the lagomorph fights back

Remember that big chorizo burrito a couple of days ago?

I sure do. Because either it, or perhaps the pizza I had later that night (I know, I know, don't say it) has put up one hell of a fight, and I've been in some serious gastrointestinal distress for two days now. Fortunately I was able to get LabRat to teach my class yesterday. I didn't think being on the mat was the best idea, the shape I was in. I've been eating very sparingly--mostly apples, and the chocolates Almeida gave me for my birthday, and swearing that I will never touch meat again.

We'll see how long that lasts.

I keep meaning to mention this woman I saw on BART. Tall, reasonably well-groomed, but the most frightening toenails visible from under the skinny straps of her shoes. I mean, they were neatly polished (mauve), but they were long, long enough to seriously threaten the structural integrity of her pantyhose. I was fascinated and grossed out at the same time. All I could think about was how afraid I would be to be in bed with those long toenails. I couldn't stop staring at them.

The other excitement, and the reason I'm loath to go home, is that Mama Bear has lived up to her name and threatened to strike me if I speak to her child again. The background: Big Howler is feverish, and spent the night screaming. The whole night. I would have more sympathy (and I do have some, mind) except that Mama Bear has apparently taught her children that screaming is a more acceptable way of getting someone's attention that getting up off your little ass and walking down the hall and knocking on a door. I mean, they scream all the freaking time, sick, healthy, asleep, awake. And I have it on good authority that all children do not scream; this is not necessarily a given. So anyway, we were all up last night--Big Howler screaming, Mama Bear yelling at her to stop screaming, Ohayoo and his out-of-town guest listening to jazz and speaking loudly in Japanese, and yours truly, desperately trying to get an article done to catch the early holiday deadline and occasionally making a mad dash to the washroom.

So this morning, a friend of Mama Bear's came over to take Little Howler out to the park, but it seems they couldn't find it or something, and they came back almost immediately. And I got to listen to the discussion, right outside my door, about whether there's a park on that corner or not, and Little Howler decided to start, well, howling, that she didn't want to go to that park. And I couldn't stand it any more. So I opened my door, and asked Little Howler if she could scale it down just a little for a few minutes, while I finished my work. Which was when Mama Bear threatened to smack me. "I'm talking to my friend!" she said. Well, yes, I fucking KNOW that, how can I miss it, happening at full volume outside my door? I mean, my tone with Little Howler may not have been as sweet as it might (I tend to talk to children as if they are adults, and usually it works) have been and I do feel bad for Mama Bear, who isn't well either, but come on. Smack me? I'd like to see her try. Although she outweighs me by sixty pounds, I could take her, easy. And her skinny boyfriend, while I'm at it.

I am so glad that I'm moving out of there.

Things that just sound odd: Johnny Cash singing "playing Jesus to the lepers in your head."

I still haven't heard about Brazil, and it's two days after the foundation's deadline. I assume this means they chose someone else and I'm not going, but it would be nice to hear it from them.