Sexless in the City

Sometimes reading romance novels doesn’t quite prepare you for a love life...

For this 30-year-old urbanite, love is always a misadventure: The Harvard Lickwit, Hippie the Groper, the 5% Man, and the Ad Weasel. These and many other men wander in and out of her life — but never her bed.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

9-and-a-half days

That’s how many cold doses you see at left. You see, dahlings, while I’m sooooooo sorry about the terrible state of my blogging lately, this cold is really kicking my ass. In fact, as of today it’s been confirmed that I have:
  • a “treatable ear infection”
  • completely lost my sense of smell, if not a great deal of taste as well
How did I learn all this? Well, this afternoon I finally saw a real doctor although, this being a friend of mine willing to squeeze me in after her patients, the MD in question is actually a pediatrician. But she had a stethoscope and prescription-writing powers; that was all I cared.

As it turns out, the latter qualification proved unnecessary. Cost of that cold cure for the impatient, the wonderful Z-pac, runs $55-$65 without insurance! In that I’ve only temped one day this week, not exactly in the budget. So, newly-sainted-friend-who-is-a-doc hooked me up with samples of an antibiotic containing the all-important amoxycillin I need to kick the cold, the ear infection and my constantly-on-the-verge-of-exploding stuffed head. (Seriously. I feel like I could be a live taxidermy exhibit.) Of course, because the samples are formulated to kids, it took 15 boxes to give me enough for the 10-day dose. Morning and evening, I’m to mix up and drink a bottle and half of the stuff (each box has two bottles). Craziness.

At least it tastes better than my milk. But I didn’t initially know it was the milk, of course. This morning, feeling slightly better than I have in a while, I decided to celebrate with that morning-standby latte I like to make. So I made one, rejoicing to see the bottom of the can of what has to be some of the worst coffee I’ve ever drunk. But it was cheap ... and I bought it ... so of course I’m using it up.

Because throwing in some cloves the other day seemed to improve the taste of the latte, overcoming the can-coffee’s repulsive bitterness (way worse than usual, for you coffee-haters), I decided to add some nutmeg.

When I sit down to drink the latte, I notice it tastes a little odd. But the coffee’s always made crap lattes anyway, so I chalk it up to some strangely unanticipated consequence of combining the bad coffee with too much nutmeg. Could be a weird chemical reaction, right?

Well, I actually drink almost half the latte, but finally lose interest in it. Much later in the day, I sit down to a pseudo dinner: trying a bowl of the oat bran flakes I mistakenly ordered in this afternoon’s Fresh Direct delivery (I really wanted plain oat bran so I could make my own granola). I get out the same gallon of milk from the fridge, noting that the sell-by date is Mar. 5, Mar. 4 for NYC. And I still have so much to use up! I think to myself. Pour the milk over the flakes.

But when I finally sit down to eat ’em a few minutes later, I notice a weird taste. And there is clearly no side effect of either cold, kiddie meds or feels-like-overstuffed-pinata head that can explain this. Although the cold does explain how my poor, pathetic, and much-abused nose could miss the sour smell of the milk.

And that should be good milk, people. Two days before the sell-by date, and it’s bad! I am so taking it back to the grocer tomorrow: “I want my three dollars!”

Because, you know, that’s a paper-cup latte to replace the one I was robbed of, right there.

Anyway, that’s today’s blog. Clearly it has nothing to do with sex. But really, not even Monica got laid when she was sick, did she? I think she almost persuaded Chandler ... but then something happened. I’m sure of it.