Kevin sucks when it comes to sympathy. He has no idea how to baby someone. Instead of loving kindness, he gets all impatient and exasperated. This is why when I am feeling unwell, I banish him to the depths of the basement rather then listen to his exasperated sighing and grumbling as to why I can’t get off my lazy butt and clean the kitchen seeing as how it’s just a little temperature.

Thursday morning I didn’t feel so hot. I had eaten a very rich lamb dinner that was very very rare and it really didn’t sit well with me. It tasted good at the time but my poor stomach had a very hard time processing it. I was up tossing and turning all night and by morning, I was severely ill.

So Kevin comes downstairs to find me getting a lime soda and an apple from the fridge instead of the usual pastry and coffee.

“What’s up with the soda?” he asks as he rummages for his wallet and keys.

“My tummy doesn’t feel so good,” I reply slowly. I found moving too quickly maked me feel even worse and slowly shuffled out of the kitchen to get my jacket.

“Suck it up,” Kevin replied without even glancing at me “and take a couple of tums.” He then wanders off to find his shoes.

I manage to drag myself to the MAX station and find a seat when I break out in a sweat and feel my stomach begin to heave. I ended up chanting the Skippy Peanut Butter song to myself the whole ride in. For some reason, this songs has always comforted me. You know, “Momma loves me, loves a bunch, ‘cause she always puts Skippy’s….. in my lunch.” (The truly strange part is I hate peanut butter and my mom never made me PB&J as a kid so I have no idea why I love that song so much.) However, in time of great physical distress, I use this song as a mantra and it soothes me.

I almost made it to work when the guy sitting next to me begins to caress my leg. My first response is to throw up on him but I decided to take the high road and just got off the MAX early. I ended up sitting on a bench with my head between my legs for 20 minutes before I could get back on and finish the ride to work. By the time I got to the office, I was soaking with sweat and made a bee line for the bathroom.

I managed to turn on my computer and sat huddled over my trash can for a while telling myself to just “suck it up”. My friend Laura, after seeing my white face and shaky hands, took matters into her own hands. She grabbed the trash can and drove me home where I could be sick in the privacy of my own home.

When Kevin returned from work, he found me passed out on the sofa having gotten over the worst of it. His response? I should have taken the Tums like he said. Don’t worry, next time he’s sick, I know just how to play it.

I’ve been thinking about tatoos. Don’t worry mom, I’m not going to get one. It’s more of a philosophical debate along the same lines of “if the house was on fire and you could either save your dog or your cat, who would you chose.”

Sometimes, for no real reason I can put my finger on, I find myself wondering, if I was to get a tatoo, what would it be? I mean, this is something that would be stuck on me forever. What possible symbol or phrase is there that I was sure I’d like forever. For me, forever is a very scary thought. I mean, it’s always, the entire enchilada, for ever and ever. And for the life on me, I couldn’t think of anything that I was sure I’d like for the rest of my life.

Something inconsequential like a flower or a happy face seemed silly. I mean, why tatoo something that means nothing? A name is just asking for trouble unless it’s MOM but that’s just too pirate/sailor for my taste. Snakes and skulls just aren’t my cup of tea. So I’ve been turning this over in my mind with no success.

Until today.

Yes, in a moment of pure insight, I figured out what I could permanently place on my body without fear of every changing my mind. I’d go for one of these. (The little green symbol.)

I know, I know, horoscopes are silly and too general to be true but I honestly believe that I was born under the right sign. I’m proud to say I am a stubborn and bull-headed person and I always will be. So for me, I’d have to say that the Taurus glyph of the circle and horns would be my tatoo of choice.

Of course, this only answers half of my tatoo dilemma. Now I have to decide where I would want to put it. That question I am still debating. I’ll let you know what I decided.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this scenario…. I drag you into a tatoo parlor and won’t let you leave until you go under the needle. What would you choose? (Harder than you thought, huh?)

As painful and awkward as high school was, it produced some of my absolute best friends. These are people who, even though I may not see them or even speak to them regularly, I hold close to my heart. They, more than anyone else, helped to shape who I am and the values I hold dear.

It seems like ages ago and at the same time it seems like yesterday.

I remember we had our own breakfast club. Not like the movie, it was actually all about breakfast. We’d enlist the help of a parent and sneak into a friend’s house early on a Saturday morning and invade the kitchen, cook up a storm, and then surprise and wake our friend with a tray of food and laugh, laugh, laugh. Of course, everyone in the group was eventually hit but there was something wonderfully funny about sneaking into a buddy’s room and watching him blearily open his eyes to find everyone peering at him. Simply hilarious.

And How to Host a Murder parties where we’d all dress up as strange characters and try and deduce whodunit. Trips to Disneyland with walkie-talkies so the car pooling cars could stay in touch, wicked games of Hearts where no mercy was shown, and mixed tapes full of techno 80’s music.

Laura taught me to flirt, Jean taught me to cherish, Felix taught me to annoy, Lisa taught me to sing, Mike taught me to love, Roy taught me to relax, Heather taught me to try, Marilyn taught me to plan, Christine taught me natural beauty, and so on and so on until I became, well, me.

It’s still slow here and since I’ll be gone this weekend, I’ll leave you all with an extra post to help get you through the weekend.

I’m the world’s biggest snoop. If I every tire of my current career, I’m going to become a private investigator because I just love spying on people. I’m not sure where I developed this habit but I just can’t stop myself.

I love walking Artie right now. It’s cold out but not rainy yet and beginning to get dark earlier. If I take him out around 8pm, I find most people have their lights on and curtains open. It’s dark enough outside that I have a nicely lit stage to peer into as I stroll by. And I simply love doing it. I like to see what people are doing, how they decorate their house, what’s on their wall. And then I try to figure out what type of people they are. It fascinates me and I can spend well over an hour strolling around with my dog playing peeping tom.

The same holds true with my friends. Never, never, never, leave me alone in your house. I’m simply too dangerous. Forgot your jacket? I’m more than willing to pop by your house and pick it up. Of course, I’ll have to rifle through your refrigerator while I’m there. Need someone to water your plants while you’re out of town? I’m your gal so long as you don’t mind me snooping through your medicine cabinet. I’ve actually developed a quick snoop technique that’s quite amazing. I can rifle through a pile of papers in the time it takes you to pop into the kitchen and refill my glass.

Normally, my labors are all for naught as most of my friends are normal people with normal lives but I always maintain the hope of some day hitting the jack pot and finding strange photos or old love journals stashed away somewhere. I think I may plant notes around my own house just in case I have a guest with my own fetish.

Actually, now that I think about it, I remember playing this game with my sister. We’d leave a trail of cryptic notes throughout the house. You’d start with note 1 that would say something like “Now you’ve started the game and the trail isn’t to hot but you can pick up your next clue if you look in the pot.” Then you’d go into the kitchen and look through all the pots until you found the next clue. We loved this game. It would take one person a good hour or so to come up with all the riddles and hiding placed but we’d amuse ourselves for hours.

Man, don’t even get me started on all the crazy games we played as kids. I think I’d be a much more normal person if I was allowed to watch more TV. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to work so hard trying to suppress my desire to steam open the mail that is mis-delivered to my house. At lease I have my dog to help purge my system but someday I’ll be McLaughlin, P.I. You just wait and see. (Obviously, I have read one too many Janet Evanovich novels and need professional help.)