Yesterday after work I went for a reflexology massage 'cause I've been just not right and I've discovered it's a good non-invasive, drug-free way to "balance my humors".
Now, you may not believe that it could ever possibly work, but I've always been foot-centric, and not in a fetish sort of way. (Ask Art, I've always cricketed my feet together to relax.) So the first time I went, I thought, "worst case, I get a one hour foot rub". Little did I know what it would be like. In some areas, it is just a foot rub, in others, namely those that correspond to other parts of ones body that are having problems--it's really freakin' painful. I've had varying results depending on what kind of a "state" I've been in--physical or emotional.
Last night, I came out with 20 times the energy I had when I went in. I walked the 2 miles home in roughly 25 minutes. Got upstairs and promptly voided my entire system. Felt like crap all night. Still have huge amounts of energy though and my lower back no longer feels like it's on the verge of being injured.
To go along with the intense urge to purge, our first grocery delivery in 2 months arrived. As far as I'm concerned, you just can't ask someone to carry boxes of canned goods up 7 flights of stairs--it's just not right. Thus, I went a little overboard when I restocked the pantry. For the next week, we'll be designing menus based on bulk. Most of the stocking was canned goods. But I also got the 10 lb. industrial pack of chicken thighs (normally, we prefer breasts, but these are great for grillin' and incredibly cheap) . Imagine if you will, repackaging raw poultry into smaller bags when you're completely sick to your stomach.
It was an interesting night.
Friday, January 20, 2006
JUBILATION!!!!
I got home at 10:45 on Wednesday night to discover a wonder, a miracle, a JOY!
THE ELEVATOR WAS IN SERVICE!!!!
By the time I got into the apartment, I found myself singing "Oh What a Beautiful Morning". Listening to others as they alighted, my response was not at all unusual. There were several other songs and much giddy glee.
Goodbye forced 7th floor walk up! Hello, grocery deliveries!!!!
THE ELEVATOR WAS IN SERVICE!!!!
By the time I got into the apartment, I found myself singing "Oh What a Beautiful Morning". Listening to others as they alighted, my response was not at all unusual. There were several other songs and much giddy glee.
Goodbye forced 7th floor walk up! Hello, grocery deliveries!!!!
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Relationships
So, it was quite the couples weekend...We're all quite happy for Art here at Weenies and Idiots. Yay! For once Happiness for the Artful Scheme! Plus, oh my God! think of all the free massages!
However, we advise him to be cautious when entering any relationship. Why you ask? 'Cause it's been one fucked up relationship weekend:
We begin with Greg's brother--his girlfriend dumped him, but that's okay 'cause she's taken to throwing stuff at him (books, glass paperweights, etc.,) and given her particularly fine aim, it was becoming difficult to not defend himself --given his very strong anti-girl hitting feelings, the situation was untenable.
But really, the winner of the psycho-award goes to a former roommate and her husband who are in the process of splitting.
Friday, he started emailing me with a psychiatric diagnosis of his wife (my friend) 's behavior. (Evidently he came up with it himself, as well as the probably far-fetched causes for it.) I told him that his theory was far from an actual diagnosis by a professional and he should really stop sharing his ideas with all and sundry. Fine. He apologized. In the meantime, the wife called to see if I wanted to get together over the weekend. Great, tentative plans made.
Saturday at noon, about an hour before we were going to hook up, she called to say she was in Dallas visiting her family, 'cause he was too bizarre to be in the same apartment. No problem.
Two hours later, she called again, could we pick up the dogs in Hoboken and take them to a doggie spa in Chelsea? Evidently her husband's committed himself to an AA facility and "the two men who brought him home to pick up some stuff left the keys with a neighbor". A neighbor that she doesn't have contact information for--she's left a message with a second party, asking them to leave a note with the first neighbor to call her. Once that's taken care of, she can make the boarding arrangements.
In the end, at 5:15, she calls to say that everything was set: only problem, the neighbor with the keys is available only after 6. The doggie spa only accepts drop offs until 8. We need to travel, in a huge thunderstorm, to and from a different state, with animals, in less than 3 hours.
We got to their building at 6:30, luckily the storm has subsided. The neighbor let us in. Played with the dogs for a while, gathered their stuff, called the car service she normally uses. They have a new policy, they don't take dogs anymore. The clock's ticking. It's now almost 7--we have an hour to get to Manhattan. We find another car service--the very large driver is VERY concerned about the dogs scratching his leather seats and has Serpico playing on the backseat DVD: this is more than a little disturbing.
Ride into the City, the dogs are fine, no damage to the car. We get the dogs checked in, and go outside. The storm has kicked up again; it's a nor'easter. Greg's umbrella is bent in half and there's horizontal hail. Through sheer force of will, we make our way walking bent over double most of the time, to a Mexican restaurant on the Lower East Side. As we sit, finally warm again, with a pitcher of sangria between us, discussing the insanity of his brother's situation and the one we've just played such a role in I lift my glass toasting him with the inevitable conclusion:
"If you didn't look good before, you're looking absolutely FANTASTIC by comparison!"
"Here, here, Baby! Here, here!"
There's lots of loons out there...be careful.
However, we advise him to be cautious when entering any relationship. Why you ask? 'Cause it's been one fucked up relationship weekend:
We begin with Greg's brother--his girlfriend dumped him, but that's okay 'cause she's taken to throwing stuff at him (books, glass paperweights, etc.,) and given her particularly fine aim, it was becoming difficult to not defend himself --given his very strong anti-girl hitting feelings, the situation was untenable.
But really, the winner of the psycho-award goes to a former roommate and her husband who are in the process of splitting.
Friday, he started emailing me with a psychiatric diagnosis of his wife (my friend) 's behavior. (Evidently he came up with it himself, as well as the probably far-fetched causes for it.) I told him that his theory was far from an actual diagnosis by a professional and he should really stop sharing his ideas with all and sundry. Fine. He apologized. In the meantime, the wife called to see if I wanted to get together over the weekend. Great, tentative plans made.
Saturday at noon, about an hour before we were going to hook up, she called to say she was in Dallas visiting her family, 'cause he was too bizarre to be in the same apartment. No problem.
Two hours later, she called again, could we pick up the dogs in Hoboken and take them to a doggie spa in Chelsea? Evidently her husband's committed himself to an AA facility and "the two men who brought him home to pick up some stuff left the keys with a neighbor". A neighbor that she doesn't have contact information for--she's left a message with a second party, asking them to leave a note with the first neighbor to call her. Once that's taken care of, she can make the boarding arrangements.
In the end, at 5:15, she calls to say that everything was set: only problem, the neighbor with the keys is available only after 6. The doggie spa only accepts drop offs until 8. We need to travel, in a huge thunderstorm, to and from a different state, with animals, in less than 3 hours.
We got to their building at 6:30, luckily the storm has subsided. The neighbor let us in. Played with the dogs for a while, gathered their stuff, called the car service she normally uses. They have a new policy, they don't take dogs anymore. The clock's ticking. It's now almost 7--we have an hour to get to Manhattan. We find another car service--the very large driver is VERY concerned about the dogs scratching his leather seats and has Serpico playing on the backseat DVD: this is more than a little disturbing.
Ride into the City, the dogs are fine, no damage to the car. We get the dogs checked in, and go outside. The storm has kicked up again; it's a nor'easter. Greg's umbrella is bent in half and there's horizontal hail. Through sheer force of will, we make our way walking bent over double most of the time, to a Mexican restaurant on the Lower East Side. As we sit, finally warm again, with a pitcher of sangria between us, discussing the insanity of his brother's situation and the one we've just played such a role in I lift my glass toasting him with the inevitable conclusion:
"If you didn't look good before, you're looking absolutely FANTASTIC by comparison!"
"Here, here, Baby! Here, here!"
There's lots of loons out there...be careful.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
It's true.
I had a migraine last week that morphed into a sinus infection--generally just an issue of being run down and susceptible to everything. But then, a realization struck. I have the Black Death. That's right, the Bubonic Plague.
How exactly did I come to that conclusion you ask? It might have something to do with the giant bubo on the left side of my neck. It's really quite vile. Greg thinks its just a Vesuvian zit, but I think we all know better. I've also had signs of acral necrosis of the toes, but "Mr. Naysayer" claims that's just because I wore new black leather shoes in the rain.
Fairwell my friends, farewell. I guess I'm going the way of 25 million medieval peasants and innumerable southwestern ground squirrels.
How exactly did I come to that conclusion you ask? It might have something to do with the giant bubo on the left side of my neck. It's really quite vile. Greg thinks its just a Vesuvian zit, but I think we all know better. I've also had signs of acral necrosis of the toes, but "Mr. Naysayer" claims that's just because I wore new black leather shoes in the rain.
Fairwell my friends, farewell. I guess I'm going the way of 25 million medieval peasants and innumerable southwestern ground squirrels.
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