This post won't give you pneumonia, but inhaling vodka-laced Jell-o can...

It's Day Four of feeling like a lung is going to pop out of my mouth at any moment. It all kind of started Saturday when I felt a little out of sorts, but put on my party face for another rousing Supper Club, only to spend all day Sunday on the couch, being lectured by my liver on the differences between 21 and 30. Monday was a bit crappy and Tuesday was full on miserable. Cut to today. It sux, too. I'm rocking some Betsey Johnson PJs, slippers from Restoration Hardware that just about have this atheist convinced that heaven does exist and it's manifested in unattractive, but dreamy footwear. I've showered, but I'm breaking my cardinal rule of "never be without mascara." I think one is less of a person without proper lash coating, don't you?


Half-hearted jokes aside, all this time on the couch has gotten me thinking about the differences between men and women when they're sick. I'll be the first to admit that I don't get sick all that often, so when I do, I may get just a teensy bit whiny. You know why? Because I really don't feel well. There are tons of days throughout the year when I feel less than my best and have the sniffles, but I don't say anything about it other than, "I'm tired," so when I do say I'm sick I guess I expect to be taken seriously. I'm not asking to have a private doctor on call, but a little "time off" is in order. Since my current job title is Domestic Goddess, let me explain what I mean.
I want time off from The Details. Every single day, a woman's life is immersed in details. It could be the details of knowing which kid has which practice at which time, or the smaller stuff like knowing when the library books are due and which pet needs which treatment or appointment booked. It could be mailing the birthday cards or actually booking the service appointment for the air conditioner that broke the day before you went out of town...and your spouse just sweated until you got back, rather than making one simple phone call. (Can you tell how confident I am that he doesn't read this?) Details could be planning your menus for two weeks, then buying the groceries and making those dinners each night. Details could be looking more than five minutes ahead to actually plan something. They could be thinking about what everybody else needs before thinking about what you need. They could be remembering to get your wife's medicine that she sent you to the store for, or at least bringing them to her at lunch, so she's not at home, miserable all day.
Let  me tell you, dear reader, I need a break from The Details. And I do not want to hear a damned word about those details in the week that I skip them. I don't want to see you pile a dish on the counter because you think I should have unloaded/reloaded the dishwasher today. I don't want to hear about ANYTHING other than my resting, feeling better and highly medicated state. And I don't want you to try to make me feel guilty about it. I'm sick. I've barely eaten in like five days! And, yes, I've been lying on the couch all day, watching TV and napping because that's what sick people do. They do not jump up to do laundry or to take care of household duties that are not dire. And in between coughing so hard I threw up today (twice), I did not clean the kitchen, nor pick up and put away the broom you left in the kitchen a week ago. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that.
Give me a break from The Details. Feminists forgive me for what I'm about to confess on behalf of us all, but: SOMETIMES WE WANT TO BE TAKEN CARE OF. I said it. The cat's out of the bag! Sometimes, after taking care of husbands, pets, children, friends, careers, households, we just want to be taken care of, too. And there's really no better time to show us that you're capable of being a partner than when we are sick. How about instead of acting like we're being lazy, you pitch in and do some cleaning since it seems to bother you so much? How about instead of coming home and expecting the household to be functioning as normal, you take a moment and remember how you are when you're sick? Men are babies when they have the slightest cold. (Bone breaks are another story. My husband walked around with a broken, swollen finger for a month and I once saw a friend break his collarbone while playing softball, but put off going to the hospital until he finished his almost-full beer.) All of a sudden, not only are you Florence Nightengale, but you're also his mommy, making him grilled cheese sandwiches and renting him movies...and cleaning the house, and doing the laundry, and making the phone calls and dropping everything just to run to the store for more cough drops. But you know what's weird? I honestly don't think we mind because we know how crappy it feels to be sick and to still have to take care of everything by yourself. Maybe it's the caretaker instinct in us, but I think taking care of your partner when they're sick is a great way of showing them that they can depend on you when the chips are down...or whatever that expression is.
So, men (all four of you who actually read this blog), please hear this: I'm not ragging on you. I'm trying to help you because women don't want to have to ask for the same courtesies we show you when you're sick. Just help us. Just fuss over us for a few days or a week or whatever it takes for us to seem back to normal. And believe us when we say that we feel like hammered dog crap because if she's couch-bound, sans makeup, coughing and her eyes are watering, I highly doubt your lady's just trying to get you to run the vacuum.

My soul currently resembles the piece of coal I am bound to find in my stocking

Tonight I think I can actually hear a bottle of wine calling my name from two rooms away. My day started out cleaning up six (yes, six) piles of cat vomit and fighting back tears in my car for what was bound to be another very creative and FUN day of freedom! Unfortunately, I'm only serious about the tears and cat vomit.
I want to know when the whole world just gave up and boxed themselves in. I'm curious about when it was determined there was a "right" or "wrong" way to be creative. And I'm wondering when it became so hard for me to lean on people. My yapper flaps a lot, but I'm hardly ever really saying anything. God love the people who must endure it each day. Perhaps my Christmas present to them could be official sainthood? They've earned it.

And then there's a moment (as a friend pointed out to me today) when you realize you don't really know the people who sit around you at all -- at least not on a deeper level -- which is strange considering we spend so much of our lives sharing each others' space. And from there you can only see more layers of beauty and compassion and humanity from people whose kindness already impressed the hell out of you.

I guess I don't really have anything clever or funny to share with you tonight. This post is really just me trying to talk out what's troubling me right now. And to share with you a piece of another friend who's been by my side since I got home...somehow they always know what you need.
Now, if you'll excuse me, that "calling" has turned into yelling and I can no longer keep the Pinot waiting.

A dog-pile of things that are "the worst"

You can't see me, but I'm waving a white flag. I give and the only thing that's going to revive me is going to be a very stiff drink this evening.
Honestly, I'm so wrapped up in my own overwhelming life at the moment that I just don't have anything left to give to anyone else. Crappy quality in a friend? Yes. Reality, though? Also yes.
Since I feel like I'm required to announce the silver linings of all the dark clouds before the universe yanks the proverbial vintage Versace rug out from under me, here they are, in no particular order:
-great husband
-awesome family
-supportive friends
-off-the-charts cool pets
-DINK status

Okay, now that that paperwork's out of the way, here's what I really care about today: the suckiness of inconsiderate people. There's nothing worse than someone who overpromises and underdelivers. In fact, I've had just about enough of it from one particular individual and if I didn't think my husband would personally rip me a new one for saying so, I'd call this person directly and ask to borrow his ego for the day just to know what it feels like to be a complete cock.
And last night I heard a news story about someone STABBING A PUPPY and only getting probation. Probation! How could you ever feel you have the right to bring physical harm to another living being (newsflash: YOU DON'T), let alone a freaking puppy?!? And then he gets probation? UGH! Right now, our justice system seems all kindsa f'ed up. I'm not into this book of stories, but what happened to "an eye for an eye"?
And while we're on the subject, every time I see the scum of the earth (Vick) on the TV, I list all of the horrible, violent things I hope happen to him. I'm not a violent individual (though I will rock your planet like the asteroid in Armageddon with some seriously not-nice words), but if I met this person on the street, I'd have no problem turning that way. I can never forgive someone with that much evil in his heart. I guarantee you that people like him don't change. Don't be fooled by the smoke and mirrors of his PR people. I hope he loses his livelihood and a horrible, karma-like fate befalls him.

So maybe that tangent lends a little perspective to my own situation (which I wish I could elaborate on) and how even though it seems like we are totally not in control of our own lives and futures, we still are because we can always choose to say, "Sod 'em," and move on from the whole thing in a totally different direction.

While I'm in the moment, please do me a favor. Go see "Machine Gun Preacher," or at least visit the website: www.machinegunpreacher.org
I know it sounds like an obscure Quentin Tarrantino/Robert Rodriguez (and therefore terrible) film, but it's not. It's based on the life of a man named Sam Childers who gives a damn about people thousands of miles from wherever you are right now. I saw the film nearly a week ago and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. Chris Cornell's "The Keeper" punctuates the film beautifully and I'd recommend that download, even if you haven't seen the movie. Go to the website. Read his story; but more importantly, read the kids' stories. It will put things in an eery perspective for you.

So to recap: My head is totally Linda Blair-ing right now and the stress is pushing me over the edge. There's a special place in hell for puppy stabbers and Vick.
...and a "hillbilly from Pennsylvania is changing this world and proving that good deeds know no bounds.

As Donnie Wahlberg said on my New Kids on the Block bedsheets (that I still have), "Peace out on the strength." Yes, Donnie. Yes, indeed.


*Legal Disclaimer: my non-practicing attorney (me) has advised me to disclose that I actually have no plans to bring physical harm to anyone, no matter how much they absolutely deserve it.