How to Battle a Cold

Step One: Complain. A lot.
Some people consider kvetching about an ailmet annoying. Others have turned this into a whole genre of psychology...psychotherapy. So the next time someone tells you to quit complaining, inform them that by discussing your ailment, you are better coming to terms with it, which in terms leads to faster recovery.

Step Two: Cough. All over everything.
This is your perfect chance to get the peace and quiet that you've always wanted. Annoying coworker? Cough at him/her and watch them run. Pushy salesperson? Cough them away! The inhabitants of our increasingly germ-phobic society will be hesitant to enter your sphere of infection. Enjoy the silence while you can.

Step Three: Rub your nose raw.
Find the most abrasive material with which to dabble your runny schnoz. Today I used shop towels. The blue kind. They feel soft at first and hold a lot of snot. They were better than the tan napkins (recycled/nonbleached) that just smeared it all around my face and ripped up my delicate nostril skin. I looked "rabbity" by the end of the afternoon. BTW-"rabbity" means red rimmed eyes, pink and moist nose, and floppy haired.

Step Four: Decide to Recover. Then tell everyone.
Every day this week, I've declared multiple times in a day that I was going to "feel great tomorrow!" Has it happened? Sort of? I do feel better. And since I'm feeling attention deprived these days, I've been getting my jollies from hearing strangers say "get well soon."

Step Five: Prepare for the recovery.
After spending better than a week feeling like hell and looking even worse, ample preparation must be made for the reintroduction into non-sick society. Granted, I've faked quasi-health pretty well with a creamy (viva la Burts Bees!) concealer and given myself a pseudo-glow with my Nars Blush (Orgasm - all over my face!), I still had that lovely pallor and nice sweaty glow. CVS had lipsticks buy 1 get 1 free, so I got a couple of lovely rosy 'sticks to help perk up my face for when I'm fabulous again on Friday. It's something to look forward to and also, as I'm on the glide path to wearing kleenex boxes on my feet and building a spruce goose, I know I won't put any on my pout until I'm free and clear of disease. I do the same with my toothbrush. Getting well means getting a different toothbrush.

Tonight I nurtured my wellbeing with a trip to the outdoor mall, where I picked up another piece of Vera, got a pretzel, and walked around in the crisp night air. I strongly believe that fresh air is vital to a full recovery. Having my feet and hands buffed to perfection by my cute little asian girl was my primary objective, but alas - her shop was closed. So I sat on the floor of Borders and flipped through humor books for about a half hour. I'm amazed at what gets published these days. If a girl can write a book about all of her one night stands, I wonder what I could write about and have published...

At the Forefront of the Mind

Deep thought of the day: When constantly barraged with signifiers and momentos of things/ideas, is it a sign or the brain making an association with something that is at the forefront of the mind.

For example, if a person were thinking of moving to Texas and suddenly noticed the word "Texas" emblazoned on everything, would this be a sign that "Yes! Move to Texas!" or would it be the mind noticing the sign as the thought of Texas is presently at the forethought of the mind.

Popeyes

I found the Popeyes on Knoxville and promptly negeted a week's worth of good eating with 3 hot wings, a biscuit, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a coke. A real one. Not the diet kind.

So much for a week of wheat-free, gluten-free, yeast-free, non-cruel bread.

New Hair

I had the 'do trimmed up last night and added some long, sideswept bangs. All day I've been blowing them out of my face as I'm too lazy to just reach up there and reposition them. I haven't decided if the blowing of the hair is cute and charming or strange and irritating. The stylist told me that I'd have to "train them."

"To do what? Tricks and stuff?"
"You're going to have to train your hair to do what you want it to. Train like a pet or a boyfriend?"
"So I browbeat it until it leaves me or pees on my rug?"
"Hairspray?"

I Survived Pumpkin Fest

Every year, the sleepy town of Morton comes alive when the townspeople gather downtown to celebrate the mighty pumpkin and all that it has done for the local economy.

I decided that my H.O.I. experience would not be complete unless I partook in the festivities, so on Saturday afternoon, I met Gretchen and her fiance Mike in Morton and we proceeded to gorge ourselves with pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin chili, and anything else into which it'd be quasi-reasonable to slip some pumpkin. Tickets for the rides were $2 each and it was excessively sunny out so we hung out under the entertainment tent, watching the musical stylings of the youth of Morton.

Remember the movie Donnie Darko? Well, we were entertained by a very SparkleMotion-esque group of tweens that had the same self-assured manner that immediately made me think that if I were their age, they'd be tormenting on a daily basis. Clad in green ringer t's and jeans, they line danced, sang, and twirled around for almost an hour to an...interesting mix of songs. Let's put it this way - before the show ended, a rendition of "Wind Beneath My Wings" almost seemed imminent. However, they do get partial credit for "You Raise me Up" and ended the show surprisingly with a number about "rocking" that featured too much prepubescent pelvic thrusting to be comfortable to watch. This was surprising in that when they sang "God Bless the USA," I thought that was it.

We walked around the fair a bit, had some more ice cream, and did shots of whiskey under a tree in someone's backyard before returning to the entertainment tent to watch "Kenny Rogers" and "Dolly Parton" (cross dressing? how original!) sing "Islands in the Stream." I mock it, I do, but yet I still went up to the stage and snapped a picture on my camera phone.

Speaking of my phone, is anyone else as annoyed by the classical music it plays when someone tries to call? I'm begining to think that people are going to stop calling because of that music. At first it was ironic and funny...in a Bentley Fonzworth kind of way. But now it's just bizarre.

Anyway, after a day at the "cleanest street fair ever" we reconvened at Hoppers for beer and pizza doused in rooster sauce. Some guy in a red sweater came up and started talking to me...and then wouldn't shut up. He explained to me that he hates being so fat and pimply but it doesn't matter because he knows so much about transmission that he's worth millions but doesn't want to work for anyone because then the ideas would cease to be his. He also told me that he's a college drop (but it doesn't matter as he's worth millions). When I asked him where he went to school, he told me Illinois Central College. (Harvard on the Hill.) This wouldn't have been so funny if he had only said once...or even twice. The rest of the evening was pretty mellow. I'm thinking about trading in my beloved bottles of Budweiser for something different as beer tasted metallic to me.

The evening ended trimming some guy's arm pit hair and then heading off to La Bamba for the ritualistic post-drinking nachos. Feeling gross from the pizza, pumpkin, metallic beer, and Dr. Pepper, I abstained yet thoroughly enjoyed the Rev. happily eating nachos. Seriously, it's been a while since I've seen someone so happy to have nachos. Then again, it's been...never since I watched someone grab a handful of their pubic hairs and toss them on metrosexuals passing by.

So in conclusion, Pumpkin Fest was all right. It needed a beer tent, but it was still good times.


Sunday

Sunday morning, I woke up and decided to have a productive day. I started the day with a drive around town and ended up at the Taco John's in East Peoria as I was in the area and feeling nostalgic for a churro. On a side note, everytime I drive through East Peoria, I swear I can hear Sam Kinison screaming. (Oh OOOOWWWWWWOOOHHHH!)

Not wanting to stay up late Sunday night, I actually had most of my laundry finished by 5 before heading out to clean up Canyonero and then go to the gym. I really wanted it to rain last night, so I washed my car twice (don't ask).

I also found one of the homiest streets in America. While driving down Forest Hill Drive, I found myself on this tree lined street dotted with brick houses, all of which had the porch light on, giving the neighborhood a warm and inviting glow. The air smelled of wood and late afternoon barbeque. It smelled like football season and I immediately longed to live on that street...somewhere between Sheridan and Knoxville...even a day later, I want to call this place home.

Lately I've found myself eyeing this house on Glen and I find myself taking a different route to work so I can look at it and mentally place chairs and grills on the deck above the garage. Never did I expect that I'd get moderately excited about the thought of owning a home. I find myself thinking about settling down more often than I used to, but if I allow myself to think this long enough, something will happen making it very apparent that I shouldn't. It's just not in my design. And I still can't grasp the concept of living someplace longer than 11 months at a time.

However, last night I came home sweaty from the gym, frappuchino in hand, waved at my new neighbors (The Europeans!), and went upstairs to watch some Reservoir Dogs and curl up in my leather chair. So what if I have too many locks on my doors and can't yet put a grill on my roof? Life is still as comfortable as it needs to be right now.

The Audit is Over

...but what now?

EDIT FOR CLARITY:

The audit of my building is over. I still have to go to all of the wrap up meetings on Monday. However, I get to meet someone who reports to the CEO so that's good times right there. I'm also consulting on chemical management in another building, so if the auditors are brave enough to step back into that building, I'll be over there too. All clear now?

I really do wish I were in Murray right now.

Life is Better 6 Inches Off the Ground

So my building is being audited tomorrow...and I can't wait for it.

After months of preparing and running around trying to 'fix' everything, I'm resigned to let the chips fall where they may. I'm proud of all the progress made in my building and am going to give myself mad credit for getting us there.

Pumpkinfest is this weekend. Just knowing that this time tomorrow night, I'll be giddy from beer and pumpkin products brings a smile to my face. Every day (actually, several times a day), I get excited about the festival whenever I apply more pumpkin scented lotion. I've taken to keeping a bottle in my desk so that when my hands are dry or I just feel like it, I can lotion up with pumpkin scented goodness. The top cubby of my desk has been converted into short term paper storage and creature comforts. It currently includes a coffee cup, some sodas and granola bars, a package of burts bees goodies and my beloved lotion. And when it's not in use, my iPod goes n there too.

Someone looked me up on the corporate directory to find out where my new desk is located so that a visit could be paid...this made my week. Usually people come by to complain or kvetch at me or to make requests or drop off mail, not give me the kind of smile that permanently burns itself into my brain. This...this has been a good week.

Rants...Mainly Rants

I feel like this past week has been one very strange dream. Labor day sucked. This week...yeah, it sucked. Is it bad that the best day I had this week (not counting Saturdays, those are 'free days') was Friday, when I worked from around 8 in the morning until 10 at night. I now know exactly when the hvac system and lights go off at work.

Friday...I wrote a large portion of the industrial hygiene program for my division. (Industrial hygiene is not a fancy word for maintenance or for personal cleanliness...consider it the art and science of wtf-ology applied to protecting people of invisible hazards floating around in the air. It's a physics and chemistry thing.) I must give myself mad props for being able to create over 5 quasi-involved forms and the procedures for how to use them in a little under 3 hours. I must also give my supervisor mad props for buying us dinner at Carlos O'Kelly's in recognition of our hard work in preparing for our upcoming audit. (Starts tomorrow!) And finally, props go out to Dave Grohl, who apparently moonlights at the Peoria Steak and Shake on War Memorial, for making damn.good.steakburgers and tasty shakes. I love his grilling as much as I love The Colour and the Shape. I also love how the air conditioner in my apartment broke sometime Friday. Nothing like waking up on Saturday morning to find that it's 90 degrees in the abode.

I spent some time talking to Allison while I stood in front of the freezer...well, my head was in it..eating popsicles and only in my underwear. Hot.

...But not as hot as the black initial on the bottom boyshorts, tiny blue stripe sweater and dirty librarian eyeglasses I'm sporting right now.

I gave karoke a try last night at ye olde little bar in Morton. YMCA! Nick and I were supposed to sing 'Free Fallin' after chugging some jaeger bombs, but that song didn't work, so we had to pick a new one. I was supposed to sing 'Like a Virgin' with the two loveliest ladies in the bar, but it all shut down before we had the chance. Oh well - perhaps next time.

And, in what is starting to become a Saturday night ritual, it all ended in LaBamba down by Bradley with the Rev, eating tacos and waxing philosophical. Only we were wearing each other's hats. Sorry man, there's only one person in this world that looks as good in that hat as I do and I don't know where he is these days. It's like he's disappeared off the face of this earth. Where, oh where, have all the good greasers gone?

So our corporate audit starts tomorrow. I'm preparing by downing 3-4 white russians in hopes of knocking myself out. Tomorrow I must kick massive amounts of ass all while feeling sick (and it's not because of the alcohol). But, if I have to be sick in the morning, better this reason than the alternative. And I'm listening to Cake right now too. They make everything good. But of the three person team giving us the once-over, I'm only afraid of 2/3 of them. The corporate ergonomist...we had training together a few weeks ago. If we had gone to college together, I think we would have been drinking buddies.

I bought a new bottle of perfume this weekend. 'Fantasy' by Britney Spears. I can't believe that I would have ever wanted to smell like Britney Spears, but the heady mix of vanilla creme, jasmine, and kiwi was too much to resist.

Plans for this week include: goal of 3 days at the gym, vacuumed carpets, packing for Murray (home sweet home), and spending more time with the Tao Te Ching. While up here, I'm not surrounded by people that draw me back to center, but this text helps. Until then, I'll crawl into bed, close my eyes and feel the warmth of white russian coursing through my veins. And I'll repeat to myself...tomorrow will be great. Tomorrow will be great...

Mexi-ranch and Mama: Two Things that Keep the World Spinning

Tonight, as I made the drive from tiny.little.lake.town back to Peoria, I realized that the car in front of me belonged to my Mama, who was driving back to Springfield to work for the week.

Right now, I must stop this story to interject with two things: 1) I never knew I had a "Mama" until I lived in Kentucky and 2) my family is temporarily fractured by the fact that Mama has to live in-district for her job and house in said tiny.little.lake.town has yet to be unloaded. In short, my parents don't live together Monday-Friday, but try not to read too much into that.

Anyway, when I realized that she was piloting the car ahead of me, I called her on the phone and we had a nice cell-phone and SUV caravan up the state, finally stopping at the good Applebee's in Springfield for a meal of onion soup, appetizers, and of course...mexi-ranch.

The beauty that is mexi-ranch...salsa and ranch dressing in harmonious co-existence...it's truly one of my favorite things in the world. I don't remember some of college, but by-God, I remember the mexi-ranch. Eating it in celebration; drowning sorrows in the stuff; enhancing a great, great meal; having it as part of a bonding moment. The greatest friendships I've ever had have been cemented and sealed in a glob of mexi-ranch.

So Mama and I are sitting in a booth, eating mexi-ranch and drinking the caffinated drinks we had sworn off weeks ago, laughing at how fate has had its way with us. She shared with me her disappointment that at 50, she's living a vagabond lifestyle for a job and that Grandpa! is becoming increasinly difficult in his increasing age. I saw Grandpa! today - impatient to have his hair cut correctly, he shaved it all off. With his pointy ears and wrinkled forehead, he could pass for the cousin of Yoda...who incidentally is the being that I aspire to be like, a fact I shared with my Mama this evening. Yoda is at peace with himself and harmony with the world, seeing things as they are and accepting things as they come, always striving to be one with the force, yet will beat ass when necessary to preserve the way of the force. I'd presume there are way worse ways to exist. I told her about my misadventures in dating and then she let me know that I should "give marriage a try" but do it on my own terms. She also told me that I'd do well by marrying one of my friends and gave me a specific name as suggestion. I told her that we'd see...we'd see...

I suppose it sounds cliche, but my Mama is one of my best friends. Her world view and ambivilence toward "major issues" is admirable and amusing. More often than not, she tells me what I need to hear and not what I want to hear. Once, I called her after a test-gone-wrong crying about my inability to do math. She told me to suck it and stick it out and go get help. I got an A in that class. She kicks my ass when I need it. She gives me support when I need it too.

Mama and I are close. I hope we always are. But it never hurts to ensure that the mortar and bricks that hold us together are fortified with mexi-ranch.