sicky sick christmas

Yesterday I felt fat, but today I weighed myself and I'm the same as a couple weeks ago. That seemed strange, considering how much I ate on the 25th and 26th, until I remembered that on the 23rd and 24th I had hardly a bite to eat, and on the days I was binging I was also losing about a pound of snot per hour. Ah, sick Christmas. Elvis shoulda written a song.

I got a truly extravagant gift this year - tickets to Budapest in the spring, from Conrad, whose stock is also high at present because of excellent caretaking during my holiday weekend sickfest ("Sex is a cure for coughing!," etc.).

It could have been a merrier weekend, if I hadn't been feverish and miserably clogged up in the head, but otherwise it could not have been more contented. I pretended like I lived at Conrad's apartment, and we didn't leave it the entire time (not that I could have anyway, without collapsing into a miserable pile of snot).

On Christmas day we had a feast of roast duckling with sausage and apple stuffing, brussels sprouts roasted with pancetta, and scalloped potatoes with goat cheese and herbes de provence - all of which I could even taste! And we watched the first two Godfather movies, neither of which I'd seen before and both of which I liked (more the first though). What happened to Godfather Pacino? I like that Pacino. I guess Devil's Advocate Pacino sneered him to death.

Anyway, that was my Christmas - mob movies and lots of snot. Somehow it still managed to be one of the best weekends ever.