Yea, you. What have you done for me lately? (Except for supplying me with life-sustaining oxygen.)
Fuckin’ nasopharyngeal canal. You didn’t get a cold all frickin winter (such as it was) - not even during March when it blizzarded like all-get-out.
Noooooo. You had to get a cold today. The night before my Linguistic Theory presentation, making me so woozy & miserable I could barely finish the outline. As it is, I’ll have to refer to the book every two seconds and hope my obvious viral suffering is enough to make people pity me (or at least not get too close).
Fuckin stress-induced immunity depression, guaranteeing you’ll get a cold during term-paper season that falls in the middle of an election campaign, when you can least afford to have one.
You also had to get a cold just before I meet two gorgeous gay Esperantists in an open marriage in the city for the weekend. You had BETTER be gone on Saturday so I can seduce them, dammit.
Fuckin nasopharynx. You BEHAVE, goddammit. Or I swear to Goddess I’ll trade you in for some gills.
I think, matt, that hh, not being the sort of, ah, character that we’ve seen here earlier (who would think, based solely on the fact that you’re gay, that you have HIV or AIDS), is merely suggesting you might actually be more physically sick than you think, rather than just having lower immunities due to high levels of stress.
Or something. It’s late, obviously.
[sub]And while I won’t be taking my clothes off then, I am thinking about going to the fest in Toronto in July…;)[/sub]
I love these “Fuck you, <random body part>” rants. They remind me of some sort of Gen X version of those “I am Joe’s Gall Bladder” articles Edward Norton was reading in Fight Club.
Update: I took some cough syrup, which kept me awake all night - didn’t sleep until 7 AM (had to wake up at 9 AM). Took another dose of cough syrup.
I went to school only to find that my presentation had been bumped to next week because some other girl couldn’t get her shit together and she had gotten an extension to today. WTF! I threw a screaming hissy fit (well, no, not really - a calm and collected hissy fit) to the effect of, “I’ve stayed up until 7 AM every damn day for the past week getting this finished, I’m hopped up on Benadryl, get out of my way!”
So I ended up doing the presentation, which was good because the girl in question didn’t show up until 20 minutes into the class. (That would have been fun.) The presentation went very well, thank you, and I was sufficiently lucid even at the end to answer questions about it. Anyway, I then went home, took a Nyquil, and started to make up for the sleep I’d missed.
That afternoon I was going to take another dose of cough syrup, but I called dr_mom_mcl to make sure it was OK. She checked the ingredients, which were the same, and then I asked, “So why did the cough syrup keep me up all night?”
She asked, “What was the dosage?”
I said, "Um, two tablespoons - "
“TEASPOONS!”
:eek:
:rolleyes: One of these days I really must learn to read. At least I’m not an Olympic athlete.
…because it behaved itself long enough for a fabulous evening, night, and (now) morning with the aforementioned gorgeous Esperantists (“Ho! Jes! Tiel chi! Ho, ege! Refaru tion!”) in the house which my parents have conveniently vacated for the week.
It is at times like this, ladies and gentlemen, when my Christian upbringing is of a great comfort to me, because I figure if I am going to hell, goddammit I intend to deserve it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, there are two hunky samideanoj waiting upstairs for me, and I’ve just gotten back with extra lube & condoms, and my digicam. And then we’ll have crêpes. Jam temp’ está!
