Thursday, March 26, 2009

Say It Isn't So?

Today was certainly a mixed bag.

Cody was only a little weepy at school today, so he's on the mend. Cheyenne came home and informed me that she vomited throughout the afternoon. She doesn't have a fever, so I don't know what is going on there.

Basically I have two kids with two different viruses and I think I'm catching Cheyenne's because I was just in the bathroom talking to Ralph on the big white phone.

To add insult to injury, my neck went into spasm and I have an Icy-Hot patch on it that isn't doing much good. I feel about 80 years old today, everything hurts. C'est la vie.

Both kids went to bed at 6. So Cheyenne must be sick if she didn't beg to stay up. Looks like I'll have company tomorrow; I don't think I can take her to school. I doubt she'll be over whatever it is by then.

On a more positive note, I had my bi-yearly dermatologist checkup today and it turns out that the "fungal infection" on my hand that has kept me from working with polyclay for the past two months is actually stress-induced eczema. Is there no end to how much a body can fall apart? LMAO

I'll be filling the prescription for cortisone cream next week and once my hand stops itching, I may get to do some clay. W00t!

My 16g argentium wire came today. Too bad my neck is so stiff and painful I can't work on Masada.

Funny thing, in keeping with my Punjabi hobby ... the Arco at Grand and Market, well, I call it Ghetto Gas. Because it really is. The pumps are cranky, apparently not a single person attended kindergarten and mastered the art of waiting their turn, and there are always people getting hostile for money so they can booze it up another day. Not to mention the DVD bootleggers. Thanks, but no.

I go there because the gas is cheap. Cheapest around, and it's near my house and on the way to various places I frequently go. I've been known to wear my vampire fang caps and smile at people that were bugging me. On the other hand, I'm also learning to deflect the inevitable racism by just calling the people calling me "White B..." or whatever "racist" to their face. Usually they STFU pretty quick. I mean, what defense can you give against the truth?

Well, anyway, Ghetto Gas has had their pumps cordoned off and there's no gas available. I wanted ginger ale after I dropped my boy at school today so I stopped in. Got some chocolate and ginger ale, and the young clerk and I were chatting about why they weren't selling gas (upgrading the pumps). Can someone please tell me what it is about young Indian men that makes them so dishy? He was really beautiful, nice smile. Business was slow, so I asked him if he was from India.

He said yes. His dad, or uncle, some elder in a turban was nearby, so I asked if he was Punjabi. His eyes lit up. I guess not many Americans can guess their nationality, just assume turban = terrorist.

So we talked some about bhangra, and the Punjabi language and how it compares to Hindi. He seemed really suprised that I knew the name of the holy book of Sikhism, Guru Granth Sahib. Though I mistakenly said Singh. O gorgeous youth, the internet is an endless fount of knowledge for my ever-curious mind.

Too bad I'm old enough to be his mother.

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