So I guess when it rains, it pours, and right now poor G has a whoppin' storm cloud overhead. Four days after starting his new blood-pressure medication, he came home after his first day back at school, lay down on the air mattress, and hasn't gotten up since.
Flu!
Jonathan, one of the teachers at work, had scheduled a little after-work party at his house, but after I mashed up a tub of guacamole -- mmm, non-watery California-style guac, with tomatoes and onions and cilantro -- I realized G-man didn't just lie down for a nap, so I dropped off the guac and beer, picked up a thermometer at the farmacia, and came right back home.
I spent yesterday and today keeping quiet around the house, ducking out for an occasional break, and keeping G supplied with chopped-up watermelon, juice, Tylenol, and water. Puffing up the bed. Changing pillowcases. Turning the music on, turning it off. I am so glad it's not me who's sick!
But the watermelon eventually ran out, and as it's Sunday and the usual host of chopped-fruit sellers are at home enjoying their day off, I took Jums out to Gringolandia to buy a whole watermelon. And see a movie, too. I wanted something without a substantial amount of Spanish, so I passed on A Day Without Mexicans and that new Denzel movie where he blows away a bunch of DF kidnappers -- that should be well-received down here -- and chose one I hadn't heard of, but decided what the hell, it's got Toni Collette in it. Carla and Something.
Whoa. It's Connie and Carla, and I really wasn't expecting a movie about dinner theatre performers who hide out in West Hollywood from a drug lord. And as his goon searches for the pair in has-been venues across the country, they end up as the starring performers in a drag show. I must say, it takes a lot of guts to be willing, as an actress, to say, Yes, I do look like a man in this makeup and wig. Then Debbie Reynolds shows up! I was fully expecting John Waters to saunter onstage for the finale. He should have. Anyway, it beat Garfield by a long shot, I'm sure.
But then I walk out of the movie, that part of my heart that lives in California all warm and glowing, and into Soriana for that watermelon. I don't know what was going on, but the store had set up big speakers in the produce department, Gigante-style, and was playing ... disco music! Born to be alive! What tha'?! My head's still spinning.
Flu!
Jonathan, one of the teachers at work, had scheduled a little after-work party at his house, but after I mashed up a tub of guacamole -- mmm, non-watery California-style guac, with tomatoes and onions and cilantro -- I realized G-man didn't just lie down for a nap, so I dropped off the guac and beer, picked up a thermometer at the farmacia, and came right back home.
I spent yesterday and today keeping quiet around the house, ducking out for an occasional break, and keeping G supplied with chopped-up watermelon, juice, Tylenol, and water. Puffing up the bed. Changing pillowcases. Turning the music on, turning it off. I am so glad it's not me who's sick!
But the watermelon eventually ran out, and as it's Sunday and the usual host of chopped-fruit sellers are at home enjoying their day off, I took Jums out to Gringolandia to buy a whole watermelon. And see a movie, too. I wanted something without a substantial amount of Spanish, so I passed on A Day Without Mexicans and that new Denzel movie where he blows away a bunch of DF kidnappers -- that should be well-received down here -- and chose one I hadn't heard of, but decided what the hell, it's got Toni Collette in it. Carla and Something.
Whoa. It's Connie and Carla, and I really wasn't expecting a movie about dinner theatre performers who hide out in West Hollywood from a drug lord. And as his goon searches for the pair in has-been venues across the country, they end up as the starring performers in a drag show. I must say, it takes a lot of guts to be willing, as an actress, to say, Yes, I do look like a man in this makeup and wig. Then Debbie Reynolds shows up! I was fully expecting John Waters to saunter onstage for the finale. He should have. Anyway, it beat Garfield by a long shot, I'm sure.
But then I walk out of the movie, that part of my heart that lives in California all warm and glowing, and into Soriana for that watermelon. I don't know what was going on, but the store had set up big speakers in the produce department, Gigante-style, and was playing ... disco music! Born to be alive! What tha'?! My head's still spinning.
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