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I had to go to CVS the other night because all I do now is go to the doctor and the pharmacy. And physical therapy. I needed to get a refill on my prescription for the pills that make me not so melodramatic and miserable and I was hoping to get a refill on the Percocet. Thankfully, the pain in my neck hasn’t been too unmanageable, but I still have bad days sometimes and wanted to have them on hand just in case. Of course, since Percocet is a narcotic, I have to have an actual prescription each time I want to re-up. Because the pharmacists want to be, like, responsible or whatever.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll talk to my doctor. Just the anti-depressants then,” I sighed, and flounced out of there so I could go home and have a glass of wine. I realized that I’m morphing into a character from Dynasty or something, which is perfectly fine with me. I just need to get the proper headwear.

"This is my, 'Bitch, PLEASE,' chapeau. You like? Oh, wait, I don't care if you like."

Speaking of my neck, it’s still kind of crappy. Sometimes it feels like it’s getting better and the symptoms in my arm are going away and then other times it doesn’t. It’s frustrating. And I start to feel kind of reckless about it, like, if my neck’s just going to be annoying I’m just going to do what I want and run and roller skate and whatever. And I realize that’s immature but…FUR HAT.

* * *

The husband and the baby took advantage of the days off of school that the baby had this week and went out of town to go skiing. I got a few nights of alone time, which was nice. I knew that I would need to get up earlier than usual to catch the bus, so Sunday night I wanted to get as much done as I could so I wouldn’t be scrambling in the morning in the entirely likely event that I slept in. With our stove being broken, I decided to experiment with making oatmeal in the rice cooker. The oats needed to soak overnight and would start cooking around 5:30.

I had trouble falling asleep because (cheese alert) the husband was not there. When you sleep with someone almost every night for 11 years, the bed can feel oddly cold and lumpy without them. When I finally drifted off waaaay too late, I woke up seemingly 5 minutes later. What’s that smell? I wondered. Did someone break into the house to cook me breakfast? I finally figured it out, which was exhausting, and fell back to sleep for a little bit.

The oatmeal was a success, by the way. I’m going to write about it tomorrow for FoodieParent.

* * *

I have had the most psychotic earworms over the past few days. Sometimes, it’s the most wretched Michael McDonald song.

There is so much about this video…the tiki bar, the Hawaiian shirts, the rollerskating biker chick, Billy Crystal as a babe magnet. This is both what was magical and horrific about the 80s. This would make no sense in today’s context. If you tried to present this as your music video people would be like, “I don’t…understand. Why are the other two guys lip syncing now? Are they in the band?” My new dream job is 1980s music video director, when, “I don’t know…just stand over here and pretend you’re singing the song. No, we don’t need a choreographer,” was considered visionary direction. This reminded me that I had a huge crush on Gregory Hines when White Nights (11 pirouettes!) and Running Scared came out, which is a little weird because at the time I was about 7 or 8 and he was, um, 40.

That song plays ping pong in my head with this NSFW one:

Which is really great for singing quietly (but just audibly enough so people start to back away slowly from you) when you’re at work or physical therapy or the salad bar at Whole Foods. “Feel mah muthafukkin’ bass in your face…kale…and some grilled tofu…feel mah muthafukkin’ salad in your face…feel mah muthafuckin’ kombucha in your face.”

* * *

The husband was mentioned in an article in City Paper this past week about our friend’s record label and when my dad stopped by on Saturday, we showed him the article. This reminded him that he wanted to ask Tom about these DJs/musicians he had read about in the New York Times recently, one of which was Skrillex. The husband kindly informed him that Skrillex is something of a joke and immediately remembered that there is a Cooking with Skrillex Tumblr. He showed my dad, and kind of had to explain internet mockery. I don’t know that my dad understood. I mean, he was laughing, but I don’t think he knew what he was laughing at.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 31st, 2012 at 10:00 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.