Um, sorry about giving you all strep.

Okay, everyone, take a big step away from the Blog.  I am infected.
Kevin finally was like “Gail.  Please go to the doctor.  You aren’t supposed to cry when you swallow”.  So, I called my medical group and described my symptoms:

1. Very sore throat, starting Saturday night, but getting really bad in the past few days.
2. Stomped around like a baby because Dave instead of Tiffani got knifed on Top Chef.
3. Kevin said I felt “hot”, and not in a good, sexysexy kind of way.
4. I fell asleep during Seconds From Disaster, one of my all time favorite series.  It was the one about the Kobe earthquake.
5. My right ear hurt.
6. I started thinking that taking left over codeine from last year would be a rational way to control sore throat pain.
7. I was actually willing to call the annoying medical group with their 29 million options on the phone, all of which lead to the SAME PERSON.
8. I left the house with my hair in a ponytail.

They happily set me up for an appointment 15 minutes later.   I get there, and first they take my temperature - normal, although I had advil in me.  (Kevin doesn’t think advil is a fever reducer.  Why then do I stop getting all hot when I take it, hrm? :))  Then they do my blood pressure, which is normal.  Which is actually a sign of something Not Right, because I usually get so anxious in doctors offices that I get to hear the “You know, you should think about your blood pressure…” lecture, no matter how many times I tell them that in the comfort of my own home, its like 117/whatever.

The doctor comes in, and looks in my ears.  He asks if they hurt.  I say, why yes, the right one.  He goes “That’s odd, because its your left ear that’s totally infected.”

Then, we do the thing I hate.  He tries using a tongue depresser, and I attempt to not puke on him.   Damn gag reflex.  Anyways, he gets enough of a look at my throat to visibly recoil.   And yes, I had brushed my teeth and put on deoderant.  Geez.   He recoiled much like those acrobats did when they had to taste Tiffani’s crab and blueberry dish.  Um, ew?  Dave wuz ROBBED.  Harold, though - so HOTT.
So, he gives me a week’s worth of antibiotics, a prescription for a week of Allegra D or whatever, and says I’ll probably feel better soon.  And that I shouldn’t feel too bad about infecting half of the Chicagoland Area with my stubborn “I’m not sick, dammit” thing I had going on.

Oh, speaking of Top Chef and how we hate Tiffani (even if she is a redhead, because there’s a big difference between being strong and owning the Bitch label, and just being really mean and rude), Violet the Rabbit/Monkey turned to the drink.  I found her passed out.

Poor Violet.  Maybe I should send her to Aimee The Sis immediately.  Aimee, are you set up for detox?

Oh, and folks waiting desperately for a podcast - I promise there will be one this weekend.  I’d do one, but you don’t want to hear me talk right now.  Really.