It's Not A Toomah....

..or is it?
I've had a headache for over a week. Some days it's tolerable and some days all I can do is lie on the couch ala Greta Garbo in Camille and just wait for death as Robert Taylor bends over me to kiss my lips before I take my last breath.
Garbo didn't die of a tumor, though. Was it comsumption? What the hell is consumption,anyway? People were always dying of it back then.
Anywho...
I'm trying hard not to let my hypochondriac tendencies take over and imagine more blinding headaches that lead to the diagnosis of an inoperable brain tumor. If you watch One Life To Live, you just KNOW that is what is going to happen to Blair, right?

Lovely Boyfriend and I have been playing house for a couple of weeks now and it's been lots of fun. I create culinary masterpieces almost nightly and neither of us have gotten sick of it.....yet. He might be screaming for hamburger helper or Sonic before too long.

Valentine's day wasn't a big production. At first we had planned to go out to a big nice restaurant and then to the Red Cat Jazz Cafe for some live music but because of my "toomah" I wasn't feeling well so we stayed home, ordered some chinese and watched The Family Guy DVDs while picnicking on the livingroom floor.
It was quietly romantic.

I tried to find a guest blogger but most of my friends are major wussies.
I have been keeping up with my favorite blogs, however.
Things over at Acidman's blog has been like a freaking soap opera. Actually, it might just be more of a soap than real life. I think most of this shit is fiction but it's entertaining, nonetheless.

Anna at Primal Purge laments over the end of a long enduring romance (Ken and Barbie).
My best friend and I spent many an hour playing with our barbies. We didn't have Barbie's Dream House or Barbie's Pink Vette. These bitches were POOR. They had to work the streets for a living and come home to a shoe box for a house and a ragged wash cloth for a bed. It was a rough time for our Barbies. It was the late 70's early 80's and Reaganomics hadn't provided us with the economic boon, yet.
By the lavish times of the mid-80's, we were more into dressing ourselves in huge shoulder padded blouses, pegged acid-washed jeans and neon socks with white pumps than our Barbies so they lay, stripped naked in our closets until we either gave them mohawks or threw them in the trash in an attempt to slough off the last vestiges of childhood.
My niece, now 21, has been collecting special edition Barbie's since she was a toddler and they have been sitting in their boxes, untouched for, at most, 20 years.
I don't know. I believe Barbie was meant to be played with; to be contorted into perverted positions and used to act out strange playtime fantasies.
I could be wrong.

Posted by De at February 18, 2004 05:25 PM