Dear Faithful Reader Target Steve,
Seriously? Christmas decorations already at Target? What gives? How obnoxious.
And yes. I do blame some guy who reads my blog, who happens to work at Target, for all the decorations in all the Target stores across the land. I hold him personally responsible.
I had to go to Target last night, as I must do pretty much 11 nights a week. This time it was to pick up my prescription Vitamin D. Who has to get prescription Vitamin D? I do. Loserly eats-a-salad-in-New-Orleans June, over here.
Prescription Vitamin D. They better not find out that Vitamin D doesn't matter, or even worse, that it'll kill you or something. You know that always happens. Oooooo! Stay away from eggs! Oh! We were wrong! Eggs are fine!
Ohh! Chocolate makes you break out! Psych! It doesn't!
Make up your MINDS.
I look forward to the day they find out a diet consisting entirely of black coffee, Tang, Pixie Stix and White Cheddar Cheese Rice Cakes is the best thing for you, because other than the fact that I have 0% D vitamins in my body I am the picture of health.
Other than this mysterious rash I have covering my body. Did I tell you this part? Since I got back from New Orleans I have these weird flying-saucer shaped welts on my rib cageal area. Okay, "covering my body" is a bit of an exaggeration, and I know that shocks you, that I may have exaggerated when it comes to a health concern.
Naturally I got on the phone to the doctor immediately.
"Beleaguered doctor of June's office. May I help you?"
"Hi, April. It's June. I think I'm dying."
"[sighhh.] Hello, June. What's going on?"
"Well, I've Web MD'd it..."
"[Sighhh.]"
"Stop SIGHING. And it looks like either shingles or smallpox or this rare tropical thing that should render me having visions in the next 15 minutes."
"Can you come in tomorrow at 8:30? Dr. Van is back from her...leave of absence."
"Oh good! She'll be glad to see me! If I actually live through the night I'll be there at 8:30. ...Did you just sigh again? ...Hello?"
April is really rude.
If it's shingles I think I should be in extreme pain, but you know how tough I am. It's hard for me to gauge what the rest of you consider "extreme." And a pilgrim did just give me a blanket recently; it'd be perfect for Thanksgiving if I had smallpox. The ultimate Thanksgiving disease! Do you lose weight when you have smallpox?
My boss, who has been my boss for a mere six months and is already over me, said they'll probably diagnose me with dermatitis, which means "You have some kind of rash. Here is a cream." Ima be SO PISSED if I have dermatitis. I want a real name. A real.Latin.name. I want hoodacunilatus or something. Okay, that looked kind of dirty. Maybe I don't want hoodacunilatus. I want e pluriblatia solo mio. I got all Italian there in the end, didn't I? Why can't I make up a good Latin disease?
As long as I don't have vomitorium, Ima be okay.
In other news, and I know it's going to be hard for you to do anything but worry about my severe life-threatening rash, my coworker Deb, the one who hates us drinking margaritas, is revamping her kitchen. This means she is throwing out 94930404 cookbooks from the 1970s, so she left them all on the communal table at work, where I not only spread my rash but picked up a lovely all-Jello-recipes-all-the-time cookbook.
My next-cubicle-neighbor, The Poet, picked up a delightful all-tuna-recipes cookbook, and we have decided that should I live, we are going to have Caucasian Heritage Day at work, wherein we bring both a lovely tuna casserole from her cookbook and a Jello mold from mine. Popular!
Really, that Jello cookbook is a sight. If I knew how to scan things with my new computer I would show it to you but I have no idea. Besides, I am covered in welts and can barely move. I look like a Sleestak. People from the blind school just tried to read my skin. Someone just asked me if I was Eudora Welty.
I wonder if the voodoo priestess put a spell on me! I'm turning into a reptile as we speak! Oh, crap.
It's a long, bumpy road ahead.
