Wednesday, November 12, 2003


so i'm home sick today, for the second day in a row. by sick, i mean really sick. i woke up at 1AM two nights ago feverish and hallucinating and spent the rest of the day in bed or running to the bathroom to take care of business. i couldn't look at a computer because focusing on type that small made me nauseous, much less go into work to finish up concepting for the big presentation later that day. today the fever is gone, but i'm still not close to 100%, so i'm home.

i'm home, it's raining, i'm watching pootie tang (holy shit, what a fucking funny ass movie, though people either love it or hate it), my computer is popping up little reminders of things i need to do today, and i realize that it's my friend bitchface's 30th birthday. (name withheld because really, it ain't none of your business). anyway, i can't go to her birthday party obviously because well, i'm peeing out my ass at inopportune times, i'm weak, i'm dizzy, the whole bit. whatever.

i call a local florist she's recommended in the past, and i don't really know what to order--well, it's a girl, it's her birthday, not poofy, more contemporary, maybe something in a bowl, oh yeah, please sign it "dear bitchface, happy birthday, sorry i can't make it tonight, love sx70"

after i hung up i started thinking about what sort of arrangement they might be putting together. did i give them enough info? are they going to resort to reading between the lines to figure out what to do? i mean, how many calls must they get from some dude giving vague direction as to what sort of flowers he's sending accompanied with a note that says "i'm sorry" somewhere in it? i felt like calling back and explaining that actually, i'm very sick and that's why i can't come out tonight, i'm not some jerk sending flowers because i fucked up. i mean, what if the girl at the flower shop was in a bad mood? i'm half expecting that they send some half-dead baby's breath at this point. bleh.

"Pootie Tang will draw you a picture of how he gonna kick your ass, then mail it to you ten days in advance. The picture gets there right? You're goin', "What the hell is this?" and then Pootie Tang knocks on your door, Promptly kicks your ass and you still won't know what happened to you!"