Wednesday, November 17, 2010

you're invite to my dance party!

DANCE PARTY IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW
DROP EVERYTHING 
AND COME CELEBRATE WITH ME

Preferably if you're holding something fragile (e.g porcelain doll, ice cream, baby, plate of dishes) you're near a pillow or something to cushion it's fall.
why the celebration?
Because i'm not sick anymore!  
(Actually I quite enjoy being sick) 
You dawdle all day in deliciously warm comforters napping, it doesn't matter what you eat (you're just going to throw it up later!) and thus you almost always lose weight, Rufi acknowledges your existence and pays some attention to you, and you finally get to wear your most comfortable clothes in the world because nobody’s going to see you, so bust out the plus sized maternity wear you’ve bought and snuggie-up because being sick is vacation.
Except this time.
So back in high school days, I would often cut math class because I’m a blooming idiot (with anything math related) and so why be in class?  A fellow classmate shared my sentiments, so we would nip over to her house where she would feed me EasyMac (my “land of milk and honey” food, it was all I wanted in high school, and was always slightly out of reach because Rufi thinks it’s food for the street, i.e only trashy people like harlots and hustlers eat EasyMac).  One day though she didn’t have EasyMac to share all she had was shepherd’s pie. 
oh my.  
And that was the first and last time I ever had shepherd’s pie; until last Monday, when I found out Rufi had taken a stab at making a classic American dinner and made just that.  I ate 89% of her shepherd’s pie dish that night and went to bed full of mashed potatoes, corn, and beef.
so happy.
Unfortunately I don’t think Mexicans are suppose to excel at American cooking (we can’t be great at everything).  The next day I walked around in a nauseous queasy state the entire day.  
Work, school, work, school, finally! home.  
On top of the massive pit of shepherd’s pie in my stomach I had managed to catch a nice head cold that day as well, and finally my body violently took me down.  
Throwing up, down, sideways, everywhere.  
Barely conscience, curled into the fetal position, I realized I had to open the store tomorrow morning, and that was the last thing I remember thinking about. The following is the best description of the voicemail I sent her that night.
“Eeeehhhhh Moooooo? Mooooo? Mo it’s me Marilyn. *weeping openly into my phone* I dunno if you’re there, or if this is you, but I’m not s-s-strong, I wish I could be strong for you, but I don’t know if 5 AM is gonna happen for me, I’m sorry, I just- - *throw up* ohhhhh Moooooo I’ll do it if I have to but I don’t what’s going to happen to me, I’m so scared, hold me, Mo, please” and then I guess cried for the next 3 1/2 minutes into her voicemail until it disconnected.  
Now again, generally I don’t mind being ill, but that Friday I had setup five interviews to go on, and somewhere in between that I had a huge exam to turn in.  So I emailed my teacher explaining how sick I was but she was nice enough to reply back “Aww that’s too bad, hope you feel better! The policy is though there is no makeup, so if you’re not in class you get no credit.”  
“Hope you feel better!”  
stupid exclamation point. 
heartless wench.
So Friday I make myself decent.  Got out of the maternity wear, wash up, brush up, and smile. I knew that was the classiest I was going to get so I head out hoping that I can keep my act together for at least two interviews.  
Thankfully (?) I bump into a friend downtown and she informs me “You look lovely Marilyn, but maybe you should buy a new sweater if you have time, just you know.. ‘Kay hope it goes well!” and she abandons me.  I don’t quite know what she inferring about my sweater but I decide I might as well buy a sweater.  I head into the nearest clothing store and grab the first sweater I see.  When I look in the mirror I realize why my friend told me to buy a sweater.  Unfortunately I didn’t want to show up at an interview blowing into Kleenex (very unprofessional) so I didn’t bring any with me, but because of that throughout the day I had been discreetly (so I thought) wiping off my nose with my sleeve.  Except it wasn’t so discreet, and I was basically wearing a snot covered sweater.  
Classy.  
I buy and change into a nice fresh sweater (the sales associate that was helping me was acting crazy psycho saying such things like “What a great sweater! It’s sweater weather already! burrr! Where do ghetto people live in your sweater? THE HOOD! hardyharhar” and I’m like OKAY, yeah have a good day. BYE) and head to my first interview.  
On time, I’m sitting at the table trying to keep my composure.  Fixed smile, I easily breeze through the interview until my nose starts to drip.  Like mad.  I focus in on the napkin at a nearby table and wonder if it’d be rude to grab it and blow my nose...?  I don’t know the rules, so I do what anyone does when they have nothing, I start wiping the nose on the back of my hand.  Casually.  Trying to make her not notice, I start unintentionally talking crazy “Hey Deb, by the way have you noticed how cold it is lately? Burrr. It’s sweater weather! 
*leaning across the table I whisper*  
I just bought this great sweater actually... Hey where do ghetto people live in a sweater? THE HOOD! huyuck huyuck huyuck!!!!”
(sadly, that’s actually exactly what my nervous laugh sounds like)    
Needless to say the interview ended shortly after that, and again, not knowing what to do, I offer a handshake goodbye, except she’s been watching me wipe my snot on the back of my hand for the past twenty minutes, and she doesn’t want to shake my hand, I can see that in her eyes, but now we don’t know what to do, and it’s weird and awkward, and finally she grasps just my fingertips and I walk away knowing full well that there is no point in continuing my day, and head home, and throw  back on my maternity wear.  
Now I feel better, so hopefully I catch up with life,
after my awesome dance party in my room though :)

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