Things to do while sick

I would to dedicate this post to the wonderful bout of winter sickness I have endured over the past week and a half. 

Merry Christmas to you, illness bitch.

I am still not finished with it (another trip to the doctor come Saturday, wish me luck) and I am praying to the health gods that this goes away in time for New Year's.

Because one, I do not want to live on crackers and Ginger Ale anymore. 

And two, I am going to be crafting a mask for the New Year's Masquerade Bash I'm attending and I WILL wear it.

I am going to wear that mask even if I'm holed up in a bed watching the ball drop in New York and crying to myself.

(Did I mention I'm the fortune teller for this shindig? Oh yeah. Your fate is in my hands. If I make it there, that is.)

So since I have spent many days on the couch watching bad tv and staring out windows, I have come up with a list of the best ways to enjoy a sick day. Or week. Or month. Whatever your evil little winter virus desires, because it seems like everyone's a bit under the weather right now.

Live on three food items.

Ginger Ale.

Crackers.

Applesauce.

Amen.

Watch every Katherine Heigl movie ever made. Ever.

Cringe a lot. 

Make fun of the fakeness. 

Then cry at the end of 27 Dresses.

Terrify yourself by reading Web MD.

Enter in symptoms like "nausea" or "headache." Become horrified when a red thing pops up that says "Go immediately to the emergency room!" Then close the window and pretend it didn't say that.

Create a sick den for yourself.

Bring all of your blankets to the couch, surround yourself with pillows and burrow in. Trap all the germs and cracker crumbs in there with you.

Go on a sick day shopping spree!

Put on sweatpants and rain boots. It is not raining but you really don't care.

Go to the nearest Walgreens, CVS or similar store.

Buy sugary drinks, crackers, tums, trashy magazines and a trashy novel.

Watch trashy reality shows...

...to match the magazine and novel.

Especially anything on TLC. 

Or talk shows where at least one baby daddy issue comes up.

Have an afternoon cleaning spree.

The medication kicks in and you feel invincible. 

You wash the dishes like a pro, get the vacuum ready to go , take one look at all the carpeting there actually is, and immediately head back to your nest. 

Whine a lot

It usually results in people brining you soup.

Use bendy straws

I don't know why, but it's a sick day classic.

Watch cat videos. So many cat videos.

Done and done.

Have a happy Thursday!!

The thinking moments

They exist for all of us.

For some it's while drinking coffee, for others it's in the shower, and for others still it's when they've been stuck at home, sick, for the third day in a row.

For me, my moment of deep thought has been all of the above.

(And all three of those things happened today.)

I have been thinking a lot about perfection, and the obsessions that have plagued me my entire life. And have plagued a lot of others for most of their lives, too. Especially women.

Why is that?

If everything is as I want them to be, and I haven't a care in the world, then I worry about the past or future.

Have you ever tried to carry all of the worry from your entire future life and pack it onto your shoulders in one instant?

It's probably not healthy.

"Who will I lose? Will I be ill? Will I be unemployed? What if my children get hurt? What if they hate me? Will the supervolcano erupt on Friday?"

Thankfully for us all, life happens one moment at a time.

Just like we cannot possibly eat a lifetime's worth of food right now, we can't shoulder the burden of our entire future this moment.

We have to digest each minute before we can take on another. 

Taking on too much will just make us terribly uncomfortable.

So at the end of this year, sprinkled with its ups, downs, valleys and hills, I want to say that I am grateful for our imperfect world.

Filled with its dessert and veggie and mystery meat kind of moments.

That is what makes life colorful, worthwhile. It's what makes it living, rather than just existing. This place would be awfully boring without the unexpected variety.

After all, vanilla ice cream may be perfect in its own right, but it's certainly not going to satisfy anyone in the long run.

Life Tales: Little Brothers

A bit o' history on myself: I have four brothers. And several male cousins.

One would imagine that I would be tougher, seeing as how I am the oldest. But no. I'm fairly feeble. When my brothers would harass me, instead of like, tackling them, I would say something pathetic-sounding like "You know, that really hurt my feelings" and look sad. It usually worked.

But anyway, I have three stepbrothers and one brother from the same mother. And father. One is about to be a freshman in high school, two of them are 18, and another is 20, off in the Marines.

While they all have their quirks, my blood brother (sounds legit) and I have the most colorful history together. His name is Ryan, and he is 18.

Hey, Ry. Remember when you stole my laptop and had yourself a little photobooth photo shoot?

Because I do.

So anyway, I am taking this moment to retell a few of my favorite brotherly moments in my life, because I haven't seen him in forever and I miss him. All of them.

Enough sap.

For those of you with younger brothers, I KNOW you dressed them up. You just couldn't help it. Headbands, dresses, the whole lot. The thing is...my brother liked that. I'd put him in a sparkly purple getup and he would own the hallway like a catwalk.

Around that same time, when I decided my brother's sole purpose was a living toy for myself, I fancied myself an inventor. I had grown weary of constantly having to walk down the stairs using my legs, so I thought I would invent a contraption to do that for me. (I just casually ignored the fact that elevators already existed. I figured I was a visionary.)

So there's little two-year-old Ryan, seated cozily in a plastic toy box, a fake army helmet on his head. At the top of the stairs. Since I wanted to be extra safe, I tossed in a few teddy bears to cushion the blow if he fell out. (I was five at the time. Lots of teddy bears in my collection.) Then, moments before sliding the toy box down the stairs, my mom comes out of the room, freaking.

"You can't push your brother down the stairs!"

My response? 

"He'll be fine, there's a pillow at the bottom of the stairs."

ONE pillow. Like a little throw pillow. I figure I still owe him big time for that incident.

That is why I'm terrified to have children.

Our trip to the Dominican last summer. Groovy. The one in the flower shorts in the back is my cousin.

This would be the night he convinced to me to try vodka cranberries and I got way too sick....He may or may not have had to hold my hair back while I commented on the vibrant green leaves of the plant I was throwing up on. Really glad I just revealed that story here. We were both of legal drinking age there!

Yes, the blonde one is our mother.

So then, Ryan gets older. And while he has been a ladies' man since birth, it's only gotten worse over the years.

Case in point: Day after Christmas, a year or two ago.

Our hometown is also home to Woodfield Mall, one of the largest in the country. So the day after Christmas is NOT the time to be there. It was swamped. Like well over fire code swamped. Because I think about those things.

We decide to part ways for a bit, and that I will call him when I'm done in the store. So I go, shop around for an hour or so, call him, call him again. 

And suddenly, I remember a conversation we had in the car.

Ryan: "My phone's been lost for a few days."

Me: "That sucks."

I immediately panic. I run around, almost in tears, thinking that I would make the worst mother ever. Suddenly, I spot him in a crowd, but because there were too many people I couldn't get to him, or even yell to him.

He must be afraid. He must be so afraid and nervous all by himself.

Never mind the fact that he's seventeen, not seven.

So finally my mom calls me, because my brother had the brains to borrow someone's phone to call her, and tells me where to meet him. When I finally find him, I realize that he hasn't been panicking. In fact, he used the situation as an opportunity to flirt.

He found a cute girl, played the whole "I'm here with my poor dumb sister and she's probably lost and scared somewhere, can I borrow your phone?"

He convinced her to walk around with him for half an hour, made out with her somewhere, then found me.

Meanwhile, I was literally sitting on the floor hyperventilating.

Typical.

Love you, Ry Guy. Please stop growing. You're already too much taller than me.

(P.S. I helped pick this prom getup. Go me.)

Do any of you have brothers?

If you have stories, I'd love to hear them!

<3

Life Tales: Waking Sleeping People

It's always the way, isn't it?

Your friend or significant other or whomever is asleep, very near your high-traffic area for the morning.

(For example, my friend was sleeping on the couch this morning, while I was bustling around in the kitchen.)

On regular mornings, it seems to go like this:

I get up. I am feeling remarkably graceful. I quietly brew some coffee, enjoy it over a bowl of oatmeal, watch the sunrise.

My hair is behaving well, so I wash my face, brush my teeth, put on a dot of makeup and leisurely make my way out the door. All is well.

On days like today, where I am deliberately attempting not to wake someone:

I get up, walk down the hallway. Stub my toe on the door, yell expletives in my head. Go to the bathroom, bang the cabinet closed. Walk slowly on tiptoe, trying to be stealthy. Knock over the metallic hairspray container, which makes the WORST NOISE EVER when it hits the ground.

Stare at it angrily.

Make a mental note not to knock over anything else. Only allotted one loud noise. My friend is probably still asleep. She's a heavy sleeper, right?

Go into the kitchen, brew some coffee. Holy hell, has the coffee maker always been that loud?! It sounds like an angry cat that is also on its deathbed. Look over. Friend is still sleeping.

Mug slips out of hands into sink. Fridge door slams shut. Loud sneeze. Stumble over chair, proceed to whisper angrily. Hiccup. Annoying talking ad pops up on computer, volume is turned up all the way.

Phone rings. Telemarketer who speaks Spanish.

I walk to the door, ready to leave in a puddle of shame. Turn lock. It makes the slightest clicking noise. That does it. Of all the things, THAT causes friend to stir. I quickly walk out and lock the door.

***

So this happens to other people right?

My mom used to grind her coffee beans in the bathroom when I had a friend over. It was a nice gesture, but it didn't matter because the dog would jump on anyone's head who dared to sleep on the couch.

Then she would lick them and likely sneeze on them. (The dog. Not my mom.)

Happy Tuesday!