Fluids. Lot of Fluids.

Yet another charming visit with Diane von Austiberg comes to an end, too soon, too soon. Did I mention we went to the fabled Chez Panisse? Did I mention it was deeeeeeelish? Indeedy.

Thrift stores all over town are now beaten to their knees by Diane, Destroyer of Other People's Crap. Over the years we've been shaking them down, we've noticed junk stores are becoming an endangered species here in San Francisco. I guess rents are just too expensive. Plus, now plenty of them have abandoned used furniture the better to focus on worn out sweaters and stinky wool sport coats. The suggestion that they have simply run out of furniture because I have bought it all is totally unwarranted and you should stop listening to R Man, anyway.

Diane left Tuesday, I started feeling off on Wednesday and woke up today, Friday, sick as a dog. A quick trip to the doctor reveals what I thought was a bad cold and sore throat is "a little fluid on your lungs," a diagnosis that I know from bitter experience can lead to bronchitis, so when doctorman started writing a prescription for antibiotics (and codeine cough syrup! Hoo hoo! Score!) I was not arguing.

I am such a bad patient, I can never remember the names of the medicine I consume, so I always refer to all the antibiotics I have ever choked down as Astromyacin, even though my doctor patiently assures me there is no such thing. I think there certainly should be since it is such a kickass name, I'm sure it would be terribly effective. The current batch of Astromyacin (or whatever the hell its real name is) had better be working since it's already making me feel like I've been punched in the gut and placed under the french fry lamp at Burger King.

But mrpeenee, you ask, what is the good news, the sunny side? Let's see.... 1) this didn't happen while Diane was in town, yay, and 2) I was supposed to leave Monday for a conference in Minneapolis and now I don't have to go. See "hacking cough" "punched in gut feeling" and "contagious." I'm sure Minneapolis is a charming city and I was not pouting about being sent there for a weak, but sticking around San Francisco instead is ok with me.

After all, somebody has to keep an eye on the houseboys, like dear little Petit Diego here, cause as soon as I turn my back, I'm sure MJ would be in there fomenting all over the place. Tramp.