Waxing Philosophic When Sick

I hab a code. I have all the paraphenalia that goes with it. Ricola, zinc honey lemon drops, menthol drops, cough syrup, kleenex, Dayquil, Nyquil, herbal inhaler, Olbas bath, aspirin. None of these things will help the cold go away any faster, but will hopefully help me tolerate the duration. I hate the cold coming on feeling almost as much as the cold itself. The burning eyes, the itchy/sore throat. After reading an alarmist book by Robin Cook about viruses a few years ago, I hate knowing that the little buggers are replicating by the millions in my bloodstream. Doesn't help that all the media is alarm hyping the avian flu at the moment either. Evolution? Creationism? Bah, the universe was created and will be recreated many times over by viruses. I argue that we are not the dominant species on this planet. Viruses be here, causing genetic mutations, long after humankind has ceased to exist as we know it. Saw Kingdom of Heaven; it's a mediocre movie at best, but I enjoyed what little history I could glean from it. Perhaps we should worship viruses as deities.

QUOD: What's the name for the religion that believes god is in every particle of being on the planet? Anybody?

Rest, Relax & Restore

Women of Seattle, run, don't walk, do not pass go, go directly to the Olympus Spa in Lynnwood, a place so truly divine, it is a gift from all that is good, true, and beautiful in the universe. As to the portion of the population with penises, you're SOL, this spa is for women only. It's about time you experienced breast envy.

After I made Malt-O-Mortar for the sick hubby (kudos to him for the funny; he thought of it even with a cold!), I spent the day absolving myself of all the stress and trauma this move has caused. I'd give my left ovary for a year membership. Oh, what the hell, take both ovaries, I'm not going to be using them.

In nothing but a light cotton robe and a candy-stripper, rather a candy-striper cotton cap, you relax in various heated rooms, while healing FIR (far-infrared) beams heal your body, mind, and soul. Then you soak, naked except for the cap, in pools of various hot and cold temperatures while water jets pound you.

In the coldest pool, 60 degrees, there's a powerful waterfall that springs out of a rock wall. Once you adjust to the temperature, stand under the waterfall while it pummels you about the shoulders. It feels like forgiveness.

To enhance your relaxation, the above image is from the back porch of a girlfriend's cabin in Montana. She's blowing me away with her photography lately.

Flashback

So, I'm at the video store getting Unleashed and Kingdom of Heaven (Orlando Bloom is the luckiest bastard alive), and the clerk asks me if I want to pay $1.50 extra for two bags of microwave popcorn, a 20 oz. soda, and a box of candy, OR, I can donate all the boodies to Teen Hope. "What's Teen Hope?," I ask. "A shelter for runaway teenagers here in Shoreline." Cool. We actually have our own teen shelter. Then, bam, it hits me, as if I were there, the full memory of running away from home when I was 10 years old in sixth grade. For those of you doing the math, I was ahead in school; I skipped second grade. Anyway, I gathered all of my money, about $15 bucks, climbed on my bed and crawled out my basement room window. I made it about two miles away, to the 7-11, bought bubblegum and pencils, and hiked backed home. As I was crawling back in my window, my parents found me, and smacked my butt but good, and grounded me for about two weeks. What struck me was how vivid the memory was, and that the most important thing for me to buy as a runaway was pencils. Why did it take me 25 more years to figure out I was meant to be a writer?

Yes, I did donate the goodies to Teen Hope.

No Construction Cleavage

Bummer. A cute plumber came to fix our crapper today, and I didn't even get the pleasure of peeping at his butt crack. His Levi's fit comfortably around his waist, a real waist. We had to wait a week to get a plumber out to the house who's beer belly would squeegee into our crawlspace (about 18" high at its most generous) to also fix a leak under our tub. Have you seen many skinny plumbers? I didn't think so. Let's see, what celebrity should I mention today to get more blog readership...hmmm. Paris w/o Paris? Why Julia Roberts is so skinny after having twins (biatch.)? Aw man, who am I fooling? I can't/don't wanna keep this up.

It's Ours

Hooray! We have a new home to go to. The adorable West Seattle place is ours for the next year or so, while we figure out what comes next. Besides meeting almost every single criteria, the house just feels good. It is as though the house welcomed us, and is ready to take us in.

Next House Hopeful

Not on an island, but a peninsula, and there's a beach close by, and the house is perfect, although a wee small. We've gone so far as to submit an application for the house. Please send good energy into the universe for them to ignore our low credit scores if this is the right house for us:

West Seattle Brick Charmer

Other 'holics

I'm sure there are many web sites devoted to celebrities, and here's one my husby discovered: Keanuholic. I don't relate to celebrity worship, don't really get it. Sure, I'd enjoy meeting him and be tickled about it, and yes, I'd tell my friends. I might even devote a post to it, but a whole blog? Simply not my thing.

Right now, I'm more into the sweet little mannerisms of my dogs. Take, for example, the game Isis plays to wake me up. She likes to give kisses, lots of enthusiastic, slobbery dog kisses. When I try to avoid them by putting my face into my pillow, she turns on her back, uses her paws as leverage to scoot herself upside-down between me and the sheet, and does her best to get in more licks on my face than I do raspberries on her tummy. You can't help but get the giggles.

Cooper, like Keanu, is a simpler mind, and in his adorable attempt to mimic anything Isis does, will simply sit on my face until I give him a tummy raspberry and then he returns a couple of tender nose licks.

I'm definitely addicted to my dogs.

Bratwurst with Chiddar

The Bombay's sign has opened up a portal in my brain, and now I'm hyper-sensitive to misspellings everywhere. This latest advertising, a new offering from the rolling hot dog tube machine at 7-11. You know how you learn a new word, and suddenly, it pops out at you from every page you read? Or, you decide to buy a particular brand of auto, and then you see more of them on the road? Universal Validation.

I learned today that if you mention a celebrity's name on your blog, you'll get higher readership. The whole blog phenom fascinates me. Why would someone who uses pounds instead of dollars as a monetary system give a flying f!@# what I think about a movie star? My next thought, as an impoverished writer, is if people will read this stuff for free, how do I get them to pay me for my apparently valued, or at least stirring, opinion?

Elaborade Buffet

That's what the sign said at The Bombay Grill in the U District. Spelling, schmelling. We've also got Ethiopin food in the CD. Perhaps they meant what they spelled, and it is pronounced eh-la-bor-ah-day buffet at the Bombay. Uh huh. Sure. Today I'm fascinated with humans' ability to quantify the universe to make themselves feel better. For example, I started a new written journal today, and it felt more significant, because it is the first of a month, according to a current calendar generally used by our western hemisphere inhabitants, and largely enforced on the global population, or any part thereof that gives a shit.

We're having an unbelievably difficult time finding what we want in a place to live. I despair daily, hope daily, then despair again. All this knowing, deep down, that I've got it good, really, and I'm one of the luckier citizens of this planet. Which, alternatingly makes me feel grateful and guilty. Woo-damn. I am one complicated ball of emotional upheaval. There are days when being Keanu Reeves is really, truly attractive, simply from a standpoint of being too dumb and too rich to care about diddly.