Oregano Grumpypants

I was wearing my grumpy pants all day yesterday due to exhaustion and general physical malaise, so I decided this morning I would take these wacky herbal supplements my Mom gave me on Monday.

Note: I stand opposed to the rampant overuse of non-prescription drugs in our society; I’m more of the “what doesn’t kill you ony makes you stronger” philosophy of fighting through sickness, unless you *must* be functioning for work. But naturopathic medicine or massage therapy? Bring it on.

Anyway, these capsules are called ‘Oregacyn’, and are chock full of wild oregano. Supposedly, they help fight or suppress viruses or something.

I don’t know how or if they really achieve anything, but by medieval standards of health care it should scare the demons out of my system through its smell alone. You open that bottle and KABOOM! a genie of green mist floats out and socks you in the olfactory senses. Some serious aroma is happening in there.

Even after you’ve popped one down your gullet, the smell resurfaces in the form of small, oregano-scented burps: sounds nasty, I know, but they’re quite refreshing. I imagine it’s a lot like the smell of running through a field in rural Italy in the middle of high summer. Except that instead of wafting upwards from tiny green leaves crushed under my feet, it’s exploding outwards from my mouth. Wait, that really *is* nasty.

Anyway, more reports later on how the herbal help is going. My optimistic self is staying hopeful that the oregano will banish the evil juju. My more practical side wants me to keep in mind the fact that these pills were given to me by the same woman who fervently believes in the healing power of bee pollen. And that oregano, no matter what sort of fancy ‘proprietary P73 blend’ you make with it, is still just a seasoning for pasta sauce.

Continuing in the spirit of Alastair and I exchanging emails this morning with ‘famous last words’ conclusions (on the occasion of his rotten, miserable, feverish bout of influenza):

“I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis.”

~~ Humphrey Bogart, actor, d. January 14, 1957

All In The Family

It’s official: Mum and I are going to the Bahamas for New Years! Boo-yah!

Caius is brilliant and found two really reasonably priced tickets, which I bought tonight with the magic of Visa. We depart from Pearson International on the 28th (so that we can spend Christmas Day with Dad and I can work Boxing Day at the Snail). Then return home Thursday, January 8th.

This is great news. It means I can see my Aunt and Uncle, and cousins and their significant others, and it means a real vacation with sun and beach and pool and palm trees. One which is sorely needed by both me and my mother, and which happily we can take together. Oh, the relief. A little sad that I don’t have a boyfriend to take along, as I’d hoped I would, but I can deal.

I will write more pithy, amusing news involving anecdotes from working at the Snail later, but for now, just needed to mark the occasion of a happy family moment, to dispell any lingering bad mojo that might have been lurking about in this diary. Away, bad mojo, away!

Also, must remember to check on Aleta’s birthing process tomorrow, now that it’s turned into a betting thing. According to my wager, she’ll be going into labour in about two hours and be delivered by dawn. Lisbeth gave birth Friday to her daughter Renee with no trouble, so now I’m on a baby binge.