Super Sabado: do Klingons get the flu?

Thanks to the excellent pharmaceuticals available over the counter I barely remember writing anything in February.

In fact, in looking back at all the entries made in February I can only wonder who is the woman who figured out my password and why the heck she thinks she can tell tourists where to go in La Jolla.

Well, that usurper can just move on out because I’m BACK. I can breathe. I still sound like a Klingon but hey! That just adds a little mystery to my marital relationship.

BONNIE: (on phone) Hello, Honey.

HUBBY: I don’t know who this is but please, go ahead and tell me what you’re wearing.

Yes, well, I may be back in the blogging saddle but I warn you: there’s a big old target painted right on my forehead. This is because in addition to my chronic respiratory problems, Tiger and Squirt keep tag-teaming me with their own viral variations. Why, I just spent the last 72 hours in close proximity to Squirt, who had the mother of all flus and tried his hardest to share it with me.

SQUIRT: (moaning) I’m hot! My legs hurt! And, um, what is that?

BONNIE: It’s a twelve-foot pole. Your Advil is balanced on the end of it, see? Careful you don’t knock them off.

Okay, so I exaggerated. It wasn’t a twelve-foot pole, it was a yardstick. And I only used a yardstick because it’s nearly impossible to balance ibuprofen caplets on a pole.

And if any of you think I’m heartless, I’ll have you know I cleaned up the vomit, I changed the sweat-soaked sheets, I kept reloading the washing machine, I ran up and down the stairs with Advil and water and applesauce, and I did it at midnight, 2 am, 4 am, 6 am, ad nauseum throughout the 48 hours of viral intensity WITHOUT COMPLAINT because that’s what we women do when our loved ones are setting records in Projectile Vomiting. WE SERVE. Without complaint.

And yesterday morning, when Squirt’s fever finally broke and I breathed a sigh of relief, something strange happened:

HUBBY: I’m off to work. (puckers up)

BONNIE: You want a kiss? You haven’t wanted a kiss from me in a whole month!

HUBBY: Yeah, well…

BONNIE: (backs away) You’re coming down with something, aren’t you?!?

My instincts were spot on, too. After infecting everyone at work Hubby came home early yesterday afternoon feeling pretty rummy. So far it looks like he’s got the Extreme Sore Throat, Aches and Mild Fever bug Tiger brought home, instead of the High Fever, Severe Aches and Puke Your Guts Out bug that Squirt had. Good for him.

With my luck, I’ll get both at the same time—unless I take super duper precautionary measures. So if you’re thinking of visiting us in the old Wren Casa any time soon, I’ll be the Klingon in the Ladies size XL Haz Mat suit, passing out yardsticks.

Today’s Super Sábado is brought to you by the middle of the flu season, although some of you seem to be immune.


I’m thinking, so what? Is it like frequent flyer miles? The more appointments I have the better appointment I can get? If I had seen the doctor last month I would be in like Flynn but since I haven’t been there since 2005, well, that’s a whole nother thing. Apparently I am no longer on the A list.

We wouldn’t be calling Molly, right now, as she’s about to one-on-one with a pushy medical receptionist.


Reddy #2 died. Full disclosure to Lily, who flushed him herself and agreed to adopt Sam’s dramatic looking swordtail, which he agreed to if he was allowed to help name it. So, Lightening, who’s been alive in the tank for nearly a week now, becomes Lily’s special fish. He’ll probably be belly-up tomorrow.

KJ‘s fish have been going through a fishy version of the Get White Spots and Die virus.


“It’s pretty tricky, Mom!” she says.

Michelle‘s little girl demonstrates ice skating in an outdoor rink in Anchorage (check out the cute video and observe how soft landings can be in Alaska!)

All we can say is the Zamboni guy hasn’t been doing his job there, Scribbit.


I can now cross it off my list of things to do in my life. “Eat at the Mayor’s house,” check! Wonder what Governor Crist is doing this weekend, hehehe…

Laurel Wreath puts Governor Charlie on notice.


Reddy #2 died. Full disclosure to Lily, who flushed him herself and agreed to adopt Sam’s dramatic looking swordtail, which he agreed to if he was allowed to help name it. So, Lightening, who’s been alive in the tank for nearly a week now, becomes Lily’s special fish. He’ll probably be belly-up tomorrow.

KJ‘s fish have been going through their own little epidemic, thanks to the Get White Spots and Die virus. Or is it a fungus?


I think I’ll scream if I run across another piece of Internet writing with the phrase “comprised of.” Trying to sound erudite and sophisticated? Chic? Well-educated? Then learn the difference between “compose” and “comprise” and how to use each verb properly.

Whew! A quickie search through our blog revealed that— YES! Georganna is NOT talking about us! Yaaay!


I came home, though, the other day to see that hairy had apparently been in the closet. He’d apparently taken a liking to one of my sundresses and decided to try it on, take it for a spin. I think it suits him quite well.

Hairy the Roomba comes out of the closet. (Borzoi are not amused.)


Mind you that Baby Charlotte was maybe 5 weeks old (and only 1 week or so past her due date) and weighed in at 7 pounds, max, when she blew that poop the length of her changing table. From my forensic analysis of the dribblings, her launch had scarcely started a downward trajectory when it hit the wall. Charlotte has won my heart.

Vaguely Urban shows off some of her friends’ baby pictures and okay—so now we know she’s probably a little hard to buy art for.


There are hairs. In…places. Can’t tell you… Why must it be this way? Isn’t aging cruel enough? I was supposed to find Buddha by now, not my inner Yeti.

It sucks to get old—er. OldER. In the meantime, Robin we must learn the way of the Zen Tweezers.


Um, yes…It is rather dark in here, isn’t it. I thought the candles would set an intimate and relaxing tone for our get together. (Translation: I’ve been sick all week, so the house is dirty and I don’t want you to see the dust!)

Groovy is a GENIUS. Candles. We need LOTS OF CANDLES.


I found Elvis under the dog beds. Or maybe it was a new tribe of mutant dust bunnies looking for fresh ankles.

Candles, Kristen, CANDLES.


One pile is for mileage, another is medical, still another for supplies. Income, outgo, it’s all fun for him. It’s that one special time of year when his finely-tuned organizational skills are put to the test.

The Tax Man approacheth, and the husband of our local whine judge (Ms. Karen) is happily making all sorts of paper stacks around his easy chair.


We were in the emergency room this morning and the whole day felt like a poem to me …a long surreal poem writing itself in my head.

Nothing feels quite as lonely as this.

Everybody send good vibes at Dink and her man, who are going through a tough patch right now.


So, as I said, here I am, happy that I have a new pup to play with. I don’t quite understand her name yet, sometimes it sounds like Germie, but then I think her name is “Not On The Carpet!” Mommy and Daddy are confusing, because sometimes they forget and call me that too.

Older bro Dodger tries to figure things out in the Desperate Writer household. NEW PUPPY ALERT.


Here are some of the ideas I came up with:
-Gone With the Wind and Gas-X
-American Psycho and Prozac
-The Red Tent and Tampax Tampons
-Grapes of Wrath and California Raisins
-The Odyssey and Trojan Condoms

Jaye tries her hand at product tie-ins with famous books. And we say… um…


Since about 8.30 last night, I’ve been in what my friend Lee would call the “aftermath of the aftermath” stage and by 10 pm I’d decided that all I was fit for was sitting down with something seriously alcoholic – so I did.

Welshcakes recovers from her two-day cooking marathon. (And what we would’ve given to have been in town for that feast, too!)


I thought maybe drinking would help my mood, but after today I know that I should have drank the other bottle and a half because obviously i’m still irritable and stressed.

Okay, so maybe what worked for Welshcakes doesn’t work for an overstressed Squirrel. Here’s a hug instead!


(4) Pirates of the Cerebellum – sail around the sucker, by writing something in an entirely different genre. Or your memoirs. Or letters to the op/ed page.

Bernita lists strategies to beat writer’s block, and perhaps discovers the number one reason there are so many bloggers out there.


I’m declaring today “National Check Your Blinker Day.”

Honey decides it’s time for a holiday that is useful, as well as ornamental. (Heh, Mom! Let’s see if you catch this one!)


The big news at Chez Susan is that, after many hours of discussion, we now have a lethal weapon in our home. This is not a bulldog joke.

Thank you, Susan, for reminding us that there are more lethal things in this world than anything that can come out of a bulldog.


I actually posted this yesterday but here’s some breaking news…LOL…not 15 minutes after I posted this post, part of the content showed up Over Here!!! LOL…that’s the mark of a desperate person!

Sploggers found Bonnie Calhoun, and if you want a better idea of what a splogger looks like, here you go.


The week’s stock swings could make one nauseous, if they weren’t almost entirely to the downside.

Sure, stock swings are nauseating, but we think LouisGray.com might want to make sure he doesn’t have the beginning of the flu, too.


But please, let’s keep this our little secret. If the wrong people found out that I’ve been hearing voices for well over a year now, and written well over 60,000 words chronicling these voices, let’s just say I might be tied up for a while.

Teri does an accounting, but not for the Tax Man.


Of course, none of this even begins to touch on the ladies ‘of a certain age’ whose motherly eyes lightly fall on a young man of promise in his 20s. That’s another question again.

Ooh, let’s touch on this question, James. No, really! Let’s!


There are so many levels of trashiness here that I can’t even continue. It’s overwhelming.

Lachlan explores one version of the human condition in a place called Lodi (and this proves that sometimes the real stuff is more incredible than anything we could make up).


And for those of you who’ve stayed until the very end, here’s a commercial that warms the cockles of my heart, especially since I made that clever tie-in with the Klingon up there at the start of this post. Oh, I am so clever.

15 Replies to “Super Sabado: do Klingons get the flu?”

  1. HAHAHAHA!!!!

    That’s great (the video). Thank for the link-love, as always. Glad you like theme- I was feeling mischievous. 😉

    I, too, do not remember much of November, late January, or early February thanks to the Office Crud I contracted. Thank god for pharmaceuticals and the ability to work from home.

  2. Bonnie, it could be because the stock markets are closed today, but I feel great! What do I owe you for linking me on two straight Super Sabados?

    And should I make it an effort to provide you with material each week?

  3. Oh, wow, we had that weekend LAST weekend. Even our oldest, who brags–“what’s that word Daddy calls me? The one that means I never get sick?” Carrier? Vector? Oh yes, all of those–barfed all over the hallway.

    It’s amazing what you can get used to.

  4. Please forgive the laughing, but I loved the part about the yardstick. Oh, if you want the pills to stay on the 12 foot pole, nothing beats duct tape!

    Lord of the Manor is trying to come down with something new.

    Oh, whee. I can’t wait.

  5. I have the crappy throat, severe malaise virus (This is day 8 of no sugar for Daddy). Silly-Head has no head because she’s been feverishly coughing it off. And then there’s Girl-Girl.

    Girly-Girl has a scratchy throat, a SORE throat, a squishy, pluggy throat, and she feels kinda sick and can she please have more medicine and would I read her a book and can she watch a movie and she’s bored and shouldn’t she be sucking on a cough drop and a back rub would be nice and what can she do now and why aren’t we going to church this morning and why do I twitch every time she tries to talk to me. Why? Why? Why?

    I don’t need a yard stick, I need ear plugs!

    I LOVED the video, especially since Jean Luc Picard just showed up at my post on the Ultimate Blog Party!

  6. Loved the video even made hubby watch it, he loved it. Also thank you for your sweet comments concerning my sister! Now off to knock on Governor Crist’s door, I do pay his salary you know so he should let me in =)

  7. Hi, Bonnie. Glad you can breathe and hope you don’t catch hubby’s fever! Best wishes to Squirt and what a wonderful mother you are. Loved the video and you ARE clever, you know!

  8. Dear Bonnie…yes chica, I can see that you’re back, yard stick and all. While I feel bad that you’ve had to contend with Casa de Pukola, I am appreciative of the laughs that only you can squeeze out of this experience. One can only hope that you stay well…and Mojo too. However…nope, I’ll not even suggest that it might be a fun read. Mojo’s health is way more important than unclogging my endorphins. 😉

    Ciao bella…and thanks for the great read and the mention.

  9. Thanks, Bonnie. It’s not so bad being a Yeti, really. I figure that if it keeps up, pretty soon I won’t need sunscreen at all. :~)

  10. Zamboni?? I thought that was one of them there pasta dishes. Maybe that’s our problem.

    Kidding. 🙂

  11. Of course, none of this even begins to touch on the ladies ‘of a certain age’ whose motherly eyes lightly fall on a young man of promise in his 20s. That’s another question again.

    Ooh, let’s touch on this question, James. No, really! Let’s!

    Ready when you are.

    Bonny, your blog is … well … er … amazing!

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