Friday night drinks.

I’m a hypochondriac. The Internet diagnosed me with whooping cough, so I asked Adam to pick up cough syrup for my "Friday night drinks" on his way home from work.

Adam tried to save money by getting the cheap cough syrup at the supermarket, but I wanted the expensive cough syrup from the pharmacy. The cough syrup you need to show your ID to get because it has drugs in it. (Not the placebo for two-year-olds.) I was disappointed. It was like getting oregano when you try to buy pot. Adam was all tough love. He said if I want drugs, I need to drive to the pharmacy and get them myself. Thanks, Adam.

I probably just have a man cold. All I want to do is lie on the couch and watch stupid TV. Like, tonight I watched The Bachelor. Adam ruined it because he was gagging, and I kind of lost it. By this, I mean I stomped off to the kitchen, and I started throwing dinner dishes in the sink. It was very satisfying until I broke my favourite bowl. Then I cried as I wrapped the broken pieces in newspaper and threw them in the rubbish bin. Outside by the bin, I fell on the ground, sobbing, and kicking my feet. I wanted the mind-numbing hit that only The Bachelor can provide. I wanted a new drug. (I would have embedded this video from YouTube, if I had been allowed. Boo!)

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Edited to add. I just found out I can watch The Bachelor on TVNZ's OnDemand, but I have lost interest. Now that I can get it on the Internet, the street value of The Bachelor has gone down.
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Edited again to add. The street value of The City and The Hills is still high.

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Edited again to add. If I ever get over this whooping cough, I'm going to buy a new bowl.
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Edited again to add. What exactly is in that cough syrup for two-year-olds?
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Edited again to add. I think I'll drink some more cough syrup and watch The Bachelor.

My big night out.

It was a rainy Saturday night. The playcentre was having a fundraiser at the hall in the village. I had a slight cold, but I still felt like I should go. And maybe it would give me something to write about on my blog.

"I thought you were sick," said Adam.

It was too late to get a sitter. When I left the house, Adam was lying on the couch by the fire, sensibly nursing his cold, and watching a movie. Did I really want to go out? I asked myself.

I drove carefully through the rain and parked my car near the hall. At the door, I said hello to A., who was standing outside with a group of people.

I looked inside the hall. Tables were arranged in intimate groups in front of the stage. Everyone was dressed up. I felt like I had stumbled into a private dinner party in my gum boots. Showing up alone on a Saturday night seemed like a faux pas. I should be here with someone, I thought. H. said hello, and I saw V. and T. get up from their tables.

I had a panic attack. This village is too small and insular. I wish I could be anonymous.

I fled to my car. I got in and sat stupidly in the dark, listening to the rain falling on the roof of the car. I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. I should go back, I thought. I’m already here.

Through the passenger window, I watched the people standing outside the hall in the yellow glow of a street light. The eave of the hall sheltered them from the rain.

I imagined asking Twitter for help. No, I couldn’t tweet about this. Hiding in my car was too pathetic. I checked the time on my phone. It was 10pm. I didn't want to miss the Nablopomo deadline. I had two hours to publish a post on my blog.

I drove back home.

"That was quick," said Adam.

“Have you ever been afraid to go to a pub or a party?” I asked.

“No, I just work through it,” Adam replied.

"Hmph," I said.

My vagina and I hate thrush.

This is not a sexy post. If you are a man, you might not want to read this. Go ahead and click away.

You see, I am just now getting over The Worst Yeast Infection Ever. (American for thrush.)

I never used to get yeast infections. But when I fell pregnant, my vagina and I were invaded by thrush. And since the child was born, once or twice a year, my vagina and I have been plagued by that uninvited guest. Thrush.

I know I don’t eat enough yoghurt. Don’t judge me. My new year’s resolution is to take acidophilus tablets. This is great. Until now, I didn’t even have a new year’s resolution.

So I’m going to take acidophilus tablets. And not just for a week or two, like before. Because my vagina and I don't want to go through this again. Ladies, I took to my bed. And not in a sexy way. I did not have a man cold.

While I was lying in bed, airing out my vagina, I did what any of us would do. I consulted the internet:

Most yeast infections are treatable and result in minimal complications such as redness, itching and discomfort.

Minimal? Obviously, the person who wrote this web MD crap is a man. Itching that makes me want to rip off my labia is not minimal. Discomfort that makes it impossible to walk around (without moaning in agony) is called pain.

My mother used to tell me I have a low pain threshold. (I do.) But my mother could be a Scientologist. All I have ever done is push a child out of my vagina, without drugs. And so what if (after 40 hours of labour) I really wanted the drugs? It was too late. Anyway, I found out my pain threshold is much higher than my mother thought. Or I am stupid for not demanding drugs sooner.

I digress. My point is, a yeast infection is not a man cold. If men had vaginas, their yeast infections would require painkillers, and a possible hospital stay. They would not need to insert messy gloop into their vaginas, and then just get on with things. And they wouldn’t bother with homeopathic remedies that might (or might not) work. In a month.

Like this homeopathic solution that the Internet recommended:

Apply yoghurt to the areas affected by the irritation.

Let's get real. I guess I should be thankful I can buy a thrush remedy over the counter. My vagina and I are now basking in almost yeast-free comfort.

P.S. Look out for my upcoming posts: Men and Menstruation—If Men Had Periods, and More Men Should Wear Bras.

My computer was born again. Hurray!

After nearly killing my computer, I’m still feeling quite tender about it. I want to give it big cuddles and lots of kisses. I’m so glad you’re okay, baby! I love you!

I really don’t know what I did. It might have had something to do with the router. Which stopped seeing my IP address. When my ISP (hi TelstraClear) was having, um, some issues.

Side note, if you are on Twitter. You can get a quick response from a large company, if you just tweet a rant at them.

Oops. Sorry, Comms Chris (the guy behind @telstraclearnz). But you probably get this a lot. If only Twitter had never been invented.

Besides, the problem was probably a Microsoft update. I thought I had been shutting down my computer. With the (stupid) Vista Shutdown button. It looks like a shutdown button.

But it's not. Hopefully, if you use Vista, you are smarter than me, and you have changed the setting. Otherwise, if you click on this, you are just putting your computer to sleep.

And, while I am on the subject of stupid, um, Microsoft? Why does System Restore never work for me?

Maybe I should just tweet this. Never mind.

For the moment, I am tethered to my desk. I am weary after updates and installations. But I am grateful and relieved that my computer is up and running. And I still have my personal files. It’s even kind of nice my computer has been wiped clean.

I don’t feel brave enough to sort out the router just yet, but I do miss being wireless. I hope, in time, I will find the courage to try again. Fingers crossed.

Something’s gotta give.

Yesterday the weather was beautiful, but I was in a foul mood.

The child's demands are incessant. He just won't let me play on the computer all day.

And he doesn’t want to get dropped off at playcentre. So playcentre is annoying me too.

The husband has a terrible man cold*.

I'm dying for some ALONE TIME.

At some place other than the supermarket. Some place with a broadband connection.


*Thanks to the Bloggess for sharing this very funny link.

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Edited to add. My husband finally read my blog, and he pointed out that this post was a little misleading. He didn't lie on the couch with his man cold. He soldiered on. As we parents do. Yeah, remember the days before children, when we could camp out on the couch with a cold, and just watch telly? Oh, the memories. My point is that men are so very pathetic when they have a cold. Sorry, it's sad.

I need a new cafe.

This week there were major renovations going on at our house, and I was forced to escape to the cafe in the village.

The cafe is under new management and I think they’re still moving in. There were boxes stacked up in the old fish pond.

There was a strange light standing by the pastry cases. It looked like a garage sale find. And there's no longer a place to plug in your phone or your laptop.

My scone was a bit off. I felt like I had stumbled into a stranger’s lounge. But maybe I’m expecting too much. I never felt that welcome at the old cafe either.

Who puts in new windows in the rain? We do.