Pickles & Dimes

As I was playing with Abby last night, she scratched my hand with one of her back paws. It hurt – a LOT. I immediately looked at it, expecting to see thin trails of blood bead up or huge lined welts appear, but there was nothing. No visible lines on my palm at all. But it hurt like you wouldn’t believe.

Later that night, it was still bothering me. And of course, all kind of paranoid thoughts entered my feebish mind: It’s an infection and it’s entered my bloodstream and I’ll die in my sleep and when Jason wakes up, he’ll find me dead with a grossly inflated left hand! And then he’ll steal my CDs!

So to calm myself, I did the medically sanctioned, foolproof method to make sure I was OK: I checked the giant bulge in my left hand and compared it to my right. OMG! My hand’s all fleshy and swollen, it – oh wait a minute, my right hand looks exactly the same. All right, then.

Jason had a bachelor party this weekend, so I drove to visit my parents, which was nice because:

1) I could drive as fast as I wanted, which incidentally, is quite fast,

2) I could have the heat set to how I like it, which incidentally, is quite hot, and

3) I could hit repeat on my CD player and listen to the same song over and over and over for 150 miles, until I learned the lyrics. Which, incidentally, was never. Because apparently I cannot understand lyrics unless they are printed in the CD liner notes.

(I once thought the lyrics to the song “Rollercoaster” went like this:
“No me gusta the love…” (instead of “Rollercoaster of love”).)

So yeah, my ability to figure out lyrics = Not So Good. In fact, on Friday, Jason and I were at Best Buy when he picked out a Black Crowes CD. I feigned horror at his selection and said, “You’re getting THAT? But they sing that really stupid song.”

“Which one?”

“You know, the one that goes, “˜Hey, lemon lime, you’re Chicano, cuz’ you’re sure hard to handle, let’s 69, 69.’”

After he attracted the attention of three Blue Shirts by doubling over and convulsing with laughter for many, many minutes, he managed to choke out, “WHAT?!”

Stupid Black Crowes.

I was going to be a good little bee and work during my lunch break. Then I decided that every minute I stay here steals a year from my life, so I headed over to Wendy’s for some chili.

As I was about to pull into the parking lot, I saw a throng of teenagers walking across the street. They were departing from a large orange vehicle.

Brain: Hmmm…that’s a lot of kids. Wonder where they’re going? La dee doo…

{10 seconds pass}

Brain: Oh no! It’s a BUSLOAD of teenagers!!! And they’re going to Wendy’s!!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!!

So, I got to knit in the drive-thru line for 10 minutes.

***

It’s cold and wet and dreary today, to the point that I could see my breath. And it wasn’t raining as much as it was dispelling icy pellets of HATE.

Jason and I spent the weekend in Stillwater at a fabulous bed & breakfast. It had the most romantic vibe I’ve ever felt – you could practically feel the love in the room. The fresh flowers, fireplace, hot tub and two bottles of wine we drank also may have contributed. Anyway, it was quite the lovely place.

We enjoyed browsing through the 2194898 antique shops, where Jason got some old pipes to add to his collection (said “collection” previously consisted of one pipe), and I got an old skeleton key (I am obsessed with old keys, to the point where I now own two) and an old Brownie camera with a big blue flash bulb. Oh, and we also got a ton of matchbooks with goofy sayings and slogans. Best one: Stay at Dude’s Place – the Gayest Spot in Town!