The Final Fantasy concert is back on. Apparently twas a seasonal flu and strep throat which felled Owen Pallett in Victoria, not H1N1, and the lad is soldiering on. Way to call upon those t-cells, Owen!
I am not yet permitted by my doctor to drive, so I am picking up my date and driving us to the train station instead. I figure I can get that far without killing anyone.
I did take the urban assault vehicle on a practice run yesterday and was a little discombobulated by the extreme 3D-ness that I was experiencing. I kept wanting to reach up and remove the 3D glasses from my face. But once I learned not to flinch and yell whoa! with each passing tree, I was good.
And at the risk of imparting far too much information, you will no doubt be pleased to know that I successfully showered today, without melting my eye or whatever dreadful thing would have occurred had I gotten water into it. Sponge baths grow old very quickly indeed.
I am still not permitted to wear makeup, though, so shall be mingling with the lovely young concert-goers at my most spectacularly hideous. Dark bruises under the new eyeball and everything. But not bruised enough so that it is immediately evident that I am post-surgical, just enough so that I look like an old hag who doesn't give a shit anymore.
Perhaps I should go in disguise. Any suggestions?