Walkies & Boiling for Dollars!

I've had lots of fun since I last wrote a week ago or so. Eric and I went out for his birthday. We met up at our new favorite bar, the Shamrock, which is owned by Logan's friend Matt McEntire, an honest-to-goodness Irishman. (It's not new; It just replaced JJ's Hideaway as our favorite is all.) He was running late, having gotten some last minute work he had to finish before beginning the weekend. So I walked from work to the Shamrock, thinking it was only about 6 or 7 blocks. Turns out, it was closer to 9 or 10. I was tired when I got there, and glad for the glass of cold water I had before ordering a vodka & 7. By the time Eric arrived, I had had three fuzzy navels as well - doubles, all of them, so my tired legs were no longer a bother. He generously closed out my tab and returned my debit card to me. Matt showed up, bought Eric a shot, and impressed me by remembering when I brought newborn Brighid in to see him at his old bar, a tiny hole-in-the-wall across from the Federal Building, years ago.

Chris, our favorite bartender, raved about the creme brule when Eric mentioned we were headed to Pappadeaux. So when we were ready to leave (after having divine seafood fondue, jumbo shrimp, seafood kibobs with lovely, meaty mahi-mahi, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus), Eric ordered a creme brule with raspberries to take back to Chris. It must have been good because our bar tab was only $28, and I KNOW we drank more than that.

Again, I had to drive home since Eric overdid it a bit on the birthday celebrating. We crashed into my bed to be attacked by vampire kitties. Or so it seems. Any time anyone gets still for a minute, a kitten (well, okay, the kittens are teenagers by now) will jump on him, go for the neck, and nurse on whatever clothing is handy, usually a tee-shirt. It just looks like the kittens are attacking, poor orphan kitties. Well, not really orphans, but plucked from their mother as soon as possible, the kitties have grown up thinking humans are their parents.

Saturday, we ran all over town with the kids in tow, first to the Dollar Store or is it Family Dollar? so Eric could by a gimmie cap to hide his hair, then to Mrs. Baird's for day old bread to feed the ducks. We then hit Golden Corral for the breakfast brunch, then Dollar Tree for "Cheap Chinese Stuff" as Brighid calls it, then to the duck pond on Trail Lake Drive. After feeding the ducks, we went to the Friends of the Fort Worth Library book sale, then to Y2 Komics so the kids could spend the money Uncle Eric gave them for no good reason. Okay, Brighid did clean Eric's car, but $40 to do so?!? Weyland made $40 for fetching a huge plate of bacon and ham from the buffet and for flagging down the "coffee boy". Eric was just feeling flush and overly generous, I suppose. We ended the spree by lunching at Charley's where Eric had an avacado burger, and I had a chicken mushroom sandwich, some really good homestyle fries, and a chocolate malt. I hadn't had one in years, so it was extra tasty. The kids, of course, had the usual: Weyland, cheeseburger, dry bread, lettuce, and Brighid, cheeseburger, dry bread. It was a wonderful weekend.

Monday when I got home from work, I was feeling particularly good, so Weyland and I took Bashful for a walk. Brighid was too engrossed by the internet and chatting IM with her "buds" to be bothered by taking her own dog for a walk. Weyland was all gung ho for it, though, so we walked. We started out behind the house, surveying the new construction that will eventually ruin the view from the kitchen window. We walked down the new dirt road all the construction vehicles have created. Lots of trees have been knocked down in the name of progress. We continued down the path 'til we got to the creek.

It was a LONG walk. Since we were so "far from civilization", in Weyland's estimation at least, I let Bashful off the leash. He ran, lept, sniffed, dug, and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was so cute, bounding through the grass, very rabbit-like, his ears straight up, his tail wagging the whole time. But like I said, we walked a long way, so much so, that I had to sit down to rest about five times. I think the walk did all three of us good, though. Bashful had a blast, Weyland ran around collecting wildflowers, most of which we were able to identify using the excellent Wildflowers of Texas by the oddly named Geyata Ajilvsgi, and when we stopped, I felt muscles twitching which I had forgotten I had. Weyland looked much better with a little sun, his cheeks looking rosy, rather than their regular mayonnaise color, and his nose had cinnamon sugar sprinkles of freckles. (My freckles are pretty much limited to my arms, and in time, I suppose, be mistaken for liver spots.) All in all, a good time was had by all.

Gross out warning: Tuesday, I felt a sore spot on my back, so I had Logan look at it. Turns out, it was a nasty boil. Logan squeezed it, and gobs of gook came out. It still hurt the next day, so Logan squeezed it again. More sebaceous oil, pus, and blood this time. So every morning and evening, we got into the habit of pumping crud from the boil on my back. A couple of times, there was so much stuff under such pressure (which explains why it hurt so god awful much) that when Logan squeezed it, it spewed out on to his shirt, the wall, the couch, etc. Yesterday, Monday the 11th, was the first day it actually didn't hurt, and only a tiny bit of plasma emitted. It's itching now, a sign, I suppose, that it's actually healing. I've come to the conclusion that the increase in skin problems I've been suffering (rashes, discoloration, yeast, boils, & etc.) are due to morbid obesity.

Last night, (It's taken me a blasted week to write all this!), I felt like something the cat buried and the dog dug up. I've got a bad cold, complete with coughing, nasal congestion, and hawking up huge green loogies. My nose is getting sore from blowing it, even though Logan bought Puffs with lotion. I went straight to bed after work yesterday. Logan had taken off to Richard's house for a while, probably to fiddle with the sailboat. I called to tell him I needed chocolate. He was such a sweetie! I guess I don't give him enough credit. He came home with Hershey's Nuggets, my favorite of which are milk chocolate with toffee and almonds, Hershey's Kisses, Reeses' Peanut Butter Cup Miniatures, and milk chocolate Dove bars. I guess I'm not sophisticated enough to prefer dark chocolate. Give me sweet, creamy, luscious milk chocolate every time. Logan also fixed homemade chicken noodle soup with olive oil added and plenty of garlic. Olive oil and garlic will cure most ailments, as far as I'm concerned. That, and Tylenol #3 and half a Darvocet. My cramps were so bad yesterday, I almost took a muscle relaxer as well, but the combination of chocolate, soup, and pain pills had me floating. It was only my desire to watch Letterman that kept me awake past 9 p.m.

I'm still fighting the cold today, so I hope to have a hot toddy or maybe some mulled wine after work, and maybe tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich. The only drawback to having a cold and being cossetted is that I can't breathe through my nose, so I can't use my CPAP machine at night, which means sleep apnea rears its ugly head again. But Gilmore Girls is a rerun tonight, so I might catch up on some sleep by going to bed at 7 p.m. I'm sure I can fall asleep that early. It's just a question of the kids letting me stay asleep. It makes me happy, just thinking about my soft bed, clean sheets, and a kitten or two cuddled up on the covers. The only thing that would make it better would be if Logan would snuggle with me, but since he doesn't want the plague, he's keeping his distance. At least he will cook for me when I'm sick. For all I say, I do love him. And I know he loves me. The drugs must be making me sappy. :)