Was That My Stomach Lining?

So, I had my second stomach bug of the summer this week. Given the severity, I think this one actually qualifies as the stomach flu. The upside is that I lost 5 pounds. The downside:

1. I couldn’t get out of bed for two days (except for trips to the bathroom for vomit out every last scrap of food in my body) and didn’t leave the house for five days.
2. For the first 24 hours, I was so sick that I couldn’t even read or watch TV.
3. I didn’t put on real clothes until Friday*.
4. I’ve eaten nothing but white foods since Monday (white foods = saltines, plain pasta, plain rice, dry toast).
5. My hair and skin look awful, probably from the complete lack of nutrients the past week (white food not exactly swimming with nutritional goodness).
6. My mother, who is a professional hypochondriac, has been coming up with all sorts of horrible illnesses that she thinks I have. The top candidates: giardiasis (awesome) and hepatitis (even more awesome).

But did I mention that I lost five pounds?

I’m looking forward to an exciting weekend of reintroducing dairy and perhaps some vitamins to my diet.

*I realize there are many who would not think this was a bad thing, but I like clothes and getting dressed in them. I don’t really like spending five days in clothes that I would never wear in public.

Potterrific?

I got into Harry Potter way back when. I think it 2001, and I know it was summer because I had started the first book and was reading it so fast that I stopped on my way to meet Uncle Dad at the big gay pool to buy the second book because I was almost done with the first one and I knew that I would just have to keep reading because I totally get addicted that way and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy a day at the pool if I didn’t have the book. Although I was way behind your average 8-year-old, I was way ahead of pretty much everyone I knew. I read books 1 through 3 in a very short span, and then was left hanging, what with the long wait for book 4.

I sparked an interest in several people, including Lord Kissington, bryc3, and my mother. By the time they all became completely obsessed, I was kind of over it, because it was taking forever for the books to come out, and I have the attention span of a 5-year-old. A 5-year-old with ADHD. I continued to see the movies, and I eventually got around to reading books 4 through 6, although none of them in a very timely fashion (something that drove LK and my friend Mary Ann crazy as it meant they couldn’t discuss them while I was around). And it will be a while before I get to the last book (preordered months ago by LK) since I will have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands.

LK, Maryann, and I saw the fifth movie last weekend. It was pretty good, although the viewing experience left somethnig to be desired. Uptown, get your AC working full blast. Parents, consider maybe not letting your kids get all hopped up on sugar right before a 2.5-hour movie. Teenager two seats down from me, when you have to pee during the climatic battle, just learn to hold it in.

I figured it was safe to go see the movie without my mother. She pretty much refuses to leave my Alzheimer’s-stricken grandmother alone, so it’s not like she goes to movies much. Apparently, I was wrong. She laid a major guilt trip on me yesterday, in which she said about 14 times, “I can’t believe you saw it on the first weekend” (meaning “I can’t believe you saw it without me”) and “I guess I’ll just have to wait for the DVD” (said with a plaintive sigh). I like to think of myself as a strong person, but I am no match for such an expert at passive aggression. The upshot: I will be spending an evening with my grandmother (something I certainly don't mind doing), while my husband takes my mother to the movie.

I informed LK about this last night: “Dude, enjoy your date with my mother.” Then I cackled like a hyena.

Beyond the guilt trip laying, my mother has another issue with the whole HP oeuvre: She refuses to accept the Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione romances. (I called Harry and Ginny way back in the second book, and I’ve been trying to tell her she’s on crack for years.) She told me that she heard that two characters die in the seventh book, and she’s hoping that it’s Ron and Ginny, so Harry and Hermione can end up together. I told her that was horrible (seeing as there’s a long list of nasty people one would rather see die a horrible death than the likable Weasley sibs, no?), and that she should probably join a message board, as she will probably find many likeminded 11-year-old girls with whom she can share her thoughts.

Not So Deep Thoughts

My life seems to be settling into a pattern where something pretty good will happen, but will be quickly followed by something really awful. As I’m on a good cycle right now, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, which isn’t the most restful way to live.

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My insomnia has reached epic proportions and now taking a toll on my skin, which is routinely erupting with tumor-sized pimples. This is unusual for me, since I am used to getting pimples maybe twice a year. It seems ridiculously unfair that one needs to worry about both pimples and wrinkles at the same time.

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I considered going to Fort Reno last night, but then realized that we had barely a scrap of food in the house, so we went grocery shopping instead. This is clearly a sign of getting old, or perhaps just being exceptionally lame. Or both. Sigh.

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After reading my last post, Lord Kissington has smugly pointed out that many of the actresses on his free pass/totally bangable/filling up the Netflix queue list are Oscar nominees and winners, while my list seems to tend more toward actors who maybe once appeared on a very special episode of Dawson’s Creek. I pointed out that it’s not really their award-winning talent that I’m interested in. He’s still awfully smug.

Queuing Up

The Netflix queue presents a constant conundrum. Either I don’t look at it for three months, and we end up with totally random stuff that sits around for weeks because neither of us feel like watching it, or I micromanage it, updating it daily and adding more movies than I could ever hope to watch in the next year or so.*

I’ve noticed that on our Netflix queue, there are several distinct categories:

1. Movies that Lord Kissington adds that I would never watch in a million years. These are usually ultraviolent and/or star Bruce Campbell. Despite being told many times that Bruce Campbell is “awesome,” I still have no idea who he is. (I also refuse to watch anything with Billy Bob Thornton. I’m sure he’s a fine actor, but he scares the bejesus out of me, especially with his creepy new face**.)

2. Movies that I’ve added that Lord Kissington would never watch in a million years. Recent additions in this category include 13 Going on 30, What a Girl Wants, and Just Like Heaven. None of these would I have paid to see in a theater, but I’m all about them on Netflix.

3. Movies that we both actually want to see. This might be the smallest category. It usually includes recent releases that we missed in the theater and stuff with Tony Leung. I heart Tony Leung.

4. Movies that one of us put on the list and the other one will watch if they don’t have anything else to do.

5. Movies that neither of us remember putting on the list. This doesn’t happen too often, but when it does, it usually leads to an argument over who put this stupid movie on the list. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s usually me.

6. Movies that seem totally random but were added to the queue because they feature any of a number of (usually obscure) actors I find seriously bangable. Some of these could fall into category 2, but not all of them. LK doesn’t seem to mind this category and recently encouraged me to move some of these higher up on the queue so “you can watch them before you get bored with these guys, so we don’t have a repeat of the Sam Rockwell situation.”*** He’s a very understanding husband.

*I’m not as bad as my friend June, who actually maxed out her Netflix queue. Who knew the limit was 500? And how can one actually watch 500 movies? By never leaving the house again?
**If this face was the result of plastic surgery, he should sue his surgeon. If it’s just a symptom of the manorexia, eat a cheeseburger or 8 already.
***Fall 2005 saw a brief fascination with Sam Rockwell where I added many of
his earlier films to the list. They were so far down that they didn’t show up for almost a year, at which point, I was totally like, “Why the hell did I want to watch this?” LK thinks I’m fickle. He’s probably right.

Celebrating in a Different Way

The 4th of July is pretty much my least favorite holiday ever. Not because I hate America. I’m totally down with the whole U.S. of A. thing, and I think fireworks pretty much rock. It’s just that July 4 has been a uniformly shitty day for me. I’ve been almost crushed to death, relationships have imploded, and one ex chose that day to say “I’m really unhappy and it’s all your fault.” So, after many lousy 4th’s, I’ve learned to lay low on the day and not attempt anything major, lest I get food poisoning, or crushed, or dumped.

Yesterday, I celebrated by eating French food* and purchasing this item**:

When I saw it in the soon to be closing Second Story Books in Bethesda (65% off everything!), I did a little dance of glee. Lord Kissington said, “Wow. Show tunes and disco. It’s like Christmas for you.” There was no price tag, but I knew it had to be mine regardless of price. Imagine my delight when I took it to the counter and was told the price was 50 cents. 50 cents, people! I would have paid octuple that amount.

*Before anyone gets all “freedom fries” face about that, may I remind you that they’ve been on our side in all the major wars, and their support was crucial to American success in the Revolutionary War. I think that eating a Croque Monsieur and drinking French wine is a fine way to celebrate freedom and independence. Or to celebrate anything for that matter.
**Apologies for the poor photo. It really doesn't capture the fabuloisty of this item.