Instead of making resolutions, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Archive for December, 2009
“As I’ve watched the events of the last few days it is clear once again that President Obama is trying to pretend we are not at war. He seems to think if he has a low-key response to an attempt to blow up an airliner and kill hundreds of people, we won’t be at war. He seems to think if he gives terrorists the rights of Americans, lets them lawyer up and reads them their Miranda rights, we won’t be at war. He seems to think if we bring the mastermind of Sept. 11 to New York, give him a lawyer and trial in civilian court, we won’t be at war.
“He seems to think if he closes Guantanamo and releases the hard-core Al Qaeda-trained terrorists still there, we won’t be at war. He seems to think if he gets rid of the words, ‘war on terror,’ we won’t be at war. But we are at war and when President Obama pretends we aren’t, it makes us less safe. Why doesn’t he want to admit we’re at war? It doesn’t fit with the view of the world he brought with him to the Oval Office. It doesn’t fit with what seems to be the goal of his presidency — social transformation — the restructuring of American society. President Obama’s first object and his highest responsibility must be to defend us against an enemy that knows we are at war.”
If you stand by me, I’ll be the one over next to the fried chicken.
I was watching the Today Show this morning because, in my languorous head-cold state, I was too lazy to actually reach for the remote and change channels after the local news, so I got to watch a beauty advice person telling ME that sugar and high fructose corn syrup causes wrinkles, much like the surface of a Creme Brulee desert is wrinkled.
So, in order to stop the wrinkling process, I’m supposed to believe that a low glycemic diet avoiding sugar will cure me or at least stop wrinkles in their tracks so I won’t look like a Creme Brulee.
That, plus avoiding being baked in a 325-degree Fahrenheit oven for 40 minutes, chilled, then being sprinkled with sugar and ignited with a torch. I would think that part would be waaaaay more important than the avoiding sugar part.
Came down with a heckuva head cold, stuffy nose, mild sore throat, slight fever, and dryish cough. It isn’t really that uncomfortable except for the extreme fatigue. I will sleep 8 hours, get up, feed the animals, come in, and fall back asleep for another 4. Swampman has it now, too, and the great home improvement projects we had in mind for our vacation aren’t gonna happen. At any given time during the day, one of us is napping and the other one is being quiet so we don’t wake the sleeper and so we’ll just rest our eyes while we’re watching tv zzzzzzzzzzzz.
We did drag ourselves to the Westside library today (darn due books), then came home trying to decide whether we (I!) were too tired to fix food to eat. I ended up taking a cheap frozen pizza out of the freezer. (After embellishment with some black forest ham, olives, onions, extra cheese and feta cheese, it was almost edible.)
I’ve alternated between napping/reading in my comfy chair with a big comforter piled on me, or reading online. I hope I get some actual energy back tomorrow. Maybe a good start would be putting on clothes other than baggy men’s flannel PJs with the penguins and snowflakes and hubby’s big soft heavyweight bathrobe. (Once again this year, Santa did NOT bring me a Snuggie, so the bathrobe is a compromise.)
If I feel somewhat more energetic than a hibernating bear tomorrow, I may go looking to see if any retail establishment has any Snuggies left lying about at 50% off. Sleep is once again calling me, and I can’t resist any longer.
A news program was talking about the underwear that the bomber allegedly wore. Allegedly? You mean that there may be another person with BBQed testicles and phallus running about somewhere in public that dropped his drawers on the poor arrestee in order to frame him or something? Or perhaps the people on the plane just jumped onto a non-smouldering innocent Nigerian, set him on fire, extinguished him, and then planted the smoking underwear? And the whole plane was in on it?
Allegedly my ass.