Tuesday, October 14, 2008

OMG. I'm still frigging sick.

Last month it was the creeping crud of the lungs and I thought I was getting over it except for that crud hacking cough. And now it's moved to my frigging head. I can't breathe my nose. I'M A MOUTH BREATHER. I CAN'T STAND MOUTH BREATHING. IT'S UNNATURAL AND IDIOTIC. See this guy? He's a mouth breather. That is not a look that says, "Hey! I'm quick on my feet! Capable of throwing out the number pi in conversation or even determining my left hand from my other left hand."

And really, mouth breathing sometimes happens such as in the case wherein one's nose is clogged up with god knows what, maybe some oompa loompas. But look at google pictures of this guy. (Corey Haim, for the uninformed.) He's always sitting around with his freaking mouth open. I bet he'd make a great venus fly trap.I'm going to start a reality tv show where he sits in my kitchen in the summer and catches flies for me.

At any point, how does he hang around with his mouth open all day? I've been mouth breathing for about a day now and my lips and tongue are all dried up. Think dried up sponge bob. I woke up this morning with a mouth breather film all over my teeth and a mouth breather tongue coating. And mouth breathing makes me thirsty.

But never mind the mouth breathing. I've stayed down to 15 pounds. I also haven't bothered with eating well since sleeping and, oh, I don't know breathing have been time consuming in between classes and papers and kids and midterms and random job searching.

Today, I thought I'd treat myself to malibu rum chocolate bar because I love chocolate and I love liquor. The only thing I've found greater than that is Southern Comfort ice cream floats. Anyway, I bought the damned chocolate bar because I've tried to make a point of treating myself to a very nice piece of candy once a week or so because it's better to allow some things than to create a forbidden fruit. So I bought my damned chocolate bar (a big one, it cost me two bucks at the pigg) and ate a row trying to determine what in the hell was wrong with my chocolate bar before I realized, "OH! You're a mouth breather now! You can't taste jack shit! You just paid two dollars for a nice tasting chocolate bar that you can't taste! Idiot!"

So I devised a plan. When my 14 year old daughter up from school, I shoved the chocolate bar in her face and said, "HERE! Eat this! And tell me exactly what it tastes like!" I could at least taste by proxy.

R (my daughter): "So do you want me to be completely honest?"

Me: "Yes."

R: "It tastes like shit."

Me: "Uh. Couldn't you have chosen another word?"

R: "But you wanted me to be honest."

Philistine. She obviously has no taste. And really, "It tastes like shit?" Where in the hell does she get that kind of frigging language? I think I'm going to have to talk those little ass friends of hers and tell them to watch their crusty damned little sailor mouths. Gah.

Anyway, I breathe. I breathe.

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