Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Who else was hoping OJ was the father?

Yeah I'm tacky.

Sorry for my lack of update, but my allergies have been playing havoc on every aspect of my life. I can barely make it up my stairs without passing out from lack of oxygen. At first I thought it was due to the air being so thin on the second floor. I was positive I was getting altitude sickness just like all those people who climb Mt. Everest. The only difference being that I was never assigned a sherpa to haul my groceries from the car. But someone kindly pointed out that Sacramento is in a Valley and that I'm really dramatic (the nerve).

The only remotely interesting thing that has happened in the last few days is that I think my boyfriend tried to kill me Monday evening. I was two seconds away form calling the cops and filing attempted murder charges. But at the last second I opted against it. Mostly I deserved it. I should have listened.

Here is how it all started:

Late last week I stepped on a scale and feinted from shock. Something had to be done! Starting on Monday (I knew that I would want a hamburger at the Elephant Bar on Friday).

The first sign of trouble:

Steve had the brilliant idea that we go for a walk on the river. I was down with that, its pretty outdoors and the weather was nice.

This is where it all went to crap:

His definition of "walk" turned out to be much different than mine. While I stand by the Webster's version "intransitive verb to move or travel on legs and feet, alternately putting one foot a comfortable distance in front of, or sometimes behind, the other and usually proceeding at a moderate pace. " Steve on the other hand thinks that walking means that you must move like your hair is on fire.

Anyone interested in a free trip to HELL IN AN HAND BASKET ?(I have no clue what that phrase actually means, I just like saying it):

I was meandering down our dirt path observing flowers, and being one with nature, while he was wildly tromping through bushes and moving at a pace that I would not hesitate to call a full on sprint. Steve would run/walk up the trail and turn around and run/walk back my direction only to find me tying my shoes or stretching my calves. All the while telling me that I am doing a good job and to just try to run/walk to that sign post up there. "Look its not the far. You can do it. Come on." (The bastard! How dare he encourage me at a time like that.)

The saga continues:

So, I would run/walk for a bit to make him happy. Only that was not enough. He would push me to run more and then a little more. I was huffing and puffing like crazy. At the same time I was quietly in my most polite way telling him that I was ever so slightly uncomfortable(by quiet and polite I mean yelling and throwing myself on the ground)(and by slightly uncomfortable I mean my legs were about to fall off and my heart was about to shoot through my rib cage).

A break in the torture:

Just when I thought I could handle no more, I saw Aimee coming up the trail. She was like an apparition rimmed in light from the heavens. I thought to myself "Sweet Jesus, I can stop. I'll have a moment of rest. Maybe my heart will stop, oh how I welcome the peace and quite of death." Much to Steve's dismay my heart continued pumping and after our short visit with Aimee where I know I tried to signal for help. (Who could not recognize an SOS tapped out by blinking my eyes? Apparently Aimee is a little rusty on her mores code. And asking what is wrong with my eyes did not help the situation.)

I see the light:

Somehow I manage to make it back to my car. I have no recollection of anything after my chat with Aimee, but the next thing I know I come to and I'm driving the car home. Weird.

All I can say is that was probably the worst 15 minutes of my life. Even worse than the time I thought I forgot to record LOST.