Okay, first of all, it snowed twice this week.  I thought I lived in Texas, but apparently, we’ve switched places with Minnesota.  Snow in March in Texas?  Unheard of.  Luckily it melts by early morning so nobody has to deal with us being bigger idiots on the road than usual.  I swear, they should make it illegal to drive here unless the skies are cloud free.  We are bad drivers.  It was even worse when I lived in Houston.  It rains all the time there, and yet, whenever it rains, nobody will touch the accelerator.  It’s like they’re all stopping to gawk at the raindrop.  Like they didn’t see eleventy billion of them the day before.

Monday night, M-F and I had dinner from this Italian place close to where I live.  It was snowing, so we had it delivered.  I think it’s ironic that people order in when the weather is bad – it’s like, I don’t want to die, but I’ll let the delivery guy risk life and limb on the little one lane each way, winding, potholey blacktop farm road.  I ordered Chicken Marsala.  There’s no milk or cream sauce or anything in it that should make my lactose-intolerant self sick.  The chicken was definitely cooked through and hot when I ate it.  And yet … a little while after I ate it, I started feeling sick.  Then my forehead got all clammy.  Then I got super-quiet which only happens if I’m afraid I’ll open my mouth and instead of words, puke will come out.  Then I knew for sure I was going to puke, and I ran for the bathroom downstairs.  Oh no!  M-F was in there!!!  Shit!  So I ran up the stairs, dog following, and started throwing up in my mouth about halfway up.  I got to the guest bathroom and barely made it to the toilet to unleash the vom.  Meanwhile, Magnus was hanging his head into the toilet just checking out what I had created.  I’m like, “Magnus, no!  Don’t eat that!” and then another wave of barf would come.  A word to the wise:  Unless your mouth is full of throw-up and you cannot speak, tell your dog to wait outside the bathroom.  They just don’t need to be in there.  Anyway, when I was done, I felt freaking awesome, like better than normal.  It was the weirdest thing.  My sister randomly barfs, not me.  So once again, we have to start the non-pukeage streak over.  I swear I don’t normally throw up three times in one year.

That’s pretty much all the non-drama for the week.  Oh, we never made it to the aquarium on Tuesday.  We stayed in bed for too long and then ate at the Waffle House which is totally gross but so yummy.  I insist on calling it “Der Waffle Haus” like in “Dead Like Me”.  I miss that show, but dude, whenever they ate, it made me so hungry and I wanted their food.  When I die, I’d like to be a reaper so I can have their metabolism.  Check that – assuming that the show is right about how it works, then I’d like to be a reaper.  Otherwise, forget it.  Anyway, their coffee was surprisingly good.  It kind of makes you rethink the $4 latte.