Chicken Soup for the Soul. MY ASS.

What about the chicken soup for your belly? You know the kind the friend brings over in a can, take-out box or powder form?

The kind you need when you just moved to a new city and you are lying in bed with a tonsil the size of a walnut, a puss filled walnut, that hurts like a mother. Please excuse my gentle prose.

The kind you need when you have a fever such that you wonder, with the only part of your brain that functions to wonder… am I freezing to death or melting to death? When this is over will I have forgotten some of my most unpleasant moments or that most happy moment when I could finally afford to take all of my friends out to dinner? (Yes, I am mother Teresa, but this is my story.)

So I know it is not easy to form that team of people who will drop anything to bring you the “soup”, but more importantly, rush to your side so you know you are loved. I know what you are thinking, “bitch, there is a hospital down the street with dying children.” Bitch knows this, but once again, let me write.

I do have a chicken soup friend here. He is in Canada for the week. I have a few other friends that would probably do it if I asked them, but we don’t know eachother well enough for them to know that I don’t really mean it when I say, “I’m fine, REALLY. Continue watching the first season of the Sopranos for the 10th time because you have nothing better to do.” I really mean, “ get the f- over here. I am dying”

You may be asking.. “am I a chicken soup friend?” Well, the answer is yes. I am the chicken soup friend that makes sure it is hot, that feeds it to you, brings your favorite mags over and tells you that you don’t really look like shit. I am the chicken soup friend that brings vegan not-so-chicken soup if that is your desire. I am not a martyr. Something from my childhood likes to be needed. And after years of therapy, I am happy to say that even though I have high self esteem, this aspect of me has not changed. Believe me, I am not without faults. I would be Jesus. (ha)

I think I was spoiled back in the LBC. My girlfriend Jill. (The biggest germaphobe on the planet called when I was sick.) I think she was actually afraid I would infect her through the phone. But, this did not stop her from baking me a beautiful chicken and dropping it off on my door step with 7-UP (the miracle drink) and other love-filled snacks.. in a brown bag. She knocked, dropped and ran. I didn’t even see her car when I went to the door. Jilly poo. I will never forget that day, even after I found you in bed with my boyfriend. (joke)

So now I have to thank a few people. Those that are reading this and saying, “bitch I offered like 50 times to bring you what you needed. I feel like I am recieiving an Oscar. I have to thank Daniel, my roomate, who brought me the cold soda when I asked for it and felt my forehead when I asked for it. And a fella that I am seeing who offered to help, but I would have been too embarrased to see anyway. And my room mate Patty that went to Albertson to get me soup yesterday. And my girlfiend Amelia who said she would keep her phone on tonight, just in case and my mom for implying I have Typhoid and my dog for smelling like rotting carcass because she got into the lamb chop bones.

Oh, shoot, I think I feel better. The fever has subsided as I finish this tale. And it didn’t melt any of my memories. I AM ALIVE!

(my chick soup friend in Canada just texted me to see how I am doing. I am lucky!)