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What would make the whole campaign really wonderful is if, after the big reveal, somebody (Dr. Phil, Tom Cruise, me, whoever) came out and said to dudes like this, “Now don’t you feel bad for freaking out at the guy who makes minimum wage at Burger King because they didn’t have the shit-tastic sandwich that you wanted? Think maybe you could go get a life now and maybe put your indignation to use in matters that are a tad more pressing? In the meantime, here’s your Whopper and have fun trying to shit that out later.”

I can has fresh air now plz?

So, the baby and I held a vigil on the couch until 6:30 in the morning with a few more barfing episodes before finally moving to bed. He mostly slept. I stayed up and watched American Psycho (until I noticed that the baby was watching and didn’t think that would help with his upset stomach or his, uh, developing morality but ooooohhhh Christian Bale) and Apollo 13. He woke up for the day at 9ish. I stumbled downstairs and managed to put a movie on before passing out.

And that’s pretty much how it went for the most part. He ate about three crumbs of toast and a few sips of chicken broth but that was about it. I kept napping. Did some reading for class and that didn’t do much to keep me awake. Tried to launder all of the barfed-on items.

The couch still smells slightly. I febrezed it and I’m really hoping there are no hidden chunks since they’ll be hard to spot on that pattern (see photo). Actually, it’s kind of surprising that all of those stripes and blocks and specks don’t make us spew constantly.

And I’m so tired. And the Patriots won. Boo.

We finally got to see There Will Be Blood. I really liked it, the husband isn’t sure how he feels about it. When we got home, the mother-in-law informed us that the baby had spent the evening barfing.

He’s doing…okay now. He had a “bazooka” episode not that long ago. You know. Coming out both ends? Unpleasant. During that unhappy time he said, “I hate being sick.”

I feel so bad for him because that is the worst sickness. I feel really guilty that I was out while he got sick.

And I’m feeling much dread that I could be next.

I’m really not a fan of barfing.

Granted, I was kind of in a, erm, tender mood yesterday because I had a nightmare the night before and the nightmare was about our break-in. But, like, our break-in on steroids. Very upsetting. I woke up in a cold sweat, panting, and heart pounding. Unfortunately, this is not the first time I’ve had such nightmares and I’m thinking that’s a sign that the ol’ noggin is still having trouble getting over that whole thing.

Anyone want to play therapist?

Anyway, work was work. I had my marketing class last night and was not totally surprised to find myself in the company of “hardcore capitalists,” which is, frankly, a personality trait I find annoying. Of course, it’s not nearly as bad as the History of Capitalism course that I took at Pitt, which was filled with capitalists who surpass “hardcore” and go straight to “fucking frightening.” But respectful because at least they’re honest about the shit.

At 6, when class was over, I walked back to my office and found myself locked out. My boss always works late but last night she didn’t. How dare she! But I scrounged up a phone and security was there within minutes.

Then I got home and managed to screw up making Jiffy corn muffins. Christ.

We watched Bill Maher a few nights ago and…man. Please, Jesus, let the strike end soon for, lo, the comedian is not that funny as it turns out. And I think he knew it since he was practically begging for the writers to come back after the audience merely tittered at his 45th “Hillary crying” joke.

I have a list of maladies today:
Productive cough (with extra loogies)
Stiff neck
UTI (I’m pretty sure it’s the same one I’ve had since about late November, it just chooses to up its level of irritation from week to week. Ebb and flow or some shit.)
Huge, painful pimple on the chin
General pissiness due to the baby’s bus driver just neglecting to come this morning. The hell, dude?

Anyway, one week of classes down, 15 more to go! *weeps* I had a lab class this morning for my Online Information Design course. I always try to participate/speak in class early on so it’s out of the way. I don’t like talking that much. Anyway, the instructor asked if anyone knew what HTML stood for and I raised my hand and Tracey Flicked that it meant hypertext markup language. And the instructor asked me what that meant/what it did and I replied, “It makes the webpage work!” Am n00b. Whatever, man. I went to the University of LiveJournal for all of my web design “skills.” I’m doing pretty good, considering.

Apparently, if you post a bulletin to MySpace, you immediately receive friend requests from ladies like Jaclyn, Mary Beth, and Katie who unfortunately had to move their “modeling” pics to another site.

I hate MySpace. So much. I so want to delete it, as it is possibly the suckiest site on the internet. But I like having some method of contacting people I might need to contact at some point in the next 20 years.

Facebook is only slightly more tolerable. Though I will admit to not having the first clue what is going on in that Oregon Trail game. Apparently I committed suicide while a member of a friend’s wagon party, of which I wasn’t even aware I was a part. Figures I would miss my own demise.

I make with the writing at MamaPop. Today, I threw my Lasso of Pissiness* around Clay Aiken.

I’m telling you this because you need to go visit that site ON THE REGULAR. Ya heard?

*It’s like Wonder Woman’s Golden Lasso. ‘Cept it’s made out of angst.

Edited 10:14 p.m.: Uh, I wrote this at like 5:30 and apparently didn’t hit “publish.” Dur.

On our way home last night, we were behind a car whose license plate read, “EMIN3M.”

The 1337 nature of the plate got me to thinking that someone must already have EMINEM and that there are probably people with variations like 3MINEM and 3MIN3M. And also that there are people who like Eminem’s music and like it enough to pay homage to him on a license plate and how messed up is that?

We took down our Christmas tree last night. We had stripped it of its decorations (like the shameful hussy that it is) a while ago but were waiting for recycling day to come back around before putting it out. Of course, we stopped watering it some time ago…cause we like fire hazards.

But watching the husband lug the tree to the front door was pretty amusing since he managed to knock over some chairs in the process. It looked like the husband was the bouncer at an arboreal bar & grill and our tree was some leprous, drunken patron, leaving bits of himself all over the place as he was “escorted” from the place. Our dining room floor resembled a forest for a little bit and when the husband came back inside he had pine needles stuck in his beard. I didn’t tell him that, though. I like my men as rustic as possible.

Late Saturday night, I got a bad feeling and after checking some stuff, my bad feeling was confirmed. I was going to have put out some serious fires at work on Monday.

I spent Sunday doing whatever ineffectual things I could do to try to make this first day more bearable: made the baby’s lunches for the week (took about 5 minutes since he won’t eat more than 300 calories a day), chopped stuff for dinner for the next few days, cleaned the bathrooms, did one pitiful load of laundry. I also fretted. A lot.

Sure enough, when I got here it was all like this and there were a bunch of these and maybe I yelled at some people. I’m not proud. I am, however, having some trouble quelling some homicidal tendencies.

I’m also starving because I spent all morning dealing with said fires and didn’t get a chance to eat anything.

Is it summer yet?

If so, they’ll be sitting in a pile in front of my house if my son does not PICK UP ALL OF HIS CRAP.

Somehow, he managed to cover the floor of the living and dining room in toys between last night and this morning. I am really going to throw all of this shit away. Then I’m sending him to live in a monastery where he can learn the value of simplicity and make me some creamed honey.

So, I feel a little foolish for posting to MamaPop yesterday about how excited I was to see There Will Be Blood tonight.

Because There Will Be Blood isn’t playing here yet. I’m not sure how I got the notion that it would be…maybe it had something to do with the fact that the limited release was all the way back on December twentyfuckingsixth.

But thank christ that National Treasure 2 is playing…right smack dab in the middle of Oscar rush and hogging all of the screens so I can’t see something actually worth my $10.

Don’t get me wrong. I love corny action movies as much as the next dude. But can a girl get some Daniel Day-Lewis sometimes? Shit.