It was hot as balls last night. I ripped all the covers off, and slept on my stomach, my thong-clad ass mooning the moon. It worries me, this idea of sleeping nakedish. Our care-provider Norma arrives each weekday morning at 7am. She opens my bedroom door and adds a gate to keep the sprouts out, so I can sleep in. And my fear is that one day she’ll crack open my door and get a flash of crack– no way to start her day. I mean, really.
And this morning, my day didn’t start out very well. I have some interesting items on my bedside table. It does, after all, define who you are. Among the telling details of my life were my iPhone and a tall glass of sugar-free iced tea (okay, really, it was wine). It was hot enough last night that my vino was "perspiring." Condensation on the glass formed a puddle, which made its way into my iPhone. Well, that gigabites.
So today, I’m off to purchase a new G3 iPhone, despite the fact that I was told today that I should first try to open the sucker up and shove it in a bag of rice. "The rice will dry it up, and then your phone will work again." This reminds me of the advice my mother once gave me for stopping charlie horse cramps in my feet. "Put a bar of soap under the sheets." Oh how I love the lure of homeopathic remedies. My question is this: how the hell do people discover such remedies? Who wakes up one day and decides a bar of soap belongs in the bed? That mayonaise should be applied to their hair, honey to their dry acne face? I get that a plucked chicken accidentaly fell into a pot of boiling water, and chicken soup was discovered. But how they discovered that boiling a few cumin seeds and giving it to an infant stops gas… well, it’s beyond me.