Tuesday, February 22, 2005

No mushy

No mushy

I met my husband eight years ago today.

During a blind date I almost didn't go to. But my hair was acting good that night. So, I went.

Lots of love, blah blah blah. Good sex, blah blah blah. I love you, blah blah blah. Will you marry me? Blah blah blah, pretty baby girl, blah blah blah. Gorgeous baby boy, blah blah blah. Sad stuff, blah blah blah. Gorgeous second baby boy again blah blah blah. Eight years later.

The rest is history.

I was going to write a big assed mushy post, worthy of mush awards. But I had a bad night. Filled with children chaos, hair, baby chaos, baby poop, hair, and a fried chicken gut that is bloated. And more random hair. I attempted to give The Girl's hair some layers. It looks good now, but I dunno what will happen by morning. Or better yet, when it grows out.

I don't feel good. I ate too much chicken.

And also, my brother called to tell me my mother has taken a turn for the worst. She's not dying, but I keep thinking she is. She has had the flu since friday and now is vomiting madly. So, now my brother who never freaks about anything, because he is cooooool- is freaking. Now, I am freaking. And wondering if she has something worse. She is also working while being sick, because she just started a job so she can't call off kinda thing- and so she comes home heaving and hysterical. And a few minutes ago, I heard half of a newscast that said something about a possible epidemic of the bird flu, so now of course, I think my mother has the bird flu. And also my kids are going back into crystal bubbles. Because the newscast said something about plague like proportions possible and a 72% mortality rate, and that my county has had plans since 9-11 to set up vaccination areas in schools and to vaccinate 20,000 people at a time. And then the last shot they showed on the newscast was a snowy cemetary with violins and organs playing. So, now, I got terrorists in our backyards in my mind that planted the bird flu and we are all gonna die. And also, since we all ate chicken for dinner, we are gonna be one of the firsts. Why don't they give out the vaccinations before it gets to epidemic proportions? And then I start to freak, and my husband reminds me that I only saw half of the newscast and that, in particular, that station likes to run news stories as if they are soap operas.

How is that for a bad run on sentence/paragraph/freak out?

So, yea. That's why I don't feel romantic tonight.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home