Perhaps my nausea yesterday had less to do with just being offended by a laughably selfish man-pig subhuman dork of a man-pig (not a typo), and more to do with actually being sick.
We'd just ordered some takeout from Filiberto's, a local Mexican fast food joint, when it became overwhelmingly obvious that I was not well.
The diagnosis: ADV is in da house. And, maaaaaaaan does it totally suck. It's a bit of a mystery why it took me so long to get it, but yeah, I did. The nice part about being the last person to get it is that everyone else knows the arc of the symptoms pretty well by now: intestinal collapse; your body temperature doubles; muscle cramps twist all of your individual limbs into corkscrew shapes, etc.
Adding insult to injury, the cleaning lady (yes) brought over two dozen pork tamales and I can't even almost have a nibble of one. All I'm able to eat: my wonderful dad actually went to the store at 10pm to get me Popsicle brand banana popsicles, and if I had the capability to enjoy anything right now, I'd say they're amazingly good, but I am not quite even ready for popsicles yet. See you in 36 hours.
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Why does it cheer me up when I come across somebody wasting their time and energy in more profoundly geeky and useless ways than my own self?
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