Urrghh.

I very much want to write up an actual post. I want to write about my kids visiting, and the latest from my mom, and the latest from rafaela (who is sleeping peacefully as I type this), and the latest everything else. After all, I haven't made a real post in quite some time.

But, see, for that to happen, the little man inside my skull would have to stop with the Keith Moon-derived power-pop drum solo on my cerebral cortex. And whoever is wiping their boots on my bronchial tubes needs to quit it, like, now. And my life needs to slow the expletive-deleted down.

*sigh*

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah

1) Yesterday at work, I was taken off the boards for a half-hour to watch a video on the prevention of infectious diseases, during which we were told to help ourselves from a tray of apples and grapes that had been pawed through by the last six groups to watch the video. Today, I called in sick because I had caught the flu. The irony is not even remotely lost on me.

2) What goes better with calling in sick than to have the power go out in the entire top half of your apartment building an hour after you make the call? Yes, sir. No computer, phone, music, VCR or anything else. This forced me to—heaven forbid—do something constructive. (Obviously, the problem has been corrected, hence my ability to post this. Go, NiMo, go.)

3) So much for being productive: The power was shot long enough for rafaela to whip my sorry heinie in a one-on-one game of Monopoly, during which whichever gods I've offended recently took their petty, arbitrary revenge by giving me the worst dice rolls since the Ming dynasty. Not that I'm bitter, of course.

4) Llama, llama, duck. (The preceding brought to my attention by several sources. I'm still scowling at all of you.)

5) rafaela recently insisted that, despite Jeff Foxworthy's claims to the commentary, women do not train men in any way, shape or form. She then informed me that she was hungry, at which point I got up from the couch and made her dinner, unbidden. Yup.