I got sent home sick from work last week with a fever.
It was nice because chef put oats in my hood. Whatever. Then the prep guy pulled my hood over my head and oats went everywhere. Like, pants, underoos, shirt. Gross. I ran outside followed by this oat trail hoping that no one would see me pulling at my shirt like a loon. I really do love my job.
I was convinced that I was on the verge of death, and the walk in section of Boulder Medical Center was NOT helpful, so I went to the doctor in Denver.
I was all, here are my problems. There are three separate ones that concern me.
She was all, you don't have an ear infection. This other thing is normal. And we already tested for that twice. I don't know what to tell you about your dizziness, cold hands and feet, and other symptoms.
You should probably stop listening to ABBA radio on Pandora.
I spent the next two hours feeling sorry for myself until I was told to stop being a baby.
So I walked my sister to work in the hood and she sent me into the cold with a harsh, "This is the part where you need to go." I was only telling her that if she's gonna do that diamondy drizzle thing with the chocolate, she best do the entire thing instead of all one direction and only one line in the other direction.
She was mad because the dog bit her face. "Snapped," per se, because she was holding his snout because he wouldn't stop barking at the people outside. Jethro is racist because he's from a different part of the country. Not really, no one be offended. He got in trouble, so he got all sad like me and sat between her legs while she dressed her wound. He bit me... snapped... the next day so my mom called the dog whisperer.
And took us to Steuben's in Denver. They DEEP FRY their Monte Christo. That is a french toast sammich with turkey, ham, swiss, and jelly.
Somewhere between learning that I walk like a football player and telling my mom that when I'm bored I look up STDs and hipster jokes, my sister turned to my dad and asked if I knew that I was wearing designer glasses. Ha. As if.
I thought burberry was sort-of designer. Like DKNY or something. If I'd known we were doing this posh thing, Prada would have been my obvious choice. So.... I sort of knew? That was for your entertainment. Don't tell anyone.
And that is why it is time for next semester to start.
Here's a new year's salad for all you healthy healthies. I modified the recipe from an article in Westword from the lovely people that own Marczyk's.
Dressing: gross-nasty plain Greek yogurt that you're teaching yourself to enjoy + apricot jam + apple cider vinegar. Don't overdo any of those things. Your salad will taste like a california roll without all those sinful things like rice and fish. Sarcasm, Lauren.
Calling that a recipe is stupid. It's more like... a list. Or A supply list. Salad is salad, unLESS it has octopus and some other things in it, like at Fruition where I went on a date the other night. No big deal or anything.