It niggles

Of late, I have discovered that I have no good insult for someone who's being wilfully nasty or stupid on purpose or just generally getting in the way for no good reason. I'm looking for a word that's profane, but not too profane, like something you could use in front of your parents if they're just slightly understanding but which you would never dream of saying to your grandmother, and which is also (for preference) not in common usage.

Strangely, this really feels like something that I knew and used at one point but which I have forgotten in the past few weeks, which let me tell you is an extremely weird feeling, sort of like when you're wandering around the house wondering what it is you were about to do and trying to remember but really having NO IDEA if there even WAS anything or if you just think there was. Or like when you're packing to go away for the weekend, so anything you forget isn't too important, but you still feel like you forgot something and even if it's not important it's niggling at you. Niggling, I say.

Can anyone help me?

Dr Appt

My doctors' appointments lately have been spawning. I came out of the last one with three or four more to make (and, incidentally, an arm that swelled up to one-and-a-half times its normal size and wasn't usable for two weeks. Kids, just say no to pneumonia vaccines).

So last I checked I had three appointments on Monday- one at the podiatrist (I'm excited. I've never been to a podiatrist before!) and two at a lung doctor (exercise-induced asthma! More fun! Actually I'm happy about this one, because yesterday or the day before I realized that I never run anywhere anymore because if I do I CANNOT BREATHE. And now I have medicine. Which is better). When I got the appointment reminder call this morning they only reminded me about two of the putative three appointments. So I said, Wait, weren't there supposed to be three? And the guy said, Yeah, the third one was cancelled. And I said, Huh? Did I cancel it in my sleep or something? And he said, We'll have to reschedule it, there's been an unexpected death. And I said, Huh? And he said, Dr Mdlikhbvoi passed away unexpectedly. And I said, Oh, shoot, I'm so sorry.

I told this story to Susanna. She thought I was joking. Just goes to show.

Italian food

Jay has found the World's Best Italian Restaurant. You have to come visit so that I can take you there.

Today I had the best risotto I have ever eaten. The chef walked by our table and I practically fell on his feet raving. He smiled shyly and said thank you.

Susanna on the phone (her birthday was in September)

"...Look, I'm 20, not 15... No, no, actually, I did, like half a year ago, in fact..."

Feet

I was sitting with my feet tucked behind the legs of my chair just now, and I happened to glance down and catch sight of them.

Oh my GOD was the underside of my heel BLACK. It looked as though I'd spent the whole day running around barefoot on new asphalt. That wouldn't normally be a cause for concern, as running around barefoot on asphalt is something I do with a fair degree of frequency, but today I was busy and it was cold and I'd worn shoes and socks for the whole day. It was so cold, in fact, that I hadn't even taken off my socks when I got home... Wait a minute.

On closer examination, the abnormal coloration of my feet proved to be caused by the dark green socks I was wearing.

Even horrible inconsiderate people need to be loved

A minute ago, a car drove into the parking lot next to our apartment with its stereo blaring and stopped right next to Susanna's window. She looked over, listened for a minute, and then yelled (softly) "You're cool, man!" I started laughing, and she looked over, shrugged, and said, "I thought he might need the reassurance."

Oh, the pain

How Best To Not Study For a Midterm:

The night before your midterm, around 9.30, hear a tortured-sounding phone conversation downstairs in the laundromat. Investigate.

Discover a chubby 19-year-old boy with two days' beard and a flannel jacket sobbing on the phone to someone. Hide behind the washing machines until the pain in his voice becomes too much to bear. Rush over and give him a hug.

At this point he will hang up on his mother, invite you to sit down on the bench next to him, and proceed to tell you why he's sobbing. It is a long story.

Invite him up to your couch, where his story will continue with an account of how he caught five butterflies and stored them in a cup so that he could wake his belovèd with a room full of butterflies on Valentine's Day.

Kick him out around 10.30 so that you can study for aforementioned midterm. Spend the next forty-five minutes rehashing the conversation with your roommate. Write blog post.

I'm not supposed to invite strange men up to our apartment anymore.

Rain. Wait, sun. No, rain. Wait...

The weather has been gloriously schizophrenic here lately. I have, of course, been taunting my friends on the East Coast and in Europe with the fact that it's been 70 and sunny (I went for a swim in the ocean on Friday. It was wonderful), but it's also been pouring rain. Today, for example, when I woke up the sky was blue and there were happy puffy white clouds, but when I finally got out of the house around 11.45 the mountains were shrouded in ominous-looking grey clouds and now it looks like it's going to rain any minute. This has happened at least twice in the past few days.

Really, this is ideal. It's warm often enough that I can do happy outside-y swimming-in-the-ocean type things, but then when I've gotten tired of that I get to curl up inside with a blanket and a cup of tea and watch it rain. Also, things dry out enough between each storm that we get the fresh-rain smell EVERY TIME. It's awfully nice here.