The Bird Flu...

Sunday morning I woke to the woeful feeling my head slowly drifting away from my body, the clear sign of an oncoming sinus infection. Much to my dismay, the condition continued to worsen into a fever and cough that kept me away from work for two days. Yes, I, like so many others, have fallen victim to the ever prevalent influenza virus. While back at work, I am still walking around with what I affectionately call "bubble head," in a state much like being drunk (yes, I would know.)

Ironically enough, today our residence received a handy "No Flu 4 You" dry-erase board from the Idaho Health Department. This ever-important resource is divided into two sections of helpful hints, the first, how to "avoid seasonal flu" and second, how to "prepare for pandemic flu." Wait... pandemic flu? What the f***? Or at least that was my thought and should have been everyone else's thought who received one.

Turns out that our government has been secretly preparing to battle the inevitable mutation of bird flu into a human version that is expected to wipe out 40% of the human population. Sounds like a joke or an episode of the X-Files right? Nope. This is one of those serious "we are all going to die" things. Of course it might turn out to be ultra ironic and we will get blind-sided by some other random disease or massive loss of human life, while getting ready for the bird flu but I guess we can't be ready for everything. Personally, I'd rather be distracted by Mad Cow Disease and the Bird Flu then watch oil prices and wait for things to heat up in Iran... thank you Idaho State Health Department!

And if such an outbreak should occur, I shall be forever grateful for my "No Flu 4 You" dry-erase board that offers absolutely zero protection against such a pandemic aside from suggesting the obtainment of special surgical masks that are not even available in most places in the U.S. yet. Maybe I will use it to write my last words as the economy collapses and crime ravages our neighborhoods. Perhaps I will list the dead so as to preserve their memory. Then again, why would I want such important things on a dry-erase board?

Val Kilmer

I was completely disillusioned recently upon turning on one of my favorite crime series, "Numbers" to find the secret villain revealed as none other than guest star, Val Kilmer. No, I was not alarmed to see Val trafficking national secrets. I was not alarmed by his killing people by injecting potassium into their hearts. Instead, I was struck that the former Batman and Iceman from "Top Gun," appeared strikingly... old.

What happened to the glorious Val of the eighties with his gelled blond locks, spiking a volleyball to the song "Playing With the Boys" alongside Tom Cruise? What happened to the man my best friend used to pretend her pillow was when she made out with it? What happened to the man that could pull off walking into a naked Nicole Kidman's bedroom without someone calling security? What happened to the Doc Holiday that saved Kurt Russel from certain doom? And who could forget Willow? In short, what happened to the glorious ideals of my childhood?

I realize that everyone ages and certainly some with less grace than others but come on Val, you're killing me smalls! While Harrison Ford is still whipping ass in Indiana Jones, and Silvester Stallone is still managing Rambo movies (that can stop anytime, by the way), Val is getting busted by tabloids with a beer belly, playing villains on crime series, and remaking "Knight Rider." With each new update on Val status, I lose a little more of my childhood and little more of my hope for the future.

I'm sorry Val, but you just can't be my wingman anytime...

What I love about zombies...

For the past two weeks I have been nightly subjected to, via my dreams, a post-apocalyptic world of dark intrigue. These dreams may perhaps have originated from my somewhat disturbing interest in zombie movies, the beginning of a new regime of stimulants, or most likely a combination of the two. Regardless, I begin every night in a deserted Sam's Club (an excellent place to attempt to survive the inevitable post-apocalyptic challenges, might I add.)

While myself and the other survivors battle through the discomforts of food rationing, water storage, weapon collection, and the ever-present anxieties of changing leadership (usually by assassination of the previous) we are also always constantly leery of the un-dead. The irony of course is that while the human numbers dwindle as a result of discontent, the un-dead remain fairly stable. Indeed, there is little said of the benefits of the zombies and I wish, here, to enumerate some of those:

1. Zombie society truly accepts all individuals equally, regardless of race, religion, age, or ethnic background.

2. They make incredibly loyal companions and will follow you practically anywhere.

3. They never talk back.

4. Low maintenance boyfriends/girlfriends: they can live for decades without having to take them out shopping, to dinner, etc.

5. Big fans of the group hug.

6. Possible power source if put into a giant hamster wheel-like generator with bait (yes, this was part of a dream... hilarious...)

7. Easily disposable with fire.

8. Less STDs.

9. Less sharing of things with the zombies in general.

Feel free to add to my list with your own lovable zombie characteristics. With that, there is only one thing left to say.... zombie, will you be my Valentine?

Democrats get pissed when they file their taxes too...

As you can probably guess, I just filed my taxes again and, as always, my initial reaction is disgust and chagrin. Rather than first thinking about the social good from paying 8.17% of my gross income to the Federal Government I instead let go a string of profanity that I'm glad my mother wasn't around to hear. Tax season may be the one time of year that the country actually believes Ann Coulter's rhetoric and for those who weren't before, we become momentarily Republican. Fortunately, the moment has already passed so I can continue making fun of the people holding "Ron Paul Cured My Apathy" signs on street corners in Idaho Falls.

Wrong Numbers

I never cease to be amused at the randomness of life. As a child, I was amused with the fact that our home phone number was only a few digits off from both a bank and a pizza place. This led to many awkward and confusing conversations with strangers that I have only come to appreciate later in life.

Recently, while walking my dog in the blistering cold, I felt my phone vibrate, indicating that a message is awaiting my response. Expecting to see a message from one of my admirers, I was instead confronted with a text from an anonymous number. The following is the conversation:

"Your mom just won a hot dog cooker at the company party!"

Confused and suspecting a nerdy 'mom' joke, I replied, "Um... who is this?"

"Well, who is this?" came the reply.

"This is Staci."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have got the wrong number from my friend."

"It's ok, although my mom will be disappointed."

"Didn't mean to bring her hopes up."

"I think she'll be ok."

"Glad to hear it, have a good night."

"You too."

I will probably never know who my anonymous texter was but I'm still pretty sure someone owes someone a hot dog cooker.

I'm divorced

So I have finally left all efforts of achieving normal socialization and succeeding in real relationships, thus the giving into the "blog train." While there are some who gather in these blogspots to contemplate life's mysteries, I merely come to add cynicism and my own failed efforts at introspection. In truth, the driving force behind this decision was the many complaints at how little even my family seems to know about me. Well, you asked for it...

To kick off my blog, I offer a recent event which has left me with a frustrated sort of curiosity. Recently, the weather in Southeast Idaho turned to devastating lows, reaching to -30 degrees! Sans car on one of these particularly cold days I called my brother and asked him to do me a favor and pick me up. Much to my surprise at 4:30pm, my sister-in-law's brother, Steve pulled up in his little white Volkswagen. I didn't give much thought to this, particularly as Steve is engaged and poses no threat to me whatsoever.

A few days later while walking the dogs, my sister-in-law, Kelly, and I were chatting about all things random when Kelly mentioned the events leading up to my ride in Steve's Volkswagen. Basically, my brother called his wife and Kelly then had this conversation with Steve:

"Steve, can you pick up Staci from work today?"

"Okay... isn't she divorced?"

Shocked and a bit confused, Kelly came back with, "No, she's your age Steve. Her and Bryan are twins."

To which Steve responded, "Oh, I thought she had been married."


Responses to this tale have ranged from hysterical laughter to shocked disgust. My favorite response was coming home from work after recounting this tale to my mother to find my dad reading the paper. I said, "Hi Dad." He said, "I hear you're divorced."

While I have enjoyed my own laughs at this strange reaction to the task of merely picking me up from work, I am still confused by Steve's assumption. Is there a certain air people carry who have been wounded by the marital entanglement that I somehow resemble? How much older do I look than my twin brother? Are engaged people not allowed to pick up divorced people from work? Most importantly, have I missed a vital part of my socialization process that may help me understand this?

For now, lesson learned: walk home next time.