I’m going to start this post off by admitting that, yes, I know I don’t take care of myself as well as I really should. Last year’s stress-induced emergency room visit is a great example of that.

So as a result, I’ve decided to face my impending old age and start taking better care of myself (not that I really had a choice though because it’s either do it, or don’t and die an early death). This also means finding an actual physician whom I can visit for regular checkups. Most recently was one of those said checkups, which included some blood work. It’s been a while since I did a CBC as part of a checkup (and not as part of an ER visit). Eventually I knew that one of these days my love for full-fat sour cream, real butter, and mayonnaise would eventually be revealed to the world. Today was that day.

I called my doctor’s office this morning to follow up with a nurse about my blood work. Minnie, the nurse, was so chipper this morning that I probably wouldn’t have been as receptive to her overly bubbly phone greeting if I didn’t have a cup of coffee that morning. She was even enthusiastic when she was telling me that my cholesterol was high (not very high, but higher than normal) and almost faked me into thinking she was delivering good news.

(The funny part of this whole thing was right before I called her, I’d just sat down at my desk with a cup of coffee–with half & half of course–and a cinnamon roll from Starbuck’s.)

Yeah, that’s my thing right now. Diet, exercise, and lower my cholesterol.

That is, after my fried chicken book club meeting at Babe’s Chicken Dinner House tomorrow night

So after the stress-filled week I had last week, all I wanted was a weekend to decompress.

And decompress, I did.

I spent most of the weekend with my butt planted firmly on my couch (sometimes laptop in hand, sometimes not) watching a marathon of episodes from Arrested Development, 30 Rock, and The Office. Whoever said laughter is the best medicine was spot on if you ask. me.

As a result, our weekend was full of one-liners from various episodes. Last night, when we arrived home after a filling dinner at my parents house, a mother and her son were crossing the parking lot in front of us and the kid kept staring at us as I slowly inched toward them in my car. “Look at that kid staring us down,” I said to Jabari. “It’s like he wants to play chicken with us.” And then I started clapping my hands and saying, “Cocka-cocka-cocka-cocka…!” and laughing. If you’ve ever seen Arrested Development, you’ll recognize that as Gob’s familiar “chicken” dance.

And last night, I jumped into bed next to Jabari saying, “Here comes the funcooker!” That’s from the episode of 30 Rock where Tracy would moon people, saying, “Here comes the funcooker!” which was also the name of Jack’s pocket microwave. That one definitely got a lot of laughs and a lot of use

And then this morning before Jabari left for work, I gave him the special Kenneth the Page “good luck” hand gesture. You’ll see what I mean at the end of the clip here. Seriously, no matter how many times I watch his monologue in this clip, I laugh every single time.

The great thing about having a long weekend is having a shorter work week. I’m glad that tomorrow is already Wednesday (today still felt like a Monday even though it technically was Tuesday). Mom is supposed to have her follow up appointment with her doctor. A good writer would know what to write in this next sentence. Instead I’m going to leave you with a short clip of Gob (played by Will Arnett) and his chicken dance.

If there’s one thing I like to do, it’s tell stories. Jabari should know this by now, so what I’m about to say doesn’t leave this blog. Got it? Ok.

Yesterday I came home from work and as I was walking up the sidewalk to my apartment, I smell the distinct smell of burnt toast. It was 6:30 in the evening so it was a little surprising to think our downstairs neighbors were cooking a lot of toast for dinner. On the other hand, I’ve been known to make breakfast for dinner (or as Turk from Scrubs would put it, brinner) so maybe it wasn’t so surprising.

Anyway, I get to the bottom of our stairs and I look up to see the front door was wide open. So I’m thinking either 1) We’ve been robbed; or 2) Jabari burned something so bad that he actually had to actually open the front door to let the stench out. I’m not really sure what was worse.

I walk into the apartment to find all the windows were wide open and Jabari was sitting at his computer. “What in the world?” I asked. I don’t even remember if Jabari said anything when I walked in. Perhaps the overwhelming stench of burned-something clouded my memory of it.

My eyes travel toward the kitchen to find the microwave wide open. And like a scene from a horror movie, I walk over to it and just as I peek inside, that’s when the scary music starts playing.

There, inside the microwave, was a smell of burned popcorn that could not beat any other burned popcorn smell in the history of processed foods. The once white microwave was now stained this unappetizing yellow and absolutely positively REEKED. Sitting underneath it on the countertop was a bag of popcorn.

Evidently he had set the microwave to pop it and left it while he fiddled around on the computer. And by the time he realized what happened, it was already done , and smoking from the inside out.

Evidently there’s a reason why they print “THIS SIDE UP” in really large letters on one side of the bag of popcorn. It’s because THEY REALLY DO MEAN FOR YOU TO HEAT IT UP WITH THAT SIDE UP. Or else, of course, you run the risk of setting fire to the kitchen, as we discovered yesterday.

Seriously though… the smell penetrated every fiber in that apartment. It was in the bathroom, the bedroom, EVERYWHERE. Everywhere except in the air around where Jabari was sitting because he didn’t smell it until he heard it beep, which was long after it had burned away and disintegrated into unrecognizable brown lumps. Although I think I can see why because our living room has vaulted ceilings so it had a long way to travel before it actually reached where he was sitting. But still. It’ll probably require a divine angel or perhaps an exorcist to banish the smell it left behind (which, after a certain point, begins to smell like a combination of sweaty gym socks and a stinky old ashtray filled with stale cigarette butts).

Yes, folks, we now live in a bowling alley.

I had almost started to clean it before he stopped me. It was his mess, he said, he’ll clean it up. Only later did he realize his mistake. He pouted and made faces the entire time. It was the least I could do since now I had to live with a yellow microwave.