Vanilla Snot, or: Abre Los Sinal Passages
12 June 2007 at 2:53 pm

My fabulous weekend started off with an afternoon hike with the girls. K and D and Damien and I drove a half an hour north and hiked a few miles to some hot springs, which were both delightfully warm and disgustingly sulfury. D got a little sunburned, but not too bad, and I avoided getting any sort of sun exposure whatsoever, as is my wont. After dropping a drooping Damien off at the house and letting the Emmabear out to pee, we headed downtown for tacos and margaritas at the most disgusting bar you will ever encounter Sharkeez where E finally signed her divorce papers, D discovered that she doesn't need a girlfriend to be a whole person, and K found the love of her life who is not, as it turns out, Jxxxx.

Sunday, Aaron woke me up with coffee and waffles with fresh raspberries and whipped cream and we lazed about before taking the dogs for a walk to the park, where Emma and Damien chased each other around on the slides. Aaron had to get to work, so I spent the rest of the day planting grass in the backyard and reading in the sun. We watched The Sopranos finale, each did spittakes at the end, at first furious with our cable company, then at disgust at the producers, writers, actors, and everyone else who let that fuckup of a series finale happen, and slid into bed, perfectly satisfied with our weekend.

Well, I'm sure that's what would have happened, except I woke up Saturday with what I thought were allergies and what turned into a horrible, disgusting, snotty, coughy, full-body-pain, not-even-enough-energy-to-make-tea, yelling-at-the-dogs-to-shut-the-hell-up-through-my-coughing-fits, why-god-oh-why-me cold, and I ended up sleeping for at least 36 of the 48 hours that comprised the weekend. Fuck you, immune system.

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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.