The Daily Derenger

7/19/2002

I guess it comes in surges. The DD below was the first one all week and here comes another one right after it. But you're reading this one first. GO DOWN AND READ THE ONE BEFORE THIS ONE - NOW!

Last Tuesday I fell ill and puked my guts out. I think I ate some undercooked chicken the night before. I woke up on Tuesday and felt shitty the whole day. Then around 2pm, the heaving began. I wanted to delay is as long as I could. Why? I don't know. I knew I was going to puke. It had reached the point that the food wasn't going to settle and there was only one way to get rid of - release it from where it came.

I lied down hoping to ease the nausea. My only times getting up were to go let it out of the other end. The runs and pukes seem to always travel together. I went to lay back down and felt better. Then the hatches opened. I headed back for the bathroom and hugged the bowl. And what a filthy, nasty, disgusting bowl it was. It wasn't my toilet. It was Erin's new toilet that had not been cleaned since the Korean War. But isn't it odd that no matter how dirty and shit-laden a toilet is, any toilet for that matter, when you're really sick, it just doesn't matter. I get the dry heaves all the time at the sight of other people's puke or something else gross. But when I'm puking, I'm already at my maximum of repulsive intake. There is nothing that could make me any sicker. The Bears' offensive line could've all shit on the floor next to the toilet and my puking would still have come from the pre-exisiting nausea.

There were 2 big heaving sessions and then I went to bed for the night. That's when Erin got the painting done in between taking my temperature, feeding me that horrendous Pepto Bismol, and rubbing my back. I awoke the next day still a bit sick but never puked again.

I ate a steak and some onion rings last night and am fine today. Now I'm off to stuff my face with some Pringles and Nutty Butter bars. It's good to be back to normal.

7/19/2002

Well I haven't written at all this week up 'til now. I feel genuinely bad for that. Not for not giving you anything to read, but because I've not been true the art of writing. It's something I must do every day whether I'm in the mood or not. If the latter is true, then I must at least write about what 'not being in the mood' feels like and why that is so.

Here's what's been happening. On Monday and Tuesday, I helped Erin move some stuff into her new place. It was supposed to be a paint-the-apartment extravaganza but that never happened; her placed needed much more work than we were capable of. Until that work is complete, the paint sits in a closet. I should say that we did some things done. I spackled some holes in the bathroom and she painted the trim in there in addition to painting the ceiling in her "office." Office is in quotes because she really has no need for an office. (She's on a Disney World vacation and is unemployed. We're great for each other; neither of us has a job.) But it's a room too small for a bedroom. Unless you're Minny Me. Erin also reupholstered the kitchen chairs left behind by the former tennant, her ex-boyfriend's sister.

That brings me to another point, chicks always want to paint stuff and make it look nice. She has more paint now than Sherwin Williams. And the brushes and rollers to boot. I've lived in 3 apartments and 1 house on my own. I've painted one wall and one entry way total. I've thought about doing more but that's it to date. I just don't see the point in exerting all that effort and spending all that money and time on something that's not really yours. If you own, then that's different.

It's different for me 'cause I'm gone a lot. My car should be where my efforts are since that's where I spend most of my time. And since it's a Prizm with the muffler on its last leg, I guess I'm losing that battle.

It's Erin's apartment so if she wants to do a bunch of stuff, then I'll be there to lift and move stuff. And surely bitch and complain all the while.

7/15/2002

Just a few miscellaneous thoughts.

I watched a porno the other night and they had the same bed sheets in the scene as I have. How cool is that? I'm basically a porno star then ... minus the three chicks fighting for my manhood like a pack of cheetahs on a gazelle's thigh. And the facts that I drive a Prizm and live with my mom. So, my life is nothing like a porno star after all. But for a brief moment it was.

I went to The Home Depot with my girlfriend over the weekend. We didn't kill each other. I think that was a big step taken in our relationship. I've seen some massacres at The Home Depot over shades of brown in a living room and settings of a ceiling fan in the den. I was having nothing to do with any of that. Erin is moving into her new place today and I'm just along to help. She bought all the paint and brushes. I'm doing the dirty work. Trading Spaces, eat your heart out! And give me a hand. I don't know what the hell I'm doing.