**edited to add** I am absolutely not contagious. I went to the doc on Tuesday of last week and got an antibiotic, and I am contagion-free. Just not snot free.
I’m on the fence about this apple cider vinegar thing. Right now, it’s just making my stomach burn and making me want to puke a little. It hasn’t worked to clear my sinuses like all of the websites say (don’t ask which one…it’s all of them. Trust me.). Maybe I’m supposed to actually flush my sinuses with ACV, but I have a feeling that would burn even more.
Lingering issues are my left nostril and my left ear. My left nostril is still stuffy and my left ear needs to pop, more specifically (I almost typed “poop”…hehe). I have most assuredly had enough fluorescent yellow snot to last a lifetime. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to cough up a lung during this concert at Carnegie Hall and it’ll fall onto the stage and Melinda Doolittle will slip on it and slide across the stage and into the well-dressed, mild-mannered crowd. If you hear that story in the news next Tuesday, you’ll know I was the culprit.
Shelli is growing increasinly dramatic about her food lately…even though her bowl is still well-filled, she has taken to scratching incessantly at the office door (which stands between her and her plastic carton of food) as though she hasn’t been fed in weeks and is making her last attempt to procure nourishment before resorting to going all “Donner Party” on us in our sleep…It’s kind of cute. But mostly annoying. And a little unnerving.
I hate shopping. I have to find a black dress shirt and black shoes for the NY trip. I found a shirt, but I’m not really thrilled about it. Whenever I shop by myself, I wander aimlessly through the store, randomly touching things, until I get frustrated and leave. Sometimes, I’ll flip through the clearance racks, but if I can’t find something absolutely glorious for under ten bucks, I’m pretty much guaranteed some sort of inner tantrum. This problem has only been exacerbated by the fact that I have to go to the “Women’s” section sometimes. When in the hell did I become a “Woman?” Not “Misses,” not “Petite.” I grudgingly let go of the Junior’s department when I hit my mid-twenties and everything in it started looking like it came straight out of a whorehouse. But entering into the “Women’s” department is a whole different animal…it’s like they expect you to age up a decade the minute you move into a Size 14. I will give it one more try before I leave for NYC.