An Unwelcome Guest

Okay, people. I will be straight with you. Well, in my case, I guess I will be gay with you. It's crunch time. The semester is winding down. I have a ton of things to do. You know what that means. Procrastination has the ability to lead to blog entries a plenty.

I had a visit from a friend last night…a friend I like to call "stomach virus." Yeah, he is an unwelcome guest. Strangely enough, Shlomo had been suffering from a little cough all day and I suggested he take a Nyquil before going to bed. All was well. Two hours later, all hell broke loose in my digestive tract. It was to the point I was worried about becoming dehydrated. Shlomo was in a drug-induced coma. I had this image of my having to take a cab to the emergency room. Fortunately, that image did not come to fruition.

To further complicate things, I had a presentation to make in my class tonight. I debated trying to get out of it. But, I am either too proud or too stupid to approach my professor about such things. So, stomach gurgling I went to class. As I sat there waiting to present my lovely schpiel about Medea, I suddenly had this image of my going Poughkeepsie in my pants right in the middle of telling how Medea was somewhat admirable in her defiance of her gender role and not allowing herself to be the victim. Fortunately, I was not Charlotte York Goldenblatt on a Mexican vacation.

So now, I am facing a weekend filled with research on Rembrandt and his work in the Jewish ghetto. I hope my stomach holds up.

Someone Is Eating Dog Food

Yesterday was THE event of the year for my tribe in Houston. By tribe, I mean gay people. That’s right. Madonna played Minute Maid Park. Shlomo and I were there with about 70 thousand other people. It was fantastic. At 50, Madge is still at the top of her game.

To celebrate, Shlomo and I hosted a little soiree for our nearest and dearest prior to the show. I coined it, “Martinis, Mojitos, and Madonna.” Bascially, it meant I spent the day in the kitchen while Shlomo sat on his butt. Okay, that’s not entirely true. Actually, he did a lot to help. Mainly, he ran to the grocery store everytime I forgot something. By the way, when making mojitos, don’t forget to buy mint. Seriously.

He also straightened the house. By “straightened,” I mean he “gayed it up.” You know, he fluffed the pillows, lit the candles, replaced the lavender in the sachets in the undergarment drawers. Okay, the last one is not true, but it just went with the comedy rule of three.

So, after the party and the concert (which started two hours late), we saved the cleaning up part of the party until tonight. Suffice it to say, the place was a mess. Plates, glasses, cocktail napkins…they were everywhere. Anywho, Shlomo and I are in the kitchen cleaning. The dogs are on their pillows. Loco is on his perch. Well, we thought Loco was on his perch. I looked over. Loco was eating out of the dog food bowl. Seriously, he got down and walked through the living room, the dining room, past the dry bar, and into the kitchen. He then helped himself to some Science Diet Senior.

Let me just say that we had only an hour before spent over $60 at Petsmart on food and toys for Loco. He is not deprived. I now regularly buy fresh vegetables for him…not me. He does not need to eat dog food. But it is kind of like when I go to the grocery store and buy $100 worth of groceries and then go through a drive-thru on the way home. Sometimes, you just want to eat stuff you don’t really need…like those truffles I ate earlier. That, however, is another story.

Hang Ten

Hello, Possums! What a morning. I have a paper that I need to be working on today (as it is due tomorrow) so that means that I obviously had to make time for a blog entry.

I woke up with a headache this morning. It hurts real, real bad, y'all. I wanted to blame Shlomo. He had to get up early to catch a flight to Florida. When he gets up early, I get up early. He thinks I lay in bed all day and then move to the sofa to eat bonbons. He is mostly wrong. I never eat bonbons. Seriously, we all know I work way more now than I ever did as an accountant. (Remember all those blog posts? Yeah...hard at work then!)

Anywho, the head. Ouch. I thought I would be funny. I was sitting at the dining room table surfing the web and watching the Today show trying to wake up. My new little Prada sunglasses were sitting there. I put them on. I felt better. Then, it hit me. I made a jumbo-sized martini last night and drank it all before bed. Holy olives! I am totally hung over. I cannot remember the last time I was hung over. I don't get hung over.

Wait, I do remember the last time I was hung over. It was the day after my 30th birthday. That involved my share (I was with a friend) of two bottles of wine, a bottle of champagne, and a couple of martinis. It also involved a trip I barely remember to the Virgin Records store in San Francisco. Cds were procured. They are not necessarily cds that I am proud to own. I blame my drunken state. I just remember that my former friend fell in the street that night. I thought it was funny then. Now that we are really no longer friends, I think it is freakin' hysterical.

So, as you go about your day...think of me...sitting here deconstructing the Great Gatsby in my prescription Prada bifocals. Yeah...they're less cool when they are bifocals...aren't they? What can I say? I am so not cool. Oh, and please pardon my Dame Edna moment at the beginning. I love her. What can I say? I always love the LOLs (little old ladies).

And for the record, so I don't bring shame on my family. It was a big martini...probably the size of 2 or 3 if a normal person made them. I am not that much of a lightweight. Given my lack of attendance at the gym, it could be argued that I am in no way a lightweight.

To Quote Barbra

Happy days are here again.
The skies above are clear again.
Let's sing a song of cheer again.
Happy days are here again.


Congratulations, Mr. President.

They're Alive! They're Alive!

Oh happy day! For weeks, Shlomo and I have been worried sick about our friends/restaurant acquaintances the Molay, Molay, Molays. We finally decided that they had moved, or worse...had been forced to have face transplants and were living under the witness protection program due to some unseemly event they had witnessed in our neighborhood or at Neiman Marcus. Hey, those pushy perfume girls sometimes have it coming...all I'm sayin'. Alas, they are alive. Alive, I tell you. Alive. And, with the same faces.

We had gone to a little seafood dinner. We were almost finished, when Shlomo said, "Look, is that the Molay, Molay, Molays?" I had just played a similar game to throw one of my fried shrimp on his plate because I did not want it and was convinced that this was some sort of retribution on his part. I did not even really look and said that it was not. Ah distraction, such a great method to get rid of unwanted food.

Then, a few minutes later, I looked. It was them. We finished our dinner and went over to say hello. There was hugging involved. Actual hugging. They have been fine and we sort of, almost made plans to get together. And, no one had had a face transplant. Turns out, that worry was for naught.

Parenthetically, I know I have been posting sporadically lately. Sadly, I don't really see a change in that until the semester is over. However, my four readers are very important to me. So, check back. Sometimes, procrastination in writing a paper can cause me to do some very odd things.