flaky advertising.

Sick. Sick has been the word of the week. Also: exhaustion, cookie overload, loud children with few boundaries and no self control, Polar Express, the Santa Dance (21st century style), and strep throat. Or maybe just swollen lymph nodes from a viral infection. Thank god no fever. Others I know weren't as lucky.

I'd like to note that I did not get the flu shot this year, and each year I do not get the flu shot, I am surprisingly lucky...and each year I do get the flu shot, by February I am vomiting out of every bodily crevice, until all that is left inside of me is something shriveled and gaunt and very very broken.(I suspect the flu shot is some type of government conspiracy, but I'm too weak at the moment to care enough to properly investigate. And then I get healthy and decide I'm just overly suspicious and jaded. Which is possibly part of the conspiracy. This is a vicious cycle that has been ongoing for years and years. Don't try to figure it out--just know: they put stuff in the flu shot that makes you get the flu. But first they scare the shit out of you into getting the flu shot. Every! Single! Time! This year I was just too busy and forgot, and so now I'm reaping the benefits. Foiled you this flu season, NSA Flu Division! But well-played on the vile stomach virus that shut down a whole Georgia school district.)

This time I just got really bad swollen lymph nodes, which are slowly unswelling as my sinuses revert to normal levels even as I type this. And while I'm on this topic, who the heck decided to put the ear, nose, and throat systems all together? Huh? Who did that? I'm writing a firmly worded letter to someone about it in the NSA c/o their Flu Division.

Other things: So Serial ended. And basically Adnan didn't do it or maybe he did. Or maybe a sinister serial killer did it. Or Jay. And what about the cell phone? And was Nisha actually called or just butt dialed? And Don finally talked but not really. And so there you go: just what I frickin' feared was going to happen--one big psychological mind bend with no definitive answers. Which I'm not necessarily opposed to under most circumstances, but damnit, Sarah Koenig! I was sick this week. I was SICK. The least you could have done was been more conclusive with some slightly conclusive evidence; my glands would have somewhat rejoiced.

I do agree with Sarah that Adnan should have been acquitted--how the state of Maryland ran that case all the way to a conviction is a good testament to how shoddy this country's criminal justice system can truly be. Finding talented lawyers are important, it seems. Merely having a good attorney doesn't seem to be enough, particularly if you're from a minority group.  I think the Innocence Project is working on trying to get DNA testing now and Adnan is all for it. That's usually how that group gets people acquitted and, from what I've seen, when the Innocence Project decides to help get you out of jail, usually they're feeling pretty confident you were wrongly convicted. So there's that for a sort of conclusive conclusion, I suppose.

At any rate, getting back to this time of year: Christmas is nearing, and I haven't shopped for anyone. Not a single person. No. Wait! No. That's not true--I shopped for me, online. I bought a bunch of books, some patchouli from my favorite patchouli people ever (go HERE I promise they aren't even paying me. They don't even know me--I just found them via friend Patresa) (whose CD + book you should totally get yourself and/or someone you like as a Hanukkah or Christmas present--it rocks, and so does she). I really wanted to get Richard E. Grant's perfume "JACK," because it sounds like it has a lot of smells I'd like combined together. So I started to purchase a bottle for 95 British pounds sterling (or, if you want to sound like a real native, 95 quid. But I think you have to say it real fast and very cockney). But then I did a quick conversion to dollars and holy top notes of lime and marijuana, Jack! One hundred forty-eight dollars? As in 148 American pounds? No can do mon ami. I'm trying to eek a living off teacher money over here. But I do really heart Richard in all the old Posh Nosh episodes now playing on YouTube. They make me laugh up swollen lymph node pus and phlegm and stuff. I think you should watch them too, because they will make you wish you had you an aga too (it's a kind of oven that costs 10 million British pounds, or 100 million billion American dollars) (is it me, or are the British just totally kicking our asses now at everything, including currency value? And their cops don't even need to carry guns, they are THAT bad ass now. Ah, c'est la vie--what goes around comes around).

My point with this (I do have one) is that I am still sick but not sick enough to shirk my holiday duties, which must begin tomorrow ASAP so I can get caught up on all things festive, even if a virus is still festering deep within me. I have 120 hours to do it, minus some for sleep. Which I have not had much of lately due to the virus germs warring with my innermost white blood cells. I am not complaining about my white blood cells blowing up viral invaders; I'm simply saying: this lady general hasn't slept over the last week or so because of it. But insomnia gave me lots of time to pin a crapload of things to do with 2nd graders in January--they better rest up on their holiday break. School's about to get real.

In light of my illness and busyness, I'm going to flake out on you and stop here and let you know I have no clue if or when I'll be back until after Christmas. I also just realized I plugged, shamelessly promoted, and free advertised about 100 different products in this post. But who cares?  Helloooo! It's what happens this time of year: tons of commercials.

To make it up to you, I'm leaving you with an entertaining holiday video (and Happy Hanukkah already, if you celebrate that--lucky ducks! Eight days of presents AND you're already well under way and done well before New Year's so you can actually enjoy the rest of your December). Here is one highly amusing Santa Dance, which is a gigantic hit with all the 5-8 year olds I know (and a certain 42 year old writer gal, who's always on the look out for cool new hip hop moves like "The Pepto").

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.