Limited Lunch Options
The only thing I’m really finding solace in today is that I don’t have a mustache.
This is a shift in policy for me as it is in stark contrast to how I typically view a bushy lip. However, this drastic change in facial hair ideology is being driven solely by the fact that I have a head cold which is absolutely driving me bonkers. Like I said, at least I don’t have a mustache though. Because of that blessed fact, I don’t have to worry about some errant piece of freeloading mucus balling up when I’m unawares and making me look like a maroon when I ask for a donut or a coffee, or give someone the “What up, blood?” head nod in the hallway. On the other hand, not having a mustache makes me wonder what it’s like to have one which in turn makes me infinitely sad. Unfortunately, I cannot reverse this trend because the reality is I couldn’t grow one even if I tried. God has not deemed me fit for such endeavors so I shall not wander. On to the cold.
It hit me hardest on Friday evening after a few beers. On the walk back home, I began to feel like a bobble head doll; this ten pound bowling ball trapped in my sinus passages forced me to sway my head to and fro’ involuntarily. It sucked. I then sat on my couch and proceeded to sleep on and off until Monday morning, only sporadically waking up to refill on NyQuil and DayQuil and Diet Coke.
On Monday I was informed that I needed to feed a cold and hydrate it. Apparently, Diet Coke dehydrates you so I was making matters worse. Now this cold is really fucking up my program because it’s playing with my lunch options. If I could, I’d take this cold to the curb and give it a good old Ed Norton-style American History X stomping. I drink Diet Coke in the morning, two with lunch, one in the afternoon and then a handful in the evening. If there is no Diet Coke, I drink beer because that’s the way I’ve been rolling since 5th grade. Nevertheless, I want to beat this cold so I’m trying to do as I’m told.
Today at work, someone said, “We’re trying to penetrate all of our clients”. It didn’t change the fact that I have a cold, though. At lunch, I went to the Deli and looked at the menu. The whole fiasco about finding out Diet Coke produces a negative effect on cold fighting inspired me to try and make more enlightened food decisions. Turkey. That was my first choice but I decided against it in the end because of that whatever-it-is that makes you tired after you eat it. I’m already tired. So fuck you, turkey! How about a Grilled Cheese? That sounds delicious with some soup. Sounds like something Mrs. Cleaver would prescribe. The problem is I hate soup and refuse to drink my lunch, and cheese is the world’s second largest producer of phlegm right after orange juice. That combo was out. I could eat a salad, I thought, but salads are entirely no good without croutons which are salty and would dehydrate me further, or so I believed because I probably would have added bacon to it as well. Maybe the deli wasn’t such a good idea.
So I headed over to the hot bar and saw some raw broccoli and couldn’t stop thinking of that funny bit of Dana Carvey’s when he goes on and on about “chopping broccolaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy. She chop-a, she chop-a…” I passed on the broccoli.
All in all, I ended up walking out of the deli with a Red Bull, a 2-Liter of Diet Coke, some Pork Rinds, a box of pop tarts (blueberry and frosted) and the NY Post. It’s two days later and my cold is still here. It haunts me like Tim Allen’s performance in The Shaggy Dog. There is one good thing that has come out of all this though; I still don’t have a mustache. But you know who does? Your momma.
Oh, snap! You read all that way for that. Booya.
(Editor’s Note: normally this would be a much funnier, more well-written column but due to the extreme head cold, Nick is missing something. On a positive note, his lip has started to look a little hairier.)
This is a shift in policy for me as it is in stark contrast to how I typically view a bushy lip. However, this drastic change in facial hair ideology is being driven solely by the fact that I have a head cold which is absolutely driving me bonkers. Like I said, at least I don’t have a mustache though. Because of that blessed fact, I don’t have to worry about some errant piece of freeloading mucus balling up when I’m unawares and making me look like a maroon when I ask for a donut or a coffee, or give someone the “What up, blood?” head nod in the hallway. On the other hand, not having a mustache makes me wonder what it’s like to have one which in turn makes me infinitely sad. Unfortunately, I cannot reverse this trend because the reality is I couldn’t grow one even if I tried. God has not deemed me fit for such endeavors so I shall not wander. On to the cold.
It hit me hardest on Friday evening after a few beers. On the walk back home, I began to feel like a bobble head doll; this ten pound bowling ball trapped in my sinus passages forced me to sway my head to and fro’ involuntarily. It sucked. I then sat on my couch and proceeded to sleep on and off until Monday morning, only sporadically waking up to refill on NyQuil and DayQuil and Diet Coke.
On Monday I was informed that I needed to feed a cold and hydrate it. Apparently, Diet Coke dehydrates you so I was making matters worse. Now this cold is really fucking up my program because it’s playing with my lunch options. If I could, I’d take this cold to the curb and give it a good old Ed Norton-style American History X stomping. I drink Diet Coke in the morning, two with lunch, one in the afternoon and then a handful in the evening. If there is no Diet Coke, I drink beer because that’s the way I’ve been rolling since 5th grade. Nevertheless, I want to beat this cold so I’m trying to do as I’m told.
Today at work, someone said, “We’re trying to penetrate all of our clients”. It didn’t change the fact that I have a cold, though. At lunch, I went to the Deli and looked at the menu. The whole fiasco about finding out Diet Coke produces a negative effect on cold fighting inspired me to try and make more enlightened food decisions. Turkey. That was my first choice but I decided against it in the end because of that whatever-it-is that makes you tired after you eat it. I’m already tired. So fuck you, turkey! How about a Grilled Cheese? That sounds delicious with some soup. Sounds like something Mrs. Cleaver would prescribe. The problem is I hate soup and refuse to drink my lunch, and cheese is the world’s second largest producer of phlegm right after orange juice. That combo was out. I could eat a salad, I thought, but salads are entirely no good without croutons which are salty and would dehydrate me further, or so I believed because I probably would have added bacon to it as well. Maybe the deli wasn’t such a good idea.
So I headed over to the hot bar and saw some raw broccoli and couldn’t stop thinking of that funny bit of Dana Carvey’s when he goes on and on about “chopping broccolaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyy. She chop-a, she chop-a…” I passed on the broccoli.
All in all, I ended up walking out of the deli with a Red Bull, a 2-Liter of Diet Coke, some Pork Rinds, a box of pop tarts (blueberry and frosted) and the NY Post. It’s two days later and my cold is still here. It haunts me like Tim Allen’s performance in The Shaggy Dog. There is one good thing that has come out of all this though; I still don’t have a mustache. But you know who does? Your momma.
Oh, snap! You read all that way for that. Booya.
(Editor’s Note: normally this would be a much funnier, more well-written column but due to the extreme head cold, Nick is missing something. On a positive note, his lip has started to look a little hairier.)