Hack. Cough. Groan.
I swear, I would go to the doctor. I would. But my GP said it would be NEXT Thursday before they could get me in. And I'm too impatient to go to a doc-in-the-box. I have a fear that my doctor would look like this:"Hi everybody!"
And why do I want to get well anyway? What's more appealing than hearing someone coughing like they're about to cough up a Mini Cooper? Nothing.
Just in case you'd dozed off, and forgotten that our country is run by a bunch of morons, may I refer you to this article: "Pentagon memo: Homosexuality is a disorder." You know, like mental retardation. Seriously. Seriously! WTF is wrong with the leadership of this country? Do the White Men who run it not know one single gay dude or chick? I mean, you're born gay, or you're not. It's like having blue eyes or brown. It's just part of who you are, not a disorder. Ugh.
Well, the ongoing saga of "Curse of the Wandering Toddler," has (temporarily) been put on hold. We're doing a new bedtime ritual that includes going to bed about 30 minutes later than she used to and lots and LOTS of pre-bed talking about going night-night, and it seems to be working. For now. If not, La Turista suggested I zip her monkey ass up in this here baby tent. I guess that beats velcro-ing her to the bed sheets...
Alright, time to fold the laundry, take a shower, shave my legs, clean the tubs, give the Old Cat her meds, and dose myself with NyQuil. Again.