Atomictumor

OK, so I’ve only had this cold thing for about a week or so, and it didn’t start getting all up in my business until Saturday, but I’m totally freakin over it.

This whole “having a body” thing is getting irritating.  Sure, there are upsides involved with it (alcohol) but at this point I’m thinking its more of a liability to me, what with the stuffed up head pain, and the coughing fits, and the constant flow of bold yellow nasty coming from deep within my sinus cavities, forcing me to heave-ho that crap through my nose on a constant basis, which causes a coughing fit, which makes my head hurt, which makes me realize that I have (once again) more of that nasty crap in my sinus.

It started getting better yesterday, and kinda took a little downslide again today.  I’m not near as bad feeling as I was this weekend, but my patience for it has totally worn out, and I’m ready to go all “Incredible Voyage” and shrink down and kick some cold infection stuff’s ass personally.

But that requires a shrink ray, and then the existential problems involved with shrinking myself down and entering into my own body, not to mention the medical/biological hurdles involved in actually locating and personifying a cold virus so that I can put my size 15 (which would then be something like a size .0000015) into some kind of gooey, virusey, ass.

I guess I could go the futurama way and put my consciousness into a tiny microscopic robot that would tool around inside me and kick an ass or two, but then I gotta get nanoengineering in there, and if I had all these skills to begin with, well, I’d probably have cured the damn cold anyway.

So, to summarize:

1. Over it
2. Alcohol
3. bold yellow nasty
4. downslide
5. shrink
6. existential problems
7. very, very small feet
8. anyway

Now that we’re done moving, we’ve both found time to settle down and savor the cold that we’ve been sharing for the past week or so.

Yesterday, the lady came home from work and went straight to bed with a nice Benedryl buzz.  Today its my turn.

She’s feeling quite a bit better today, so theres some hope.

I friggin hate colds.

Woot.

So, I was sitting on the back porch.

The lady was working (still is, for that matter) at the day job, the kids were fed and doing homework/playing in the bedroom, and I was pretty proud of myself.

We’ve been slowly moving my stuff into the new house (her house), and its neat watching out stuff get joined together.  Already, my big screen TV has found its way into the living room, my flat screen sweetness is the bedroom TV (like it was at the original Casatuma), and the lady’s old living room TV, after much debate, warnings, and allusions to the children, is in the kids bedroom.  Along with a computer apiece.  And all their toys.  And the bedroom furniture.

She had done a wicked awesome job putting the toys up and organizing the playroom into their now larger bedroom (minus a buncha toys that we’re giving away, unbeknownst to the kids).  They have some Transformers and Spiderman sheets hanging up on the wall to hide the toys and give Pigpen a little hidey hole (the boy loves hidey holes, its where he puts on his super hero clothes), and it looks damn fine.

Last night, I made a huge leap by connecting and setting up my audio stuff, and I have Wilco’s Sky Blue Sky playing on vinyl in the living room.  Ahh, nice.  Earlier, because its balls cold here in Tennessee, I started making a fire, after carefully opening up the chimney flue and loading the reserve wood pile in the house down with some dry sticks.

Yes.

This is what its all about.

So I stepped out on the back porch to look at the bitching view for a spell.  I started thinking “huh, I’ll write a post about how awesome this is”.

I stepped in the house, and damned if I didn’t smell smoke.  I peeked out to see if smoke was coming out the chimney, but it was too dark to tell.

I wandered over to the fireplace, and found that the chimney flue had managed to be closed.

“Son of a bitch”.

As soon as that revelation was made, the smoke detectors started wailing like Satan’s dryer buzzer.

“Son of a bitch”.

One of the dogs started panicing, on account of all the loud, so MastaG started consoling him.  The other dog, no dummy, bolted for the still open back door and hung out on the porch.

“Son of a bitch”.

I averted the crises, one by one.  Opened the chimney flue and verified it was latched.  Pulled the batteries off the smoke detectors, opened the windows, turned the fans on.  Consoled the dog.  Flipped the record.

Wrote the post.

This would be a fair representation.

So, how do you tell if you’ve got a bad beer?

I’ve heard of beers gone bad, but have never experienced one myself. The Missus brought home a six pack of Shiner Hefeweizen after her Thursday night out that just tastes really… funky.

It’s been a while since I had a Hefeweizen and I don’t remember them tasting this bad.

urp….