Me vs. the office cold

I've been sick for a couple of weeks now. I we...

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Office cold/flu:  You know, Little Blind Girl, I’m really liking it here in your respiratory system.  I was thinking of setting up shop for a while, maybe get a little sinus infection going… something for the little viruses, you know?

Little Blind Girl:  I hate you.

Office cold/flu:  Oh, you don’t mean that.  I can tell!  You’ve made it so cushy in here, with your malnourishment and your lowered immune system from eating all that junk.  Clearly, your subconscious longed for this.

Little Blind Girl:  I hate you more every hour.

Office cold/flu:  Now, now, if that were true, you would have gone to the doctor by now.  I know you like to blame it on work and say you don’t have time, but I think we both know what’s really going on here, don’t we?

Little Blind Girl:  I hope you die.

Office cold/flu:  Is that a nice thing to say to your new life partner?

Little Blind Girl:  Oh, God, why?  What did I do that was so bad that I deserve this?

Office cold/flu:  I was thinking of setting up my office in your left sinus cavity.  The right cavity is bigger, but the left cavity has such a lovely view of your optic nerve.

Little Blind Girl:  Leave my optic nerve alone!  Sweet Jesus, am I talking to a virus?  I’ve gone round the twist at last.

Office cold/flu:  I’m so glad I’ve finally found a place I can call home.

Little Blind Girl:  You.  Me.  Doctor’s office.  Tomorrow morning.  Antibiotics at twenty paces.  To the death!

Grocery shopping, pirate-style

Captain Jack Sparrow

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This is what it’s like in my head when I drink way too much Red Bull and then go grocery shopping while trying to come up with a topic for a blog post:

Avast, ye scurvy internet dogs!  This be the dread Captain LBG.  The ship be low on vittles, and our mission be to plunder yon grocery store to replace our dwindling supplies.  We’ll fall on the unsuspectin’ townsfolk and carry off their produce, their women, and their doubloons.  Be not faint of heart, ye scallywags, but follow me to glory, treasure, and victuals!

Where be the salted beef?  I have no learnin’ meself, but me first mate says this label reads “Organic, Free Range.”  What be the meanin’ o’ this nonsense?  Must I be killin’ the cow meself?  Ahoy, here be eggs!  Aye, “farm fresh” indeed.  In all my world-wanderings under the Jolly Roger, I’ve yet to see a farm with the looks of this store.  But they’ll fry well enough, or I’ll come back and make the store clerk walk the plank!

What lily-livered, black-hearted trick is this?  “Cran-apple raspberry juice beverage”?  Shiver me timbers, this be only ten percent juice!  Even pirate scum such as meself would not be pulling something so mean as this.  Merciless attack on a naval vessel, naturally; ransoming a beautiful lass, of course; but even a pirate has his limits.  Down to the depths with the bottom-feeding landlubbers who make juice beverages!

Back to the ship, ye good-for-nothing sons of dogs!  It be serving us right for shopping at Davy Jones’ Groceries.  Just one more stop for a bottle of rum and we’re off.  Haul the anchor or I’ll keelhaul the lot of ye!  Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!

I have a dream (no, not that one)

English: Bathroom Refacing

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I beg your pardon in advance if this is offensive, but I’ve had a really aggravating time of it lately trying to get ready in the morning:

I have a dream that, one day, the bathrooms of this nation will have enough outlets that all hairstyling and skincare electronics can be plugged in at the same time side by side.  I dream that the skincare electronics will not have to be swept aside to make room for the haircare tools, but can each achieve their purposes in harmony and true equality as God and Revlon intended.

I have a dream that the water in every shower will be able to reach temperatures of actual heat, instead of staying bogged down in the merely tepid.  I see it, I have this vision, of steam rising from a thousand bathtubs, washing away the aches of the world.  I dream of real, meaningful water pressure, of light bulbs that last, of hairdryers that don’t short out every four months.

I have a dream that even among the plumbers, with their words of equivocation and denial and their obscene bills for service, even among the plumbers and the electricians and the contractors this vision will shine through, and we will all climb together from the valley of cramped, ill-lit bathrooms up to the mountains of sufficient space and natural light, where the outlets are plentiful and the water pressure never fails, where the drains never clog and the water never suddenly plunges from room temperature to freezing cold without warning.

And when this happens, when we are all able to use our bathrooms without aggravation, then we will all, male and female, parent and child, sister and brother, college roommate and awkward one-night stand, hold hands and sing together, “Clean at last, clean at last!  Thank God Almighty, we are clean at last!”

Clothes I just don’t get

I love clothes.  I’m a girl, a girly girl, with purses and shoes and makeup and everything.  But even I’ll admit that some clothes, I don’t get.  This came home to me while I was perusing one of those online sample sale things where the designer clothes are marked way, way down to prices still completely outside my price range.  It’s safer to internet-shop than to window-shop, I’ve found, primarily because there are no dressing rooms online.  Still, no dressing room is going to make any of these things make sense to me:

1.  Jeggings

Leggings and jeans should never go together.  What was the inventor of jeggings thinking? “Hmm, what should I wear today, leggings or jeans?  It’s impossible to choose, they’re both so comfortable and flattering.  I know!  I’ll combine the two into something not nearly as comfortable as either leggings or jeans and horrifically unflattering into the bargain!  Wow, this fashion contribution is going right up there with the poncho, I can just tell!”

 

2.  Partial bikini sale

Technically, this isn’t an objection to an item of clothing, but it’s related.  I don’t understand why I keep seeing one part of a bikini on sale.  Except in certain parts of Europe, the two parts go together.  Was one half of the bikini flying off the shelves, but try as they might, the stores just couldn’t move the other half?  I don’t understand.

 

 

 

3.  Miniskirt and Uggs together

College girls, you know you’re guilty of this.  Just because you’re little and cute doesn’t excuse this fashion absurdity (disclaimer: there is a vocal minority that would say otherwise.  They can find their own blog.  In fact, I’m pretty sure they already have).  If it’s warm enough to wear a miniskirt, it’s too warm to wear fleece-lined boots.  If it’s cold enough that you need fleece-lined boots, it’s too cold to wear a miniskirt, I don’t care how thick your tights are.  Just stop.

 

4.  Skinny jeans

I firmly believe that Kate Moss invented these in order to have something that makes her look like she has hips.  For everyone else on the planet, these just make us look chunky around the middle and generally ill-proportioned.  Wearing skinny jeans will, alas, not make us look like Kate Moss.  That requires years of conscientious anorexia and diligent purging.  Until then, just wait patiently for this tragic fad to pass.

 

5.  Short-sleeved coats

WTF?  I mean, seriously, WTF?

 

 

 

 

 

 

And there you have it.  Shopping with the Little Blind Girl is a mix of high-pitched squeals, sudden rushes into the sock section, and holding out an item of clothing in utter confusion, wondering how much someone got paid to design it and what they were on at the time.  Someday someone is going to wear a bikini top with a miniskirt over skinny jeggings and Uggs, all covered with a short-sleeved coat, and my head is going to explode.  I’ll bet if I looked hard enough, I could find a picture on the Internet of someone dressed like that right now.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Blog!

Dear Blog,

Anthropomorphic Valentine, circa 1950–1960

We’ve been together for several months now, and I feel that we’ve grown so close in just that short time.  I pour my heart out to you, and you tell all the intimate thoughts of my soul to random strangers who know nothing about me.  I can tell you anything, unless it contains profanity, references to excess consumption of alcohol, or anything indicating who I really am.  You never criticize, never judge, never tell me my hair looks a little flat, never ask me if I’ve gained weight (never do that, by the way.  I will stab you with a fork, right in the comments).  You’re always there when I need you, and I just want to tell you, my blog, happy Valentine’s Day.

Renoir's painting of cabbage roses, Roses in a...

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These roses are for you.  They symbolize the flowering of our relationship, though they can never smell as sweet as the feeling you give me when I see your hit count go up every time I look at you.  What we have, you and I, is the most stable relationship I’ve had in years.  It’s a testament to what you can do when you work patiently at being there for each other every day, keeping the lines of communication open and making sure you express your thoughts and emotions.  I promise I will always take care of you, dear blog, and I know you will always accept me for who I tell you I am.

 

Christmas candle

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I want to take you out for a walk on a moonlit search engine and get you a fancy new domain name, maybe one of those ones you actually pay for, but I know you’d prefer to just have a quiet, candle-lit blog entry here at WordPress.  I know you’re not one for vain adornments and blog badges, but I want to give you this special, intimate evening, just you and me and anyone who happens across this blog entry, to commemorate our time together and to tell you just how special you’ve become to me.  Though we’ve been together so short a time, I can’t imagine my life without you.  Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love,

The Little Blind Girl

P.S. Happy Valentine’s Day to all my readers, too, you filthy voyeurs!

P.P.S.  No offense meant…