Wednesday, May 7, 2014

I injected a pint of insulin for dinner and ordered a pizza. It was worth it.

In this post: Sirens, weather, toilet paper, Russians.

In case you’re been wondering what’s been going on around here I’ll provide a thorough Wednesday retrospective from the bowels of Howdygram headquarters.

SCREAMING SIRENS. Sam and I were stretching out for a pre-lunch nap this morning when a TORNADO SIREN started screaming from Sunnyvale, which is practically across the street. Since there was no weather whatsoever we figured it was either a stray cow alert from one of the cattle ranches or Mrs. Snootie McRich got locked out of her mansion. (Everybody in Sunnyvale lives in a mansion.)
For your possible interest the map below indicates: A) Howdygram headquarters; and B) Sunnyvale. See? I wasn’t kidding! Sunnyvale really IS across the street!
I FORGOT TO EAT. Seriously, people, I didn’t have any breakfast and forgot about lunch altogether until my maid left this afternoon at 4:15, at which time I injected a pint of insulin and ordered a pizza. It was worth it.

MY FIRST DELIVERY FROM AMAZON PRIME PANTRY CAME TODAY. Actually, this was just a PARTIAL delivery — two 12-roll packages of Charmin — and the rest will be here tomorrow. The box is sitting outside the front door waiting for Sam to get home because there’s no way I can lift it myself. I use a cane due to shitty knees, muscle pain and lousy balance, and my only available hand is crippled by peripheral neuropathy. I am a very attractive mess. Holy crap, right?

WE’RE EXPECTING WEATHER ON THURSDAY. According to the lying sacks of poo at the Dallas metro area is under a severe thunderstorm watch starting at noon tomorrow. I sincerely hope they aren’t screwing with us because north Texas needs a lot of rain due to EXTREME DROUGHT. But I’m not holding my breath.
I WATCHED ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVORITE MOVIES TODAY. It’s The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming (1966) starring Carl Reiner, Paul Ford and Alan Arkin, a really terrific ensemble comedy lampooning the Cold War. The basic plot? A Russian spy submarine runs aground off a remote island in New England, a group of sailors sneaks ashore to try and borrow a motorboat to pull the sub off the sand bar, and all the lunatic townspeople — led by chief lunatic Paul Ford with a VFW hat and his ceremonial sword — almost start World War III.
I’d better eat something now. I’m considering ham salad on low-carb toast but I might end up with braunschweiger instead. It’s not easy being me. Thank you for reading this.

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