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.