I’m not feeling very well today. I can’t breathe, my body aches and my ears are itching like crazy. I think I’m sick. I just want to curl up in my bed and moan. I rarely get sick these days. For the past six years, my job has required me to spend every day in and out of doctor’s offices. Trust me, I have been exposed to everything under the sun. Colds, coughs, vomiting, diarrhea, you name it. Remember SARS? That was such a special time to be in doctor’s offices- everyone wore their little surgical masks in the waiting room, their beady little eyes darting around, waiting for the end of the world. Good times. Due to my repeated exposure to scary germs, my immune system is stellar. However, I probably should let you know that I am a confessed recovering hypochondriac. Key word – recovering. I have to say, my lovely parents are partially to blame for this. Being an early reader, I delighted in reading anything, whether it be books or the warnings on mattress tags. Unfortunately, I got my pudgy little hands on this. At age five, many conversations with my mother were similar to this:

Me: Mommy, I don’t feel so good. My head hurts.
Mom: I’m sorry, honey. Do you have a fever? Let me get you some Children’s Tylenol.
Me: Um, I don’t think Tylenol is going to work, considering it is OBVIOUS that I have a subdural hematoma due to the persistency of the localized pain, drowsiness, and my raised intracranial pressure. Where’s my blankie?

How can I be sick? I wash my hands 20 times a day! I retraced my steps- turns out yesterday was chock-full of impending-sickness denial.

7:00am – Off to kickboxing class. So proud of myself that I am still going to my classes. This week is going to be GLORIOUS!

8:00am – Drive home from kickboxing class. Sneeze approximately 12 times in the car. See men mowing lawns in the distance- it must be an allergic reaction to the grass, right?

8:30am – 5:00pm  Daily business. Can’t believe how sore my back feels already. Usually the soreness doesn’t appear until the day after exercising. Interesting. I must have really excelled in my class today. Patting my own back. Why does my right nostril feel like a pinto bean is lodged up in there? Take a Claritin. Pray for nostril-clearing.

5:00pm – Watch CNN and clips from Oprah in New Orleans. Sob uncontrollably for 30 minutes. D rubs my back and tells me everything is going to be alright. No hope for nostril-clearing now. Use half a box of Kleenex. Major headache on the horizon. Please God, don’t let it be a subdural hematoma.

6:00pm – Microwave a Trader Joe’s cannelloni for dinner. Cannelloni could be completely rancid. Who knows? I can’t taste a damn thing.

7:00pm – The crucial moment. I’m tired. Eyes watering. Pinto beans have tripled in size. I still have THREE hours until Rockstar: INXS starts. HOW AM I GOING TO STAY UP FOR THREE MORE HOURS? Please Lord, give me the strength to stay awake for three more hours.

7:30pm – Try to focus on my Fantasy Football draft picks. Draft is within 24 hours. Try to research some players online. Can’t see the screen due to watery eyes. Fuck this.

8:00pm – I’m just going to get into bed so I can rest my body. Only two more hours to go. Watch Dateline. Start to cry. Turn off Dateline- if I cry, my sinus cavities surely will burst. Watch Laguna Beach on MTV. Check to see if I am ever in the background when they are walking around town. Nope. Eyelids are getting heavy. Sarah, FOCUS! Drink some water.

8:45pm – Fast asleep. I’m pretty sure open-mouth snoring was involved. Sorry about that, D.

So, here I am on this lovely Wednesday. Sick and very annoyed that:

1) I missed Rockstar: INXS. Was it good?
2) My Fantasy Football draft is in 7 hours and I am totally not prepared.
3) I am missing work (hahaaa- actually love this).
4) I just wrote a lengthy entry about absolutely nothing.

Looking for some new dysphemisms to use in your daily dialogue? Let’s peruse my new and improved smorgasbord, shall we? Besides exploring, drinking vast amounts of vodka and belting out some serious karaoke in Montana, I was privileged enough to spend a week with my sister’s husband, aka The Dysphemism Magnate. This man should be nationally recognized for his uncanny ability to roll these things off his tongue without so much as batting an eyelash. Seriously, he rattles off about 10-15 a day.

Four things you should know about The Magnate:

1) He and my father, Bishop Stu Tu, are currently deadlocked in the race towards becoming “Greatest Storyteller on the Planet”.
2) He eats massive quantities of beef. Guinness Book of World Records might be calling soon.
3) His disposition can turn your shitty day into a personal best within ten minutes.
4) His initials speak volumes about his demeanor- A.O.K. It’s all good.

I’m pretty confident he could publish a book with at least 500 of these bad-boys, so consider this a sneak peek of the genius that is The Magnate.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat the ass end of a rhino running from me.”

“I’ve known him since Moby Dick was a minnow.”

“We’re richer than two feet up a bull’s ass.”

“Damn, it’s hot. I’m foaming up like a thoroughbred on race day.”

“I’m hornier than a three-peckered billy goat.”

“I’m so hungry, my stomach is rubbing a blister on my backbone.”

“We’re lower than snake shit in a wagon wheel track.” – or did Bishop Stu Tu say that?

“I’m drunker than a nine-eyed rat.”

“It’s hotter than two racoons fucking in a rat house.”