i'm working on a cure for cancer

I finally started writing this week, after doing some research for The Other Thing. Unlike research for The Thing (which typically involved watching Miami Vice reruns, reading recaps of 1980s Guiding Light episodes, and downloading Joan Jett songs), research for The Other Thing was actually work, nowhere near as fun as drooling over Sonny Crockett in his pastel teeshirts and blazers or dancing in my office to "I Love Rock 'n' Roll." But I persevered.

What I may not recover from is breaking one of my beautiful little cups, which I brought with me across the country only to drop on the floor of the convent. Now I'm drinking my shake weed tea from this silly teacup, probably confirming to the British residents that I am indeed a spastic Anglophile.

drinking your vegetables

One day awhile back, Chris brought home a can of V8 juice, poured himself a glass with dinner, and said he was drinking his vegetables. He's continued to drink his vegetables since that inspired evening, usually in the form of V8 or expensive carrot juice. But he's recently taken it up (or possibly down) a level.

He returned from a green trade show a couple weeks ago bearing a bottle of something called "Mighty Greens: Superfood Blend." It's a disgusting-smelling and -looking powder that he mixes with water to make an absolutely wretched drink, which he downs very, very quickly.

I tried to take pictures while he prepared and drank his vegetables, but there is no time for posing when you're drinking your greens, because the powder doesn't actually dissolve in the water, it just disperses, and as soon as you stop stirring it begins to sink to the bottom of the glass. If it were me I'd just snort the stuff (actually, if it were me, I'd just eat some broccoli), but Chris scooped the disgusting green powder into the water, stirred crazily for a minute, and then started chugging a pint glass full of army-green bile.


Halfway through the drink he paused, looked in the glass, and noted that there was a lot more powder at the bottom than the top. "This," he said, "is where it gets gross," and went back to chugging.


Uh, I think he shoulda had a V8.

i miss my husband terribly when he is away

I really, really do. But one must keep a stiff upper lip. One might seek some meager comfort in watching episodes of one's favorite guilty-pleasure television show, Gossip Girl, bought with one's absent husband's iTunes account, while drinking red wine and eating a soft-boiled egg served atop a bed of wilted garlicky arugula with toast to sop up the savory, yolky juices. That last part would make one's husband gag, and one's husband finds Gossip Girl trite and sophomoric (but in the season I'm watching, they're seniors!). When he gets home, one will greet him with a glass of red wine and kiss him with one's stiff upper lip.