The New Hotness is being seriously threatened by two things: 1) this gee dee cold, which I have now had for eleven-hundred years and counting and which is apparently immune to medication, rest, prayer, etc.; and 2) the fact that I can not stop stuffing cheese right down my piehole like it’s about to be taken away from me.
This reminds me of a conversation I had with the Mouse the other day, as most things do. We were discussing people who refer to the subway systems according to color. For those of you who don’t live in New York, this is incorrect. The subway goes by letter here, and even though the letter-signs are different colors, well, you just don’t call them that, OK?
In fact, “I never even think of them as being colors,” I said to the Mouse. He had two beers in front of him, for some unknown reason. This often happens to him, and I’m not sure exactly why. He’d say charm, I’m sure. Never trust a Mouse. “I know the F-train is orange and the ACE is … er, blue…”
“Yeah, yeah, and the 7 is purple and fat kids like pie. Doesn’t matter. We still don’t call them by their colors.”
Fat kids like pie? I ask you.
Where was I? Jeebus. Cold medicine. Anyway, cheese. I just ate a bag of shredded cheddar, which is totally not awesome for my gut, but which had immediate positive effects on my mood, so scrrrreeew.
I’m going to go lie down now.