All I want for Cinco de Mayo is the metabolism of a 10-year old

Ok, so the next holiday is Cinco de Mayo. I frankly have no idea what Cinco de Mayo is. I unfortunately associate it with a bunch of college-aged kids drinking Natty Light and Keystone.

I do know what I want for Cinco de Mayo, however. My employer brought his kids to work today, and I have watched them consume chocolate, donut holes, Goldfish crackers, cookies, and milkshakes. I was staring at this poor girl’s chocolate bar like a rabid dog. She offered me a piece (probably because Daddy’s employee looked crazy). I reached my hand out ever so slowly, contemplating my next move. I was so close. About to touch the chocolate, but yet so far away. I reached down to smell the chocolate. It was dark chocolate. The kind with a scent so pungent and so rich that you think you’re in the cacao fields, bathing in a jacuzzi of chocolate bubbles. I turned my head away, causing just the slightest breeze, which only intensified the scent.

Then I backed off, because she started crying. What gives? Anyways, the point is: for Cinco de Mayo, I want the metabolism of a 10-year old. Santa (or the Cinco de Mayo equivalent) — please come down my proverbial chimney and grant me my wish. I promise I’ll be nice this year. And I promise to not keep my promise or promises to not keep my promise if you know what I promised.

The Island

When I was in elementary school, I used to imagine a world with an Island. Many of you out there know about this island of my fantasies. No, you pervert. It was not that kind of island – an 8-year old does not think of that kind of island. I imagined an island of individuals who . . . did not live up to their intellectual capacities. I believe the lay term would be — stupid people. I recall plenty of these individuals while I was growing up. I recall thinking of pragmatic (no, I did not know what pragmatic meant) ways to make use of these individuals such that society would benefit. I realize now that such Island conflicts with my democratic ideals and may indeed be wholly antithetical to any egalitarian or normative concept of society. But hell, I was 8 years old and was annoyed by stupid people.

I recall being particularly annoyed by people and telling them, “You should be on the Island.” I would grin, likely with multiple teeth missing, and proceed on my merry way. What’s the purpose of this post, you ask? Well, if I’m referring to an Island, you’ll know what I mean.

For this, and many other reasons, I can never be President. Speaking of which, the current President should be on the Island.

Favorite Song of the Week

My favorite song this week (and last week for that matter) is Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis. She gave a bomb-diggity performance last night, didn’t she? Shout out to you know who in the audience!

Here are some select lyrics, which I took from LyricWiki:

But something happened for the very first time with you
My heart melted to the ground, found something true
And everyone’s looking ’round, thinking I’m going crazy

But I don’t care what they say
I’m in love with you
They tried to pull me away
But they don’t know the truth
My heart’s crippled by the vein that I keep on closing

You cut me open and I
Keep bleeding, keep, keep bleeding love
I keep bleeding, I keep, keep bleeding love
Keep bleeding, keep, keep bleeding love
You cut me open

Hmmmm . . . I really enjoy this song. I like the beat, I like how the music doesn’t kick in until the chorus. But looking at these words, I can deduce that Leona Lewis is abso-freakin-lutely crazy. She’s like the crazy chick in those cliche movies who sleeps with the dude on the first date and falls in love with him. Based on the lyrics, apparently her friends also think she’s crazy, as they don’t hesitate to try to pull her away from the dude who hit it and quit it.

And then, in an ultimate display of love, she tells the Barney-like character (watch How I Met Your Mother – it’s awesome) to “cut” her “open” and she will keep “bleeding love.” Wow. If I am Leona Lewis’ ex-boyfriend (or ex-Barney for that matter), I would run as far away from the UK as possible. I’d straight hide in the South American rain forests, because this girl is not joking. She will track your ass down, hand you a knife, and ask you to cut her ass open so she can bleed love for you. I’m imagining her next single to be four and a half minutes about seppuku.

I still love the song though. I’m going to sing it to the hubby to freak him out.

Pontificating on Pharmaceuticals

So as many of you know, I’m allergic to everything in DC. Inside, outside, you name it — I’m allergic to it. I try desperately to avoid these allergens (I ran away from an evil allergen-ridden girl who wanted to “sell me cookies” the other day; that evil wench). It’s now springtime in our nation’s capital, and flowers and trees are blooming. Damn, people even come to DC during the spring specifically to see the cherry blossoms and revel in the physical beauty of it all. Well, spring is beautiful, I must admit, but spring to me just means that the quarantine begins! Other people see cherry blossoms, and I see days of writhing around in bed with my eyes swollen shut, my face puffy, and all in all looking like a heroin from a Lifetime movie. On a side note, apparently the Japanese gave the US the cherry blossoms sometime in the early 1900s. Boy, did we get gypped. DC has some of the worst sushi restaurants I’ve ever been to–I think we should return the trees and get some fresh fish and chefs in return. I’ll be the first in line to chop those babies down. I digress.

So to combat the allergens, I’ve been prescribed a cocktail of drugs from my awesome doctor, who I believe thinks of me as some kind of experiment–a bipedal hamster, if you will. I took my prescriptions and headed happily to my nearest pharmacy, beaming from ear to ear. Then, I see the price. $84 and $46 — for ONE month. Dude. I damn near vomited on the poor man. I’m sure his little scanner gun would have needed some serious TLC if I puked my guts out right there and then (did I have corn yesterday? . . . ). Now, $130 a month (and this is not even taking into consideration my other $84/month med that I refuse to use because it’s so damn cost-prohibitive)–let me just take a moment to ask how the hell some people can afford medication and health care? I mean, according to my doc, I should actually be taking in over $200/month (yes, this is after insurance) in medication. That’s a ridonkulous amount of money to spend on drugs.

The pharmaceutical industry really is making out like bandits here. Now, on the one hand, by allowing the industry to make a crapload of money, we are encouraging research and development and all that jazz. But on the other hand, it seems like the R&D will only benefit those who can actually afford such scientific advancements, as opposed to much of America, who probably do not have the luxury of forking over hundreds of dollars every month for some drugs. Sigh. This is a deeper issue than I have time or the inclination to deal with. I will say this though. Every time I see that Nasonex Bumble Bee (who sounds like Antonio Banderas – is it?), I will curse at him. I will tell him that although I love him and wish he would fly around my apartment and clear my life of allergens, I will always wonder why he is milking me dry. Nasonex Bee – you suck.

On a side note – Little David Archuleta is safe!!!! Yay!!!!!!!