Michael Crichton’s new book, Prey, is singularly awful. I feel like sending Crichton a bill for the time I wasted reading this chunk of crap. Don’t bother. Go read something worthwhile, like House of Leaves.
To the woman who laughed as her sick daughter fed boogers to my well daughter last week:
There is a word that I refuse to say out loud. You probably know the one. It’s an ugly word. It’s the word that comes to mind every time I think of you.
I hope that someday a sick kid will feed infected snot to your well kid over the holiday season. I hope it’s when you get a raging breast infection in a post op area and you’re so sick and exhausted that you can hardly drag your ass out of bed long enough to change your dressing. I hope your kid gives it to another of your kids so you have two of them sick. I hope they have simultaneous screaming fits that last for an hour or more at a time. I hope it’s when you’re PMSing.
Letting your sick kid infect another child isn’t cute, you bitch. Perhaps you could dig your empty, vapid head out of your ass long enough to realize that this world doesn’t revolve around you or your incredibly ugly child.
Sincerely,
Addlepated
The new dime-sized wound has brought a friend along to play. At this rate I should just be one big oozing sore by summertime.
We were supposed to go to the ranch today but my surgeon’s office isn’t open today so I have to call in tomorrow morning to see if I can get in. If they can’t see me until late we’re just going to have to cancel the whole weekend and let the 8 other people we invited know at the last minute. The kids are a little sniffly today anyway. Perhaps they caught something from the 2 year old girl in line to see Santa who kept picking her nose and apparently trying to feed the boogers to my daughter. Some parents really have no fucking clue on how to handle their kids. If your child is sick, do not allow it to feed its boogers to mychild. In fact, do not allow it to feed its boogers to my child even if it is well.
I can’t decide whether I want to go this weekend or not. On one hand, it will be fun, hopefully we’ll be able to bring home some venison, and I’ll get to hang out with some friends I don’t see ofter. On the other hand, the kids don’t sleep well down there, my boob hurts something fierce, and it’s a lot of work. If we end up staying home and it’s because of me, I know I’m going to get pouted at all weekend.
I got a six hour nap today, which was luscious. That’s more sleep at one time then I’ve had in literally weeks. I could have slept more, but I was rousted. Here’s a note to those of you who would wake me up: you will get better results if you wake me up gently, rather than yelling and/or bitching. Just a thought.
I think, in the end, I will be quite relieved if we end up staying home this weekend. This would be our third trip out of town in less than a week.
I am in desparate need of a vacation. It’s a 24 hour drive to Las Vegas from here. Oy.
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.
We just got back from visiting hub’s parents in Houston. Murphy was a sage. Here’s what happened:
– the center stone came loose in my engagement ring. Again.
– My face broke out into zithood, the likes of which has been unseen since high school.
– My hair conditioner was open in my kit and splooged all over my stuff.
– I used the bleaching trays on my teeth for 8 hours instead of the recommended 2, and my teeth feel like bloody nubs.
– I don’t sleep well there to begin with, mainly because they have radically different ideas about comfortable ambient temperature than I do, but to add insult to injury there was a cat in heat outside that sounded like a person being stabbed repeatedly, as well as kids setting off fireworks at all hours and they sounded like gunshots.
– My laptop’s trying to die on me.
– The game I was going to betatest over the weekend wouldn’t install properly.
– I spent a solid 8 hours trying to get my Treo 300 to function as a modem for my laptop, thinking the whole time that it didn’t work when in actuality it did.
– There’s a part of my scar that’s opening back up and it hurts.
– My Treo had to be hard reset before I could sync it with any local computer, meaning I lost all the books and games I had so specially loaded for my trip.
– I bent a fingernail backwards and broke it off.
– The kids have been totally wild and wooly and out of control.
– When we got home I discovered that a friend had sent us a case of Cornish game hens, packed in dry ice, that sat on our doorstep for at least overnight.
Some days it’s not worth it to gnaw through the leather straps.
And to top it off I have to try to find a damned punchbowl somewhere in town on December 23 because I realized that someone’s maid broke mine last year on Christmas Day while washing it, and nobody’s replaced it for me. Yay! I get to spend another $100!
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.
