(Are you totally turned on right now? It’s OK. Don’t fight it.)
Not long after writing yesterday’s bitchy-ass post about HOW DIFFICULT my life is, what with having the sniffles (oh, the humanity!), help and relief showed up miraculously. This put things into better perspective for me. I mean, it’s a COLD. There are people everywhere dealing with way worse. Hell, I have dealt with way worse (what’s up, pneumonia and various lung infections that made me cough so hard I vomit in public?) in the past. Sack up.
Katie is also sick and we decided that we needed pedicures to a.) get our whiny selves out of our homes and b.) help us feel like pretty pretty princesses. The pedis worked, yes, and we showed good judgment by sipping juice rather than our traditional mimosas. But Katie had a little surprise for me that perked me up like none other: a visit from the cutest little puppy ever. (Oh, he was accompanied by his “dad” and all that. It’s not like he just called up and asked if we were doing anything. He’s a puppy.)
Anyway, Riggs, the puppy, was so well-behaved and sweet and snuggly and soft…I did my best not to go all Lenny on him, but it took serious restraint, y’all. This kind of made me feel like a child. Despite all the Stranger Danger stuff I had drilled in to me, I’m pretty sure a kidnapper could easily – to this day – lure me into a sketchy van with a “Will you help me find my lost puppy/kitten?” story because sweet Jesus, I am a sucker for animals. And baby animals? Oy. Don’t get me started.
This kind of got me thinking that while I may look like a grown-up and manage to fake it on most days, I really should not be allowed to live without adult supervision. I submit the following evidence:
-I have had to take a little break from my 24 viewing. You’d think this break was inspired by a desire for real human interaction, or to eat some cheese. Nope. This little self-imposed break is due to the new appearace of nightmares…24-inspired nightmares. Now the assassins don’t want to hurt David Palmer or Jack Bauer: they are after ME. I know. I KNOW. There are first graders who can probably watch that show before bedtime and be completely fine, but I am a delicate flower. A fucking mental delicate flower, so please treat me with care.
-Last night while watching the Academy Awards I found myself hoarsely yelling “I NEED MORE COWBELL” the entire time Christopher Walken was on the stage to present…something. I don’t even know. I was too busy repeating a joke that was funny seven years ago, and cracking myself up in the process. Sure, there may have been a little cold medicine cocktail involved here, but dude. Come on.
-The aforementioned puppy incident. Most normal people reach down and pet a dog. Me? I roll around on the floor with it with zero regard to social norms, ladylike behavior or the pitch of my voice.
I’m choosing to take some comfort in the fact that I act like a full-on child, rather than a tween. I mean, I’m not parading around in a glittery shirt and my pants cover my ass. I’m taking my victories where I can get them. Back off.
Now, I need to cure my fever with MORE COWBELL. Hahahaha! Ah, never gets old for me…