On a scale of one to malaria, I'm feeling about a six-point-two right now.

Thank you for asking.

Which is, incidentally, significantly better than the eighteen-point-seven that I've been feeling for the past week.

Luckily whilst having the flu (bird or otherwise), I have had time to contemplate the important things in life. And what did I contemplate during those feverishly delusional icky sicktimes?

Why pygmy chimpanzees, of course.

(For those of you playing at home, I imagine you smacking yourself on the forehead: "Of COURSE she was contemplating pygmy chimpanzees. The very FACT that she had not previously contemplated pygmy chimpanzees is nothing short of a miracle." Or maybe you were thinking, "Pygmy chimpanzees? Seriously? I would have staked my life that she was contemplating ice cream sprinkles. Or maybe how to wink in a lovely and suave way without screwing up an entire side of her face so as to look an eensy bit retarded. But pygmy chimpanzees??!! A complete surprise.")

In any case, my contemplation falls into two distinct (but not unrelated) categories which we will explore in some detail (or until I get sleepy and start to feel malarialike again): 1. Their adoreableness. 2. How I need one to live with me in my apartment.

So let's deal with these issues in a systematic fashion. First we shall talk about how pygmy chimpanzees are ADORABLE.

Seriously.

If you combined a cute puppy and that little girl who sang at the Oscars, you would get something that is only half as cute as a pygmy chimpanzee. If you were to combine a kitten sleeping in a flower pot and a baby saying her first words, you would get something only three-quarters as adorable as a pygmy chimpanzee. If you were to combine a bunny sneezing on a flower with a baby bear cub with his face in a honeycomb, and then combine THAT with a cake shaped like a baby duck, you MIGHT get something as cute as a pygmy chimpanzee (if slightly higher in calories.)

Yes, they are cute as buttons, those pygmy chimpanzees. I saw a picture once of these splendid primates (which was the beginning of this period of contemplation and/or obsession) and they were pretty unbearable in their wonderfulness. And you know that the camera adds 15 pounds of not-wonderful, so you can only imagine how cute they MUST be in person (do you say "in person" if it's an animal? Or do you say, "how cute they must be in chimp"? I ponder that.)

So that leads me right to my next point: I need one.

I need a pygmy chimpanzee like the Dickens, friends.

Here are things I would do with a pygmy chimpanzee:

1) Watch it intently whilst saying "Awwwww....." every time it moved.
2) Teach it to fetch.
3) Feed it pygmy bananas.
4) Teach it to tango.
5) Make it sweet little outfits.
6) More things that are cute and nice but I can't think of because I'm sleepy. I said this might happen, you know.

'Night friends. I'm feeling all malaria-esque again.

But better luck in the morning, I think.

If only I had a pygmy monkey to wake me.

The real problem with chess, I think, is the following:

No matter how splendidly and brilliantly and awesomely you play--not even if you happen to be the best player ever EVER--still you never, even once, get to shout out "King me!"

Tragic.

Certain people have an unfair bias against a little holiday that we celebrate around this time of year.

It's a holiday that comes every February and, for some reason, it causes a lot of people to get all stressed out and grouchy.

I think you know the one I’m talking about....

Yeah, it seems like all I hear lately is how Presidents’ Day has become so commercial. How we should remember the Presidents EVERY day and don’t need a stupid Hallmark-created holiday on which to do it.

And then everyone who isn’t the President has to sit home on President's Day and get all depressed about how they’re not the President and maybe never will be. How all their friends are the President and pretty soon they're going to be the last one in their group of friends who isn't part of a Presidency. And, let's be honest, everyone who is the President just flaunts it by making out in public and who likes red roses and chalky hearts anyway?

Sigh.....

So what I'm saying is, this President's Day, try to remember some of the people who aren't part of a Presidency. Get them a card. Say a cheerful "Happy President's Day."

Or maybe just make out with them in a public place.

Remember Mickey Mouse's friend, Goofy?

Well, according to this, Goofy's wife was named Mrs. Goofy. His son was named Goofy Jr.

My point?

Perhaps George Foreman watched a lot of cartoons as a child.

My LCS Audition:

(a short play: by Jill Twiss)

Jill: Blah blah blah joke. Blah blah blah joke. Blah blah blah joke. Blah blah blah joke.

Producer: Jill, you know you're one of my favorites right?

Jill: Errrr....yes?

Producer: I just think you're adorable. I love you. But I thought your punch-lines were a lot stronger last year.

Jill: That would be odd, since I'm telling the same jokes I told last year. They have the same punch-lines.

Producer: No you're not. Last year you told one about hunting bees.

Jill: I just told that one.

Producer: You did?

Jill: Yes. About 30 seconds ago. (other people in the in room confirm that Jill did, In fact, just tell that joke.)

Producer: Oh. Well, then I don't think you're right for this season. Good bye.

I have the flu.

Thusly it is IDEAL that my Last Comic Standing audition is tomorrow morning.

There was a time when "heroin-chic" was trendy. I can only hope that this is the year where "looks-like-she-might-vomit" is hot.

Wish me luck.

Oh, who are we kidding? Wish them luck.

Because if they turn me down, I shall kiss them.

I bet that, to his wife, Peter the Great was just Peter the Guy Who Never Picks Up His Socks.

I find watching football to be very stressful.

You see, I have a fanatical tendency to root very strongly for one team. And when I'm rooting for this team, all other thoughts fly by the wayside. I can't eat. I can't drink. I yell at the television. My body gets very very tense and I think that I will just break down in TEARS if this team doesn't win the game.

So which team is the object of my obsession?

The losing team.

Sigh.....

I just can't help it. No matter who's playing or what's at stake, I need whichever team is losing to come back and win the game. I need this DESPERATELY. More intensely than I need food or shelter or light-up shoes,I need them TO WIN.

Why, you ask? Why would I care so much about this team? A team about which I know nothing?

I think it's just that they look so sad when they lose. So so sad. Like someone just stole their brand-new puppy while the bow was still on. I can't bear it.

AND I can't bear the thought of the coach (who, when the players make a mistake, always looks so stern, as though he had just eaten a giant brussel sprout by accident and is definitely not allowed to spit it into his napkin because it would be rude) yelling at the poor players who are, I am certain, doing their very very best.

AND let's not even get into the fact that some of these poor football players have CHILDREN. Adorable, precious little babies who just want their daddy to win a simple football game.

When they cut to a shot of the losing players' families sitting, enjoying the game, I can't help but imagine the conversation that the Joe "The Ice Box" Footballplayer is forced to have with his adorable, innocent child.

"Well Bobby, daddy really WANTED to bring you home a trophy to keep in your room to remind you of me when I can't tuck you into bed because I am on the road twenty-six days out of the month playing yet another game where giant people jump on me for no apparent reason. But I just couldn't. Your Daddy just wasn't good enough."

And Bobby cries and cries. I tell you, I can't bear it.

So I do what I can. I root. I cheer. I yell at the television.

And sometimes, friends, if I try really hard and focus with all of my might, I can WILL the losing team to play better. It takes a lot of energy but I can. I have the gift. And sometimes, if the stars are aligned exactly right, I can make them WIN. That's right, win.

Of course that's even more stressful.

Because then I have to go and root for the other team.