I Still Suck

I haven't been here in a week? In a WEEK? Really? Damn. I suck.

To be fair, it wasn't entirely my choice to be absent from these parts for the last week. I really would have preferred to update my blog than, say, clean up Turtle-vomit from my car Friday night. (The car STILL smells like Turtle-vomit, by the way, so if anyone has any suggestions for getting Turtle-vomit-smell out of a car, I would greatly appreciate hearing them. Febreeze doesn't cut it, in case you were going to suggest it. It just makes the car smell like floral-Turtle-vomit.) I also would have preferred updating my blog to dumping out Oscar's vomit-bucket two nights later. He had pizza for dinner. You could tell. I ALSO would have preferred updating my blog to getting sick, myself, on Monday night, and after vomiting up all of the contents of my stomach, continuing to dry heave until not even stomach lining was left. (Don't you just love the word "vomit?" I wonder how many times I can use it in a paragraph. Vomit, vomit, vomit, vomit. Okay, I'm done. Really.)

On the other hand, I learned quite a lot from this stomach bug. For example, if you know you are a marked woman, and it is just a matter of time before you start puking your guts out, may I recommend chocolate chip cookies? The sweetness of the cookies cuts the acidity of the rest of the crap expeditiously exiting your stomach. And not to say that they are AS good on their way out as they were on the way in, but they're not bad. Also? Not that I'm a big fan of bulimia, but it was nice knowing that after overdosing on the chocolate chip cookies, thus negating my entire workout that day, in the end, my net caloric intake was not as bad as it could have been.

And now that I have spent two more paragraphs talking about vomit than I really should have, I want to discuss something completely unrelated. I had a dream about Ron Rifkin last night. It was weird and involved Antarctica and dog sleds and me almost getting trapped without sufficient warm clothes. But what was really odd about the dream was that once I was rescued, Ron Rifkin came up to check on me, and I kind of wrapped myself around him and we kissed. I did not realize I had such strong feelings about Mr. Rifkin. I mean, I've always been a fan. He's one of my favorite character actors, and he's so adorable, I just want to pinch his cheeks. But I never thought about getting romantic with him.

Snark's Mistress, who is a psych major, once told me that when you have a sex dream about someone, it doesn't necessarily mean you want to have sex with him. It often means that you miss him, or are craving emotional intimacy with him. That came as a big relief to me the night I had a searing sex dream about Snark's Mistress. I didn't have to go into any kind of soul-searching exploration of my sexuality. But it still doesn't explain my sudden interest in getting jiggy with Ron Rifkin. We have never been emotionally intimate, and in the harsh light of day, my interest in getting horizontal with the man has significantly waned. So what was that all about?

I mean, I'm sure if I were to find a book about dream analysis, I would find out that Antarctica represented this and the dog sleds represented that. But I doubt Ron Rifkin has his own chapter. So if anyone can shed some light on why I might be dreaming about getting all romantic with Ron Rifkin, please leave your thoughts in the comments. Thank you.

(Oh, and vomit-less posting will resume tomorrow. Thank you for your patience.)