We are still feeling like the ass end of a dead rhino. "We" being HDHusband and myself. The Bug (aka Vector of Disease) has pretty much rebounded, looking at us like, "God, you two! It's not THAT bad!" and doing laps around our sorry asses. Laps, I say. Today, he insisted I get up and ninja-kick some imaginary robots that had taken over our foyer. And of course, Mommy got up and kicked their asses. Woot.

We knew yesterday was going to be a big day. We'd already arranged for a babysitter, had plans to drive up into the foothills for a graduation party of sorts and then back into town for the Cirque show Corteo.

Feeling like complete ass, though, didn't help us at all. We got to the graduation party, and HDH promptly found a chair away from people and food to go die. Meanwhile, I coughed, sneezed and watched my eyes start to close up from whatever plant had decided to kick my ass. The house we visited was pretty dang cool. They have traveled quite a bit, so the house had at least thirty years worth of a lot of momentos. Fascinating stuff. The hostess also went out of her way to make some really great appetizers. And if y'all ever come to my house, be prepared for some chips and salsa. Store bought. So there.

And no, I took no pictures of their home.

Except this one of myself, before the party (as proof I did get ready this week, put makeup on at least once and did my hair):



Insert rant to MrVholes, Sometimes Commenter: Why no photos, Vholes? I WILL TELL YOU WHY! Because I couldn't see out of my eyeballs and your damn Flickr addiction isn't my problem! Man up and deal, I say. /End rant.

We drove back down the hill into the city, trying to talk ourselves into the show.

"Oh, that Motrin you took will help! You'll feel better by the time we get there!" and "I'm sure glad we got tickets to the show. Seeing Cirque will make us both feel better". Meanwhile, we are both looking at our watches, thinking, "Show starts at 8, it's only 5:45 now, not home until 11:30 at least ... we are so hosed".

We lie. Really well.

We are seated, and immediately, we are in the wrong row because I can't tell the difference between a Q and an O through the crappy eyesight.

HDH starts coughing.

My head starts to hurt, my sinuses are filling up and my left ear starts to plug up. And in no time flat, I can't hear what my husband is saying because either my ear is that messed up, or his voice is that gone. Maybe both. Goddamn, if we weren't a pair.

Sometime around intermission, we're standing outside of the tent and my husband is giving me the "Doctor checking for a sinus infection" test. People are staring. Some girl in a hookerish outfit goes schlepping by (someone should tell her green neon heels are out). We are both feeling like death.

I think the show was good. I'm not really sure. There was one scene where a guy whistled almost all the way through it, and the high pitched whistle made me want to kick a bunny.

Once we got into the car (and after I'd almost been nailed by another car), we started our trek out of the Pepsi Center parking lot, back up Speer Blvd. and towards home. And that, my friends, was the LONGEST ride home EVER. I couldn't hear my husband. We were both fighting to stay awake and not rip our heads off and kick them into the creek.

I wrote the babysitter a check, and when I looked at the carbon this morning, I'm surprised I didn't just write an "X" for my name instead. Talk about some serious chicken scratch.

HDHusband took a hot bath. I knocked back a half a gallon of NyQuil and crawled into bed.

Today, HDHusband has slept for the majority of the day. And I don't blame him one iota. I did that most of last week. I lost about seven days and hope to make it all up this week. This is a DEVIL BUG. It pretty much busted into our bodies, pulled out the lawnchairs, put on its MP3 player, set it to loud/ignore, and is refusing to fucking move for at least 7-9 days, if I'm going by how long it took My Bug to get rid of The Other Bug.

I hope none of you guys get this thing. It's nasty.

I think that's all from the Infimary.