Sunday, July 22, 2007

mostly dead is slightly alive

it is now day 7 in The Remarkable Tale of the Cold That Would Not Be Tamed. yeah. i think there has been a shift in momentum, and slowly but surely i may be gaining the upper hand. thanks to The Posse’s very own ellen-degeneres-look-alike Dr. McHotty, i am now on an intense regimen of an antibiotic i cannot pronounce much less spell (it has 17 consonants and 2 vowels which I assume means it packs a POWERFUL punch). if this works, Dr. McHotty will get a medal of commendation for saving the life of the homosexual rights movement. for sure. and although i become short-winded just walking from one room to the next, and something simple like taking a shower leaves me feeling like i just ran a marathon, i am also pleased to announce that as of this morning, i have enough strength to sit upright. this is a brand new development and my couch is thankful because, quite frankly, it has seen more than enough of me lately and we could both use some time apart. clearly, I am still a little delirious, having just now implied that I’m in a long-term and potentially co-dependent relationship with a piece of furniture. jesus. that's just a sad, sad commentary on my current state of affairs. or lack thereof.

what a long strange trip it’s been. this Cold-Turned-Bronchitis-Turned-Pneumonia-Turned-Bubonic Plague-From-Hell just brutally and with no sympathy or compassion knocked me ON MY ASS. thud. my week was a total blur and i did nothing whatsoever to advance the homosexual agenda. i spent most of the week just trying not to pass out. seriously. my weekend has been completely shot...right this very minute i'm missing out on brunch to celebrate ms. audrey's birthday, and I slept through an absolutely gorgeous saturday altogether. yeah. a total BUST. i’ve hidden myself from the world for the past 3 days, though poor sweet Corey managed to burst her way through my carefully constructed barricade yesterday. i’m pretty sure she's regretting it, and that she’ll be traumatized for the rest of her life. gawd love her, she tried to be polite but she just couldn't hide that honey-i-love-you-but-you-really-should-be-quarantined-and-i-can't-get-out-of-here-fast-enough kinda look.

as my gram used to say, i looked like “death warmed o-vah.”

(a slant rambling tangent:

while i’m sure that “death warmed over” wasn’t a Gram original, it was certainly one of her favorite phrases. How you feeling today gram? Not bad for an old lady but I look like death warmed over. i remember wondering what the hell death warmed over actually looked like. it couldn’t be pretty. i pictured Invasion of the Body Snatchers. other family favorites: my dad liked to call undesirables who pissed him off “goddamn pukebuckets”. that Wayne Pillsbury is being a goddamn pukebucket lately. a receptacle for vomit? nasty. lower than low. one of my mom's favorite phrases centered on a fixation she had with some dude named carter, who apparently manufactured liver pills. pat weymouth has more shoes than carter has liver pills. i always imagined carter was some slightly overweight guy who lived in a big farmhouse and had a barn that was literally bursting apart with purple pills. no idea why they were purple. carter wore overalls and an engineer hat and always looked a little overwhelmed by those pills.)

note to self: in the vein of silly things we imagine as kids, dedicate one future blog entry to my next-door neighbor who had the MUMPS.

anyway...last night i was in bed by 7:30, and did not move a muscle for a full 12 lie, and i have the deep, deep imprint of bed lines to prove it. lovely. i am not even going to try and describe what my hair looked like after such a dreamless and motionless slumber. i must have broken a fever in the middle of the night; there is just no other way to explain the 'do. let’s just say i belted out one hell of a blood-curdling scream when i glanced in the mirror this morning. scared the bejeezus out of myself. So THIS must be what death warmed over looks like.

actually, i think a more apt description of my current state can be found in a scene from one of my all-time favorite movies, The Princess Bride. (aside to the matriarch: we should feature this film during one of our outdoor movie nights). it's a freaking classic. one of the greatest films EVER, brimming over with fabulous quotables. the scene i'm thinking of is a brief but memorable exchange between miracle max (billy crystal at his most brilliant) and inigo montoya (played by the wonderful mandy patinkin.):

Miracle Max: Whoo-hoo-hoo, look who knows so much. It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do.

Inigo Montoya: What's that?

Miracle Max: Go through his clothes and look for loose change.

so that's me i think. i’ve been only mostly dead, or slightly alive.

i mean i'm not gonna sugar-coat this: i'm pretty sure it was touch-and-go for awhile.

hell, i almost called the vice president of the homosexual rights movement for an emergency swearing-in.

i even had a heart-to-heart chat with my cats willie and oscar about what do with mommie's estate. (like i've previously mentioned: delirium in its finest hour.)

but don’t look for the loose change just yet.

good news appears the huntress may live, after all.

stay tuned. film at 11:00.


michael said...

Princess Bride is a CLASSIC.
Feel better soon, and HAVE FUN STORMING THE CASTLE!!


Lori said...

This is your funniest post ever, but also very sad! Are you feeling better yet?