outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary

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Tuna of the Apocalypse

Forgive my foul stench, dear readers. What I must tell you now may frighten you, shock you, and more than likely repulse you with its odious odor.

My apocalyptic tuna has escaped my nefarious plan to keep it contained in subpar Glad tupperware.

Before I go on, I think it's only fair to warn you that at any time I may be "recalled" at the hand of said tuna. This is not your average tuna. This is week-old tuna that sat out for nearly twelve hours, sat in the refrigerator for several days, and then sat out again for an additional four hours. Why then do I insist on consuming it? Because, friends, it is delicious.

It was during this last four hour stint of stand-outage that the tuna made a bold break for freedom. I never actually saw it myself; it was all contained in my Gladware when I reached for it lovingly moments ago. But the deceit was made obvious by the tuna-scented trails left over the rest of my lunch by my unfaithful tuna's wanderings. Normally, I would be complaining that my banana had stunk up my tuna. How much worse it was when I had cause to complain that my tuna had stunk up my banana.

I shudder to think of the state of my Cheez-Its.

And of course these things must happen in public before my reticent but, no doubt, fully-functioning-olfactory-hardware-endowed office mates. It's moments like these that locals such as myself rightly dub "wicked wicked bad".

Ah well. So how was your weekend?

I think mine was good...I can't remember it much now. Not because I blocked it from my memory with foreign substances or Vulcan mind-control techniques, but rather because it must have been unnotable in every way. Rob worked both nights, so I had no occasion to go out; we did the normal 'go shopping and impulse-buy your dinner' routine; I jogged a bit, exercised a bit...oh yeah, I bought some new exercising equipment -- nothing fancy. I ended up running into one of my cousins while passing through Copley Square on Friday to pay my overdue Anna Karenina fees (I think I had the book for three consecutive months). We had a bite to eat and then lost each other at Marshall's, each concerned with her own purchases (as it should be). I picked up a yoga mat, a cool spinny disk thing, reminiscent of a sit and spin, but for standing on, and a complicated whoozeewhat made of cords and pullies, that could just as easily pass for BDSM paraphernalia. Now, since I had meant to buy one of those rolly ab wheels and a yoga ball, I didn't do so hot, but I'm willing to ignore this failure due to how cool the spinny disk is. The cord/pulley concoction doles out a pretty good workout, but I refuse to admit that that's fun.

I broke things up nice and good this morning at work. Woo. I don't know what I did, but this sucker is BROKE. *cue satellite plummeting from sky* Besides that fine worksmanship, I've also been wasting the government's time, money, and resources surfing the web for father's day and sister's graduation presents, as well as avocado salad recipes. My brother called me last night. Incredibly rare occurrence. I told him I'd been planning to bring an avocado-themed something to my sister's graduation party this Saturday, because I know he's been missing the fruit since returning from France. I of course can't make any promises that our puny American avocados will measure up to whatever they have abroad, and no doubt he will complain to that effect, taking my feelings into account not at all. But I like avocado too.

In other news, my poor pumpkin is sick. He has some sort of sore throat/hacking up phlegm sort of disease, which is GREAT for me, because you know how I love seeing people spit. *cue vomiting up of rancid tuna at the thought* (Ok, that was my one selfish thought. Stay tuned for more altruistic ones.) Rob never gets sick, so he has no experience withdealing with his symptoms. He's been sucking down cough drops, but for some reason doesn't want to take the plunge into cough syrup, which would probably help a very lot more. I hope he picked some up this morning like a good boy. I haven't had an email from him all day, which I'm taking to mean that he's resting in bed, not lying in the fetal position on the floor, sweating and crying for his mommy. Right. I think he's ok, but he has no insurance, so if he gets worse, I don't know what we'll do. He isn't likely to need to be hospitalized, but he might need a prescription; how do you get a prescription without insurance?

Think happy thoughts.

Update: Rob reports that he has purchased the cough syrup, and took a three hour nap. *drools at the thought of sleeping* So I won't call 911 just yet.

1:15 p.m. - 2002-06-03

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