Flu-lapalooza: Day 2

It is official--the flu totally sucks. TOTALLY. I asked a friend of mine, "Do you think I am just being a whiny butt about the flu because I hardly get sick? Am I miserable because I am not used to pestilence?" Her reply was, "Hell no! The flu is awful any way you cut it."

I have to admit, I despise talking about illness. YES, I am blogging about it (only to keep my sanity) but seriously, one day I will get old and it will be ALL I talk about. I love my grandmas to death and this always takes up at least 40% of our phone conversations. Followed by food. Then making fun of people on TV.

**WARNING: THIS POST IS THE MOST I HAVE EVER SPOKEN ABOUT BEING SICK IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. IF YOU ARE EQUALLY GROSSED OUT AS ME ABOUT "SICK" TALK, THEN KINDLY EXIT THIS WEBSITE.**

One thing about being dog-ass sick is it heightens my ability to detect unusual behavior patterns. I am not sure if they are coping mechanisms or universal to everyone while sick. You all be the judge.

I am sick enough to believe Oscar lives in the trash can by my bed.

Put a Trash Can Near My Bed. Even if I don't have the pukes, I always put a trash can near my bed when I am sick. I think it is to eliminate getting out of bed to throw away tissues and food wrappers. I cannot get well in filth.

Whenever us kids were ill, Mom would always put what we called "The Puke Pot" by our bed. It was the largest pot we had in the house and its sole purpose was to throw anything you want (including puke if you had to) into it. It kept things nice and neat.

However, you had to forget "The Puke Pot's" illness function when Mom made a huge pot of navy beans or cooked batches of salsa for canning, otherwise you were grossed the heck out. Thank God "The Puke Pot" got a hole in it and was permanently sanctioned as the "Forever Chamber of All Things Gross."

Stammer Stammer Stammer Blue Eyes.

Watch Movies Starring Hugh Grant. Honest to goodness, I don't know why the hell I do this while sick. Like ANYTHING Hugh Grant is in, I will watch. I wasted two hours of my life this morning watching Notting Hill. I had seen it in the theatres with my Mom and HATED it. The supporting characters were the only interesting part. Perhaps Hugh Grant movies are easy to digest? It may also be that Hugh Grant's characters--kind, mildly smart-arsed, prone to stammers around women, encumbering hairdos that require much brushing of the hands through, cheeky romantic gestures, definitely rational, quietly confident, and the uncanny ability to look at a woman as if she were the only person in existence--are many of the qualities I find attractive. Let me be clear--his characters, not him. I seriously just described my husband and the other people in my life for whom I ever had the deepest, most obsessive crushes over. Hugh Grant=comfort zone.

And on the 2nd day, No Basement made some toast, because she was too tired to do anything else.

Eat Anything On Top of Toast. Toast is a no-brainer when sick. Instant meal. In the past 48 hours, I ate the following on toast:

--Eggs on toast
--Peanut butter on toast
--Nutella on toast
--Melted cheese on toast
--Baked beans on toast
--Jam on toast
--Spaghetti Sauce & Mozzarella cheese on toast (mini-pizza!)
--Toast on Toast.

Toast is an underrated food. If nuclear fallout happens and I have a loaf of bread, ain't nothing going to keep this girl down.

This lady is officially beat. See you all on the other side of this influenza. I like to say that with a ridiculous British accent. In--FLUUUU-en-za!

Crap, I am sick. So incredibly sick. Speaking with a British accent. Didn't Britney Spears do that shortly after she shaved her head? I need to lie down.

I hope reading this didn't waste too much time out of your life. Consider yourself lucky--you didn't watch Notting Hill for TWO HOURS today.

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