a gaping wound for 3 months.

So I was at Barnes and Noble tonight buying presents. I passed by the calendar section where there was a Beatles calendar with this picture on it. Some little girl, I’m guessing 5 or 6, points at Paul McCartney and says, “Harry Potter!”

Kids.

I recommend that everyone should go out to eat by themselves at least once. Since hub and the kids are in Houston tonight, I took myself to Jeffrey’s. The food was so good that I could hardly stand it. If it were not so uncouth to gnaw on bones and lick plates, I’d have done it. I ordered myself the 5 course tasting menu, which is 5 smallish courses rather than full sized ones. The meal started out with caviar on chive blinis with a vodka creme fraiche, then a seared scallop with a sort of a cheesy corn fritter and garlic cream, then seared foie gras with orange rosemary pound cake and pomegranite sauce, then a lamb t-bone with a sweet potato and wild mushroom tart, and last but not least, gingerbread with eggnog ice cream.

It was most interesting to eavesdrop on my neighbors. At one table were a man and woman, married I think, who seemed a little overwhelmed by the restaurant but seemed very down to earth and friendly.

Another table were a man and woman, and the man spent a good amount of time being a Trent Lott apologetic (“He was just trying to make the old guy feel good” – maybe so, but when you’re in a high position like that you simply must watch what you say in public). It seems to me as well that there’s no need to say that “this black guy” did such and so. You wouldn’t say that “this white guy” did it, would you? Why can’t he just be “this guy”?

Last but not least were a man and woman who seemed to have completely lost that lovin’ feelin. The woman spent a good 5 minutes straight harranguing the man – “You’re negative, you have a bad attitude about everything, and that’s why we never have any fun”, and so on. The man didn’t have a lot to say, and what little he did say was very quiet. I’m amazed that they were able to eat. How can anyone eat at such an unhappy table?

Still, I had a very enjoyable meal. It’s nice to go to a place where people know you. Hub and I do some work for the restaurant so we’ve gotten to know some of the people who work there. Made me feel like a minor star when I was greeted by name by several people – although I’m sure that George W. gets a more effusive greeting when he stops in to dine.

Get this – I got all my Christmas shopping done today. Tonight I’m addressing cards, and tomorrow I’ll probably wrap all day. Riddle me this – is it bad form to use a return address sticker with just my name on it, and no mention of hub, on Christmas cards?

Today hub’s taking both kids to Houston while I stay home with the dog and cats. Ostensibly this is so I can go do Christmas shopping tomorrow, but I’m pondering staying in my pajamas all day and reading some more of House of Leaves. Tonight I’m going to order in some food, watch Pay Per View, then go to bed and sleep until noon. Hah!

Oh yeah, and obsessively worry that hub and kids have been in a fiery awful accident. Almost forgot that part.

There’s this house that I live in, in my dreams. It’s huge, with 3 or 4 stories, and the entire top floor isn’t used yet. The previous owners moved out and left all sorts of stuff there. Last night I found their towels and photographs. The towels were under a bed, and the photographs were in the TV armoire (which also contained stereo equipment that was left behind). I usually dream about the house when I need to go to the bathroom. There’s a bathroom on the unused top floor that I always end up using.

I also have recurring dreams about a ranch. I’ve never been there before, but I know it like the back of my hand. The deer always come out at sunset, and every once in a while we see something incredible on the horizon, like a mushroom cloud or an alien ship.

I visit my ranch or my house about once a week. Anyone else have recurring dreams? What would you do if you ended up at the place that you dreamt about? Would you want to buy it and live there, or run away screaming?

Requiem for a Dream

It’s like Trainspotting with absolutely no semblance of a happy ending.

Good grief. I think I’m going to go cry myself to sleep now.