I was a prisoner in my own home this weekend. Friday I left work early, went home, drank a fifth of Nyquil (ok, it was the recommended dose - I just like to pretend I'm badass) and fell asleep on my couch watching Star Trek: Enterprise. On Saturday, I woke up feeling like a train hit me. Another shot of Nyquil and a treat (maybe 3 treats) for Kristen then immediately back to bed. At 2 pm, more because of an irrational fear of getting bed sores than anything else, I finally rousted myself from my bedchamber and looked outside. Apparently while I had been channeling Rip Van Winkle, God had decided it would be funny to first drop another foot of snow on Ohio, and then swirl it all around, culminating in a giant 3 foot snow drift covering half my driveway. Seriously, snow up to Alistair's door handles. In addition to my aching mucus-riddled head, I suddenly realized I was experiencing another sensation: Hunger. This was likely due to my having consumed nothing but Nyquil and water for the better part of two days.
I checked the fridge: onions, one Corona (been in there for 5 months - also no lime), expired apple cider, assorted condiments. Hmm. It seems I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while. I tried the cabinet: a can of stewed tomatoes, cheesecake flavored pudding mix, half a jar of Jif, olive oil, teabags, two packets of Changin'-Cherry Kool-Aid mix (the package reads "Watch the Green mix change into a Blue liquid. Surprise! It tastes like juicy Red cherry!" I think to myself :OH YEEAAHH! and crash through a brick wall, figuratively of course). OK. First of all, I can't believe I don't have any friggin pasta in my house. I ALWAYS have pasta; I'm Italian for fuck's sake. I can always count on pasta in an emergency. Not so much today. There is no way I am going to be able to shovel myself out of the driveway and get to the grocery store in my current condition. I'm woozy just from standing up for 10 minutes. I sigh, make a cup of tea, grab the Jif and a spoon and settle in on the couch.
I proceed to spend the next umpteen hours watching "I Love the 90's: Part Deux" on VH1. If you haven't seen it yet, check it out. It's worth it just for "Ben Stein's Pimpin'-est Tracks". Also for Hal Sparks' speculation that "More Than Words" by Extreme is not so much a love song as it is a euphemism for "Shut up and give me a blow job". Hal Sparks - what a card. I laughed out loud, and then said "Ow." When I finally couldn't take any more of that I put the Jif away and went to bed.
On Sunday I woke up feeling exactly the same, except now my lungs also hurt. I glanced out the window hoping that the snow had been miraculously swept away, but it hadn't. I really wanted to do two things: go to the doctor and buy groceries so I'd have something to eat. To do that I needed to get my car out of the driveway. To do that, I'd have to shovel. I put 27 pairs of pants on, my heaviest coat, my mittens (I wear mittens like a little kid - they're warm and I think it's funny when people say "What the hell are you wearing? Mittens?"), a hat, and my yard-work shoes and headed out to the driveway. I managed to shovel about a quarter of it before my disease-weakened frame gave out. I was not going anywhere. Defeated I trudged back into the house. Nyquil followed, and then football. Halfway through the NFC game I suddenly recalled that it was possible to actually have pizza delivered to the house. It just hadn't occurred to me before. So I called Pizza Hut and they brought me the first solid food I'd had in days. Smurfiest pizza I'd ever tasted.
I guess it wasn't so terrible. Kristen was pleased that I stayed home with her for two entire days, my inability to leave gave me a chance to watch both football games in their entirety, and I'd had the forethought to buy the Cherry Nyquil instead of that ass-flavored stuff, so I wasn't gagging on that all weekend. But in the future I will definitely make sure I have staple foods in the house at all times. And a backup plan for having some poor sap come over and shovel for me. Because you never know.