I do seem to have some much needed extra time on my hands this last weekend of the year, but I'm hoping to spend it sprucing up this place. It's starting to look like a college dorm room after 2 semesters with a psychotic roommate who breaks your hotplate and eats all your Pringles. The carpet needs cleaning, the pile of laundry needs sorting and what is that smell? So, I'm hoping to update my semi-pathetic blogroll and fix these crampy borders and get a masthead that doesn't make me depressed.
With all of these ambitious ideas for the blawg, and with the other crap to take care of amongst the napping and Grey's Anatomy watching I plan on doing, I'm not sure I'll write anything in the next few days. But I have lofty goals of being the anti-slacker after the first! We'll see how that pans out since now there's no prizes involved now. Man, I love prizes.
Therefore I will do the question/answer thingy that's going around to do my own personal year in review. Here we go.
1. What did you do in 2006 that you'd never done before?
Well here I go boring you right out of the box. I don't know if I did anything new and exciting this year. I had a death-defying horse fall, that was a pivotal moment. I also saw 5 black bears in Yellowstone in the span of an hour, I found that most pleasing and thrilling. Um...I'm saving up a bunch of never done before's for next year. Yes. That's it. I will thrill you with tales of adventure in a year. Stay tuned.
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Dude, I never got around to making any. I thought about it but I'm just that lazy. This year that will be number 1 on my list. Don't be so la...eh, I'll finish that thought later.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
I know quite a few people who had giant cows, another chick who shit a brick and one more who laid an enormous egg of insanity. But humans shooting through vaginas? No.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
I wouldn't say they were close to me but yes, I lost 2 people who made indelible impacts on my life one way or another and both of their passings hit me harder than I could have imagined.
5. What countries did you visit?
Like I own a passport and I don't go to Mexico anymore. You live a stone's throw from Tijuana your whole life and the thought of crossing a border loses its charm. I think it's the overpowering smell of trash and ass. Plus I can't begin to think about crossing the whole ocean in a plane. Give me a stroke, whydontcha.
6. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006?
Less fucking anxiety attacks for starters. I'd also like to have a nice house with my baby including a jacuzzi and add at least 2 dogs and 2 more cats into our lives and find a job and a career that doesn't make me want to staple someone's upper lip to their forehead every damn day.
7. What dates from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
February 10th. Clean scan, currently, officially, thyroid cancer free. That was a fucking good day. September, 19th, my birthday. Was relaxing and special. September 29th, the day we lost Boo. Was an excrutiating day. December 25th, simply lovely.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I'm a terrible judge of these kinds of things. I never think I've done enough or accomplished anything that can be measured against anything. I guess I'd have to say that I keep plugging along. I want to give up all the time but I don't. I'm an enduring little bitch. I might complain a lot but I endure. And I was really proud of myself over the work I did in NaBoPloMo and with some of my photography. Yea, I kicked some ass with that shit.
9. What was your biggest failure?
Oh, lerd. Not taking care of myself. I have no excuses for the bad things I'm doing to my body on a daily basis other than self-mutilation and that shit has got to stop. Major failure for me.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Would you like the short or long list? Wait, there is no short list. I'll have to give a global answer of YES. I am the girl who's shut her left nipple in a desk drawer and tore a tendon in my pinkie by performing the hazardous feat of putting my hair into a ponytail. Have I suffered an injury. What do you think? I was also, diagnosed with asthma which I'm very unhappy about. I told those assholes back in gym that I couldn't breathe when I ran!! I hate it when I'm right about stuff like that.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
My Nikon D50 digital SLR. I want to fuck that thing.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
whitey's. He puts up with my crazy shit every day. And Rascals'. It's morbid but she's a much happier and funner cat since her sister died.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Everyone else's.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Target!! Didn't yours go there? I thought it was the law.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Our trip to Montana in September. And the prospect of moving to Portland. Well, that goes back and forth from abject panic to excitement but the excitement is there!
16. What song will always remind you of 2006?
I'm not a music head so I don't pay that much attention to it and I'd hardly be able to associate any song to a particular year, but if I had to choose one it would be that song they used when they kicked off the women on So You Think You Can Dance. Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall. Especially now that they're playing it on the radio every 5 fucking minutes which will surely burn the melody into my brain forever and kill any affection I had for it.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? Happier. Yay me!
b) thinner or fatter? A little less fat and fuck you for asking!
c) richer or poorer? Poorer and now I'm sadder for thinking of it, thank you very much!
18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Theme of the day (since my tummy is pissed off for all the crap I've been pouring down it for weeks) taken much better care of myself.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Wasting mental energy on assholes. And sitting in fuck-ass traffic.
20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Already done had it, out of date meme. Sheesh.
21. Did you fall in love in 2006?
I fall more in love with whitey all the time. No puking over that you cynics!
22. How many one-night stands?
Stupid question.
23. What was your favorite TV program?
Hands down you're a moron if you don't watch it - The Office. "You can't fire me! I don't work in this van!!"
24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Hate would mean I care enough to put that kind of thought into it, so no. Sure, I have felt short-term hate for people that were on the OK list last year, but my anger is like a volcano. I erupt, spit hot fire on you, then go back to doing my thing and you're just a petrified fucker at the bottom of the hill.
25. What was the best book you read?
A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson. He manages to weave historical and scientific fact, personal opinion, auto-biographical notes, and lore into a travel book and personal journal without being boring or condescending. It's genius. And he's fucking funny as hell.
26. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Like I said, not a music head so I don't pay much attention, but I was blown away by Imogene Heap and her haunting song Hide and Seek. I can't listen to it without crying.
27. What did you want and get?
My fancy camera.
28. What did you want and not get?
Money for that stupid car accident last year. And deserved retribution against a person who should be canned in a town square then shunned into a forest of rabid rats to live out their miserable life alone with their stupid thoughts and crappy behaviors. But I do not hate!
29. What was your favorite film of this year?
It was not a good year for movies and we rarely go to the theater because, you know, there's people there, so I'd have to say Slither. We saw it recently on DVD and were pleasantly surprised. I had such high hopes for Pirates: installment 2, but they pushed it with the CGI stuff and the icky pirate ship scenes needed to be cut down by about 30 minutes. Then it would have been my first choice.
30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
My, my, aren't we nosy? I turned 39 this year and plan on being even more kick-ass when I turn 40. I took the day off work, got a near-inappropriate massage and an awesome pedicure, hung out at home with my kitties, took a nap, and had take-out sushi from my favorite place. We tried to go to Sea World a couple weeks later but you know how that worked out. Next year will be another blow-out party.
31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Less bloating. Fuck.
32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?
How sloppy can I dress at work and get away with it? That and hail all ye yoga pants and braless boobs. That's my uniform of choice at home. Can't wear that a work, though. They might be tolerating my dirty tennis shoes and jeans on non-Friday's but my girls could not fly free. That would cause an issue.
33. What kept you sane?
whitey. Ativan. Chocolate. In that order.
34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Fancy? What is this, Britain? Are you going to ask me my favourite colour next? I've got it bad for The Depp.
35. What political issue stirred you the most?
Politics doesn't stir me, although our shitty president gets a notice.
36. Who did you miss?
Boo kitty. Like fucking crazy.
37. Who was the best new person you met?
whitey's mom! You rock the Eagle, woman! YOU ROCK IT!
38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2006.
That meme's ask stupid questions. No, I kid. Who can put something like that into a nutshell? Nutshells are very small and life lessons usually aren't. I learned a lot this year. I tried to shift some important focus's around but the one thing that seems new to me is what helped me make the final decision to move from my home town to a new city and state. I need to do something I'm afraid of. Something that I paralyze myself from doing because of my own fears. Something that I have (some) control over. It's going to be harder than I can imagine, and trust me, I spend a lot of time imagining this life-altering change, but I need to do it. I need to face this fear for the good of my pysche and my soul. I can't even remember who said it or where I heard it, probably Oprah, but someone said "do something that scares you" and I thought to myself. Yep, that's right on. I have a long list of complaints about my living situation but I was too scared of changing them. So now I'm doing something that terrifies the bajeezus out of me and for even making this decision I consider it a triumph in my life.
39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
So delicious (It's hot, hot)
So delicious (I put them boys on rock, rock)
So delicious (they wanna slice of what I got)
Fergalicious (t-t-t-t-t-tasty, tasty)
Really, there was no other choice.
Now you kids go and have yourselves a very Happy New Year AND STAY SAFE OR ELSE!!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Ketchup & stuff
Did everyone have a nice Christmas or your specific holiday of a personal religion/non-religion or just an extra day off from putting up with stupid co-workers and their lame bullshit? I know I did!
I had another typical weekend of ups and downs, good stuff and bad and one near vivisection of a fucking asshole who thought it would be OK to push me into a stack of bushes at Sea World.
Someday I'm actually going to take 4 days off in a row and not run around like a maniac leaving certain things to the last minute (Walmart again!), having to brave public places and talk to people. Instead I'll not get out of my pajamas, eat a diet consisting of chips & dip and watch bad horror movies. I might even go unwashed. I have goals, you know. But all-in-all it was a lovely extended weekend.
_______________________________________________________
The slightly bad stuff:
Last Thursday I got home, after braving 92 minutes of fuck-ass holiday traffic, to find a Christmas card and braggy-brag letter from my (ex) friend K. I've written about K in this blog several times before, it's all buried in the archives somewhere, and our ultimate demise as friends a couple of years ago (totally HER fault.)
K and I were introduced as neighbors the year we turned 6 and lived across the street from each other for 17 years. Now we're both heading to our 40th birthday's in 2007 and all the many years in between have been met with an endless supply of girl-problems and fights and a million very hard times. You ladies know the drill.
My relationship with K has always been difficult and there was always our other friend J mucking it up to hell too. You just can't have 3 little girls hanging out together, it won't work. Two's company, three's a crowd, I was always the crowd, yada yada. It wasn't pleasant a lot of the time is which is a nice version of they were horrible often.
Anyway, there's too many stories about that to tell but the bottom line is K acted like the worst jerk in the entire universe when I was diagnosed with cancer and for whatever excuse of the week she came up with treated me like shit and we stopped talking because fuck you, I had (and have) enough to deal with I don't need to keep a relationship going that's the equivalent of eating a shit sandwich every day. Plus she did unforgivable things, in my opinion, so fuck it.
Problem is, I was like a member of her family. Her parents were my surrogates (I have no family here in this town), they were friends with my parents, we all had over 30 years invested in knowing and loving each other and the whole fucking thing has remained an open wound with me for the last 3 years. When I stopped talking to K I also stopped talking to her whole family by default. Now, mind you, my phone hasn't rung but I didn't dial it either so I supposed we're all to blame.
So in this letter, after I hear about how great her kid is doing and how awesome her husband is and how incredible all of their European fancy trips were she saves the last paragraph to tell everyone that her mother's cancer came back this year and was determined to be terminal in August, they almost lost her in early December but everyone's confident she'll be around through New Year's.
Um...WHAT??
So typical. I was immediately sickened and furious that once again, neither K or our other useless friend J had had the balls to contact me about this in any way. And I'd just talked to J about 3 months ago! While I vacillated between anguish and fantasizing about punching some bitches in the face, and crying, I decided enough was enough. It was time to heal some wounds and make my stubborn feet take the first step.
I called K's dad on Friday and his excitement at hearing my voice nearly made my throat shut tight. We set up a time to get together on Saturday and boy was I nervous. I went over with a bottle of wine and a couple of framed photos of mine as a gift and once I got past the inner shock of how frail and aged she looked (and acted) I was just so fucking relieved to be there again. With her holding my hand and telling me how much they love me, cracking some jokes and catching up on everyone's lives, it was like old times. Sort of.
I cried on-and-off and of course the subject of K and J and their shitty stuff came up and K's dad gruffed and growled and said us girls just needed to get the fuck over it but dude, we don't do that. We are chicks. The harboring of hurt feelings last forever. K's mom said we needed to all get together and fix this crap once and for all because it would be a gift to her. And how can you deny a dying woman something like that? You simply can't.
I'm going over this coming Saturday armed again with booze and my self-worth and who knows what will come of it. I've promised not to "rehash old things" which sucks because boy, would I like to rehash them. I'd like to rehash them with a mighty ass-kicking, finger pointing and scary screaming, but I won't.
And I figure if this can close an open and perpetually painful chapter in my life all the better for me. I can be there for someone who's at the end of her too-short life, be around people that I've loved almost my entire existance and hang out again for the short time I'll still be living here. Hell, maybe I'll be able to stop these damn bad dreams I constantly have about it. I just need to watch my alcohol intake so the sharp-tongued truth monster in me will not be unleashed. Wish me luck.
Update: No need to wish me luck. I got home tonight to find an e-mail from K thanking me for visiting her mom and cancelling our meeting on Saturday. Looks like she hasn't lost any of her selfish ways in the last 2 years. Unbelievable.
_________________________________________________
The stupid stuff:
Sunday whitey and I decided...OK. Not whitey and I. Me, it was all me, it was my idea and he obliged because he's good like that. We left the house. In a very crowded tourist town known for its near-perfect year-round weather that attracts many people, a lot of whom are annoying and clueless as hell, and went to Sea World. Oh my god. What was I thinking? Why did I even fathom that this world-renown place wouldn't be packed with crazy people on a holiday weekend.
Well, I'll tell you why. Because 2 years ago we went there on New Year's day and the place was virtually empty. It was awesome. We didn't stand in line behind any screaming kids or sweaty men from Oklahoma. We got to do and go wherever we wanted. The animals were active and not over-stimulated from being poked and prodded by a zillion freaks all day and the weather was perfect. I was tricked by a fluke.
So we went. And it was packed. And an older lady elbowed me in the tit then a rude guy nearly shoved me into a scratchy looking bush and I had to get a little rough and we tried to see the sharks without success and it was horrible crowded just like it was a few months ago and we had to leave. Which is a bummer because we have free passes that expire on the 31st and I want to do things in San Diego that I'll probably never get to do again once we move away but bah, it wasn't to be.
Then we got stuck running retarded errands for hours and I had a sugar crash and whining fit and Big Macs should not be eaten in the car in a parking lot in front of a grocery store because it makes you drop a plop of ketchup on your current favorite white t-shirt!! We finally made it home and I put myself on a time out and took a nap and everything was cool again. But don't rent Talladega Nights. YAWN.
______________________________________________________
The really great stuff:
Christmas day was so very nice. I got up early and wrapped the last remaining packages I needed to and tried to fake my boy out by weighting down a big box with soup cans then putting a gift certificate for Guitar Center inside. By the way, NEVER setting FOOT inside THERE again. Game Stop is bad enough, gettin' the stink of gaming nerds all over me, but Guitar Center? That's a whole 'nother thing and no thank you, sir. Not again. Then I hid his Gamecube in the dryer and wrapped a teeny tiny box with a note inside telling him to go look there. It was a hit.
As we opened our presents I was delighted to see that the box I suspected was a tripod for my camera was not only what I wanted but way better than I asked for. It is fancy and pretty and I love it. I also received the photoshop software I wanted and can't wait to try it out just as soon as I get it loaded onto my system. I was also very surprised to open a box containing a Survivor hat and buff from one of my very favorite seasons. I literally squealed.
I also surprised myself with a couple of things that I'd bought and wrapped for myself and marked them from "Santa", then forgot that I'd done it. Sometimes I'm about as sharp as a marble and I got laughed at for my goof. The present-opening portion of our day was a great success and I was so thankful that for our third official Christmas together that we were finally in the same place and being alone for this one was nice and serene.
We had a lovely afternoon of lounging around, him playing video games, me napping, then he prepared and began cooking the prime rib. And let me tell you, it made the house smell so good we probably could have eaten the walls with a side of gravy. And kitty was high as a kite from rolling around in the fresh catnip she got in her stocking giving us much entertainment as she flipped around like a harbor seal.
We then had our dinner time a little pooped upon with waiting for my friend Matty to show up for a quick visit with some friends of his, who finally arrived right when all of our food was done. But they only stayed long enough for one of the girls to slightly insult me about 3 times and act generally obnoxiously which I chose not to get mad about until the next day so Merry Fucking Christmas beyotch, you got a free pass.
After they all left we finally got to enjoy our (reheated) meal which was superb in it's simplicity and once we figure out how to get the rock-salt coating off that kind of meat we'll definitely have it again because, Jesus, prime rib. I couldn't decide if I should eat it or rub it on my boobs. The end to our nice day was spent watching a movie with our little Christmas tree twinkling away and then retiring to bed.
It was all I'd hoped for and more.
I had another typical weekend of ups and downs, good stuff and bad and one near vivisection of a fucking asshole who thought it would be OK to push me into a stack of bushes at Sea World.
Someday I'm actually going to take 4 days off in a row and not run around like a maniac leaving certain things to the last minute (Walmart again!), having to brave public places and talk to people. Instead I'll not get out of my pajamas, eat a diet consisting of chips & dip and watch bad horror movies. I might even go unwashed. I have goals, you know. But all-in-all it was a lovely extended weekend.
_______________________________________________________
The slightly bad stuff:
Last Thursday I got home, after braving 92 minutes of fuck-ass holiday traffic, to find a Christmas card and braggy-brag letter from my (ex) friend K. I've written about K in this blog several times before, it's all buried in the archives somewhere, and our ultimate demise as friends a couple of years ago (totally HER fault.)
K and I were introduced as neighbors the year we turned 6 and lived across the street from each other for 17 years. Now we're both heading to our 40th birthday's in 2007 and all the many years in between have been met with an endless supply of girl-problems and fights and a million very hard times. You ladies know the drill.
My relationship with K has always been difficult and there was always our other friend J mucking it up to hell too. You just can't have 3 little girls hanging out together, it won't work. Two's company, three's a crowd, I was always the crowd, yada yada. It wasn't pleasant a lot of the time is which is a nice version of they were horrible often.
Anyway, there's too many stories about that to tell but the bottom line is K acted like the worst jerk in the entire universe when I was diagnosed with cancer and for whatever excuse of the week she came up with treated me like shit and we stopped talking because fuck you, I had (and have) enough to deal with I don't need to keep a relationship going that's the equivalent of eating a shit sandwich every day. Plus she did unforgivable things, in my opinion, so fuck it.
Problem is, I was like a member of her family. Her parents were my surrogates (I have no family here in this town), they were friends with my parents, we all had over 30 years invested in knowing and loving each other and the whole fucking thing has remained an open wound with me for the last 3 years. When I stopped talking to K I also stopped talking to her whole family by default. Now, mind you, my phone hasn't rung but I didn't dial it either so I supposed we're all to blame.
So in this letter, after I hear about how great her kid is doing and how awesome her husband is and how incredible all of their European fancy trips were she saves the last paragraph to tell everyone that her mother's cancer came back this year and was determined to be terminal in August, they almost lost her in early December but everyone's confident she'll be around through New Year's.
Um...WHAT??
So typical. I was immediately sickened and furious that once again, neither K or our other useless friend J had had the balls to contact me about this in any way. And I'd just talked to J about 3 months ago! While I vacillated between anguish and fantasizing about punching some bitches in the face, and crying, I decided enough was enough. It was time to heal some wounds and make my stubborn feet take the first step.
I called K's dad on Friday and his excitement at hearing my voice nearly made my throat shut tight. We set up a time to get together on Saturday and boy was I nervous. I went over with a bottle of wine and a couple of framed photos of mine as a gift and once I got past the inner shock of how frail and aged she looked (and acted) I was just so fucking relieved to be there again. With her holding my hand and telling me how much they love me, cracking some jokes and catching up on everyone's lives, it was like old times. Sort of.
I cried on-and-off and of course the subject of K and J and their shitty stuff came up and K's dad gruffed and growled and said us girls just needed to get the fuck over it but dude, we don't do that. We are chicks. The harboring of hurt feelings last forever. K's mom said we needed to all get together and fix this crap once and for all because it would be a gift to her. And how can you deny a dying woman something like that? You simply can't.
I'm going over this coming Saturday armed again with booze and my self-worth and who knows what will come of it. I've promised not to "rehash old things" which sucks because boy, would I like to rehash them. I'd like to rehash them with a mighty ass-kicking, finger pointing and scary screaming, but I won't.
And I figure if this can close an open and perpetually painful chapter in my life all the better for me. I can be there for someone who's at the end of her too-short life, be around people that I've loved almost my entire existance and hang out again for the short time I'll still be living here. Hell, maybe I'll be able to stop these damn bad dreams I constantly have about it. I just need to watch my alcohol intake so the sharp-tongued truth monster in me will not be unleashed. Wish me luck.
Update: No need to wish me luck. I got home tonight to find an e-mail from K thanking me for visiting her mom and cancelling our meeting on Saturday. Looks like she hasn't lost any of her selfish ways in the last 2 years. Unbelievable.
_________________________________________________
The stupid stuff:
Sunday whitey and I decided...OK. Not whitey and I. Me, it was all me, it was my idea and he obliged because he's good like that. We left the house. In a very crowded tourist town known for its near-perfect year-round weather that attracts many people, a lot of whom are annoying and clueless as hell, and went to Sea World. Oh my god. What was I thinking? Why did I even fathom that this world-renown place wouldn't be packed with crazy people on a holiday weekend.
Well, I'll tell you why. Because 2 years ago we went there on New Year's day and the place was virtually empty. It was awesome. We didn't stand in line behind any screaming kids or sweaty men from Oklahoma. We got to do and go wherever we wanted. The animals were active and not over-stimulated from being poked and prodded by a zillion freaks all day and the weather was perfect. I was tricked by a fluke.
So we went. And it was packed. And an older lady elbowed me in the tit then a rude guy nearly shoved me into a scratchy looking bush and I had to get a little rough and we tried to see the sharks without success and it was horrible crowded just like it was a few months ago and we had to leave. Which is a bummer because we have free passes that expire on the 31st and I want to do things in San Diego that I'll probably never get to do again once we move away but bah, it wasn't to be.
Then we got stuck running retarded errands for hours and I had a sugar crash and whining fit and Big Macs should not be eaten in the car in a parking lot in front of a grocery store because it makes you drop a plop of ketchup on your current favorite white t-shirt!! We finally made it home and I put myself on a time out and took a nap and everything was cool again. But don't rent Talladega Nights. YAWN.
______________________________________________________
The really great stuff:
Christmas day was so very nice. I got up early and wrapped the last remaining packages I needed to and tried to fake my boy out by weighting down a big box with soup cans then putting a gift certificate for Guitar Center inside. By the way, NEVER setting FOOT inside THERE again. Game Stop is bad enough, gettin' the stink of gaming nerds all over me, but Guitar Center? That's a whole 'nother thing and no thank you, sir. Not again. Then I hid his Gamecube in the dryer and wrapped a teeny tiny box with a note inside telling him to go look there. It was a hit.
As we opened our presents I was delighted to see that the box I suspected was a tripod for my camera was not only what I wanted but way better than I asked for. It is fancy and pretty and I love it. I also received the photoshop software I wanted and can't wait to try it out just as soon as I get it loaded onto my system. I was also very surprised to open a box containing a Survivor hat and buff from one of my very favorite seasons. I literally squealed.
I also surprised myself with a couple of things that I'd bought and wrapped for myself and marked them from "Santa", then forgot that I'd done it. Sometimes I'm about as sharp as a marble and I got laughed at for my goof. The present-opening portion of our day was a great success and I was so thankful that for our third official Christmas together that we were finally in the same place and being alone for this one was nice and serene.
We had a lovely afternoon of lounging around, him playing video games, me napping, then he prepared and began cooking the prime rib. And let me tell you, it made the house smell so good we probably could have eaten the walls with a side of gravy. And kitty was high as a kite from rolling around in the fresh catnip she got in her stocking giving us much entertainment as she flipped around like a harbor seal.
We then had our dinner time a little pooped upon with waiting for my friend Matty to show up for a quick visit with some friends of his, who finally arrived right when all of our food was done. But they only stayed long enough for one of the girls to slightly insult me about 3 times and act generally obnoxiously which I chose not to get mad about until the next day so Merry Fucking Christmas beyotch, you got a free pass.
After they all left we finally got to enjoy our (reheated) meal which was superb in it's simplicity and once we figure out how to get the rock-salt coating off that kind of meat we'll definitely have it again because, Jesus, prime rib. I couldn't decide if I should eat it or rub it on my boobs. The end to our nice day was spent watching a movie with our little Christmas tree twinkling away and then retiring to bed.
It was all I'd hoped for and more.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Have a good one!
Little Susie would like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas.
Just as soon as she stops screaming.
If you're bored for a minute today, in between cooking the turkey, breaking up fights between your drunk cousins, and trying to sneak shots of tequila in the kitchen, go check her and some of her friends out.
(This is one of the only reasons I sometimes wonder about having kids. You just know a child of mine would lose their shit 9 ways to Sunday on a mall Santa. And how very awesome that would be.)
Have a great day!!
Just as soon as she stops screaming.
If you're bored for a minute today, in between cooking the turkey, breaking up fights between your drunk cousins, and trying to sneak shots of tequila in the kitchen, go check her and some of her friends out.
(This is one of the only reasons I sometimes wonder about having kids. You just know a child of mine would lose their shit 9 ways to Sunday on a mall Santa. And how very awesome that would be.)
Have a great day!!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Talk about cute
Who could resist buying this (chubby) child every present on the earth? No one! That's who.
Please ignore Santa's seemingly inappropriate hand placement. It was the 70's, we didn't get all hyper about that shit.
Please ignore Santa's seemingly inappropriate hand placement. It was the 70's, we didn't get all hyper about that shit.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
God damn Christmas
All of the stockings were hung by the chimney with care;
In anticipation of my fucking credit card statement would soon be here.
I swear to Christ, how do I manage to do it every year? With the shopping and the fretting and bad decision making. And the money. ALL. THE. MONEY. Spent on who (Whom? I never get that right), I ask you?
My list of people to buy for is short by industry standards. I'm not speaking to my asshole brother so he's still on the naughty list. I don't have but 4 friends to exchange with. One set of parents. One boyfriend. One large and hungry cat. How the hell does my budget get blown to smithereens every damn time?
When it's not the holidaze season I'll walk through the drugstore or Target and think to myself, I could find everything for every person I could fathom that would require a gift or 3 from me in this one store in a mere few hours of a shopping trip for a budget that would scarce leave a scratch on my bank account.
But nooooooooooo. Do I do that? Not on your life. My generous budget went out the window when I decided to get up at 4 fucking 30 in the morning the day after Crapsgiving, I went way overboard, my great and wonderful artistic/crafty/yummy/cheap ideas got all jumbled in my head like a bag of marbles, and I went crazy. Again. And once more I fall back on the old standard rationalizations of it's only money, fuck it I don't care, it'll make the people I care about happy, it'll make some needy kids happy, fuck it I don't care. Then I'm poor.
Aww, fuck it.
_______________________________________________________
Also filed under Christmas: Crazy was my quest for decor. I was mentally consumed with having a Christmas tree this year. I've lived in my condo for 9 Exmasses now and nary a tree have I had, unless you count the 16 incher with the glued-on mini plastic ornaments my mother bought for me a church bizarre fashioned by some sweet old church lady with blue hair and a used kleenex peeking out from her sweater sleeve. It has served its purpose well but holiday cheer shouldn't fit into a shoebox, in my opinion.
I'd been doing my normal obsessive hunting for the perfect tree, going to some stores more than once (read: 4 times), and decided that my picky nature for a tree that looks better than real was not possible this year. And due to my crazy shopping-going since turkey day I just couldn't see myself shelling out $200 + for faux foliage.
During my lamenting about this dilemma I've had several friends suggest I get one on sale after the holiday, which I then give them a look like, "did a bobcat just crawl up your ass and eat your brain, stupid? I want a tree FOR Christmas. Not AFTER. Jeezus."
I'd finally given up on my expedition and felt good about not spending any more money frivolously (hahahahaha, even that made me laugh because, ha, the spending), which in itself is dumb on my part because the money? It goes through my fingers like grains of sand.
I needed to go to Walmart because I like pain. No, actually I've been testing out their online photo-ordering system and needed to pick up another batch of prints, which they fucked to the wall, btw, and I had to wait another 2 hours since their machine had broken. Remind me to call and complain about that because fuck, I pay like twice as much to pick those bitches up in an hour and they're never ready in an hour.
I now had somepeople time to kill, which let me tell you, is a shear joy. Nothing like wandering around fucking Walmart on a Saturday afternoon in December. I haven't spent much time in any Walmart store since Target is my house of worship so I wasn't fully prepared for what I'm now calling the Throngs from Hell. Because they are. From hell.
Irammed into several slow-moving assholes mosied over to the Holiday Extravaganza area which, oof, the Throngs were thick as thieves. But I wanted one more look at the artificial trees to see if, per chance, I could still pull this off and not feel like I was wasting money on total crap or wasting money in general. I called whitey since I like to share my pain and fuck if he gets to spend all day playing video games while I'm being subjected to random smells and screaming children at a local discount super store by myself.
(Although I do have to thank him for being who he is. He might not give a flying fuck about decorating or sweater choices or which sparkly candles should go where but he'll still have a legitimate conversation about it. Love you, baby. )
Anyway, I saw a stack of small boxes containing artificial trees and a sign posted saying "$19.97." Hmm, I thought, this is probably crap, but for $20 how bad can it be? If it totally sucks we'll chuck it and I'm out an amount less than what you'd pay for a diet coke at the movies.
So, I bought it. I took it home. I done decorated it. And damn if it isn't as cute a bug!
See?
And I only had to run down one old lady and a smelly guy with an eye patch to get it.
Merry Christmas, every one.
In anticipation of my fucking credit card statement would soon be here.
I swear to Christ, how do I manage to do it every year? With the shopping and the fretting and bad decision making. And the money. ALL. THE. MONEY. Spent on who (Whom? I never get that right), I ask you?
My list of people to buy for is short by industry standards. I'm not speaking to my asshole brother so he's still on the naughty list. I don't have but 4 friends to exchange with. One set of parents. One boyfriend. One large and hungry cat. How the hell does my budget get blown to smithereens every damn time?
When it's not the holidaze season I'll walk through the drugstore or Target and think to myself, I could find everything for every person I could fathom that would require a gift or 3 from me in this one store in a mere few hours of a shopping trip for a budget that would scarce leave a scratch on my bank account.
But nooooooooooo. Do I do that? Not on your life. My generous budget went out the window when I decided to get up at 4 fucking 30 in the morning the day after Crapsgiving, I went way overboard, my great and wonderful artistic/crafty/yummy/cheap ideas got all jumbled in my head like a bag of marbles, and I went crazy. Again. And once more I fall back on the old standard rationalizations of it's only money, fuck it I don't care, it'll make the people I care about happy, it'll make some needy kids happy, fuck it I don't care. Then I'm poor.
Aww, fuck it.
_______________________________________________________
Also filed under Christmas: Crazy was my quest for decor. I was mentally consumed with having a Christmas tree this year. I've lived in my condo for 9 Exmasses now and nary a tree have I had, unless you count the 16 incher with the glued-on mini plastic ornaments my mother bought for me a church bizarre fashioned by some sweet old church lady with blue hair and a used kleenex peeking out from her sweater sleeve. It has served its purpose well but holiday cheer shouldn't fit into a shoebox, in my opinion.
I'd been doing my normal obsessive hunting for the perfect tree, going to some stores more than once (read: 4 times), and decided that my picky nature for a tree that looks better than real was not possible this year. And due to my crazy shopping-going since turkey day I just couldn't see myself shelling out $200 + for faux foliage.
During my lamenting about this dilemma I've had several friends suggest I get one on sale after the holiday, which I then give them a look like, "did a bobcat just crawl up your ass and eat your brain, stupid? I want a tree FOR Christmas. Not AFTER. Jeezus."
I'd finally given up on my expedition and felt good about not spending any more money frivolously (hahahahaha, even that made me laugh because, ha, the spending), which in itself is dumb on my part because the money? It goes through my fingers like grains of sand.
I needed to go to Walmart because I like pain. No, actually I've been testing out their online photo-ordering system and needed to pick up another batch of prints, which they fucked to the wall, btw, and I had to wait another 2 hours since their machine had broken. Remind me to call and complain about that because fuck, I pay like twice as much to pick those bitches up in an hour and they're never ready in an hour.
I now had some
I
(Although I do have to thank him for being who he is. He might not give a flying fuck about decorating or sweater choices or which sparkly candles should go where but he'll still have a legitimate conversation about it. Love you, baby. )
Anyway, I saw a stack of small boxes containing artificial trees and a sign posted saying "$19.97." Hmm, I thought, this is probably crap, but for $20 how bad can it be? If it totally sucks we'll chuck it and I'm out an amount less than what you'd pay for a diet coke at the movies.
So, I bought it. I took it home. I done decorated it. And damn if it isn't as cute a bug!
See?
And I only had to run down one old lady and a smelly guy with an eye patch to get it.
Merry Christmas, every one.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Do YOU know about periods?
I...wha...fuh...er...ah...THE FUCKING HELL?
Just watch it.
You'll be scarred for life, but WATCH IT!!
Just watch it.
You'll be scarred for life, but WATCH IT!!
Friday, December 15, 2006
S'all good
Friends of the internets! We have cause for celebration today!! Mind you, it's nothing worthy of a full-scale ticker tape parade with marching bands and a Grand Marshal riding in a powder-blue T-bird. Although an appearance by David Hasslehoff serenading me with his latest big hit would be a treat. (I'm not sorry I did that to you.) But some partying shall commence!
I can usually turn every triumph no matter the size into a cause for a major reward, but today is a little different. This boob stuff scared the piss out of me. I held myself together surprisingly well and I'm actually very proud of myself for not falling completely apart or tearing the dreadlocks out of the head of the retarded fucking clerk at Old Navy who could not multitask beyond blinking and scanning bar codes let alone doing my exchange and talking on the phone causing her to nearly charge me thrice over for a single shirt. That's how much of a trooper I was.
Oh, I totally forgot to tell you the details. After many phone calls and 2 episodes of bursting into tears later, I finally got a call from my gyno doc herself last night where she explained to me with an almost-believable amount of fake sincerity for my sanity and well-being that yes indeedy the second set of magnified images showed nothing unusual. Nada. Zip. Zilch to be worried about. And the "useless" ultrasound while ineffective in detecting cancer does pick up cysts and shit but even if it was a waste of time for my type of big ol' girls the mammo was our ticket out of Insanityville.
Why the fuck the first 5 people I talked to earlier in the day couldn't explain any of that I don't know. I'm not your average patient and I want answers and explanations and I understand stuff so don't patronize me, alright? Just answer the question, Claire, ANSWER THE GOD DAMN QUESTION!! Ahem.
And here's a little message to the asshole woman wearing the Jehovah Lives t-shirt who was also called back for another mammogram the day I was there;
Don't give the technicians shit because you had to drive all the way from whatever shack you came from for another test. Don't pester and argue about how it's too far and you always have to come back for more pictures as if some pimple-faced kid at the photomat got a booger on your kids birthday photos instead of a mammogram with questionable results.
These people are trying to make sure you don't have fucking cancer eating away at your insides you ignorant bitch. I would drive A THOUSAND FUCKING MILES on the back of a Harley with no muffler, worn-out seats and a raging case of diarrhea for peace of mind that a second set of pictures and a closer look can give. This is not being done to inconvenience you or tear you away from the bingo hall. It's for your life so whip your tit out, shut the fuck up and say THANK YOU.
My lerd but was this a stressful week. I don't think I slept more than 3 hours every night, but bottom line, this too has past. And now we will celebrate with sushi for me, fully cooked beef for the fraidy cat non-raw fish eater, and booze. We also have a party to go to tomorrow night and I for one am glad of the story I won't be telling. I can stick with that one time I was thrown out of a Tijuana strip club instead. (That really happened, as if there where any doubt.)
I lift my glass to everyone who sent vibes and showed me support. That shit works, don't ever doubt it. Knowing that my baby, my friends, and virtual friend alike had and will always have my back makes me breathe easier. And for that, I thank you with a toast.
Here's to my tit who's been A OK'd
Much thanks to all of you who prayed
May your weekend be full of good friends & food
And If you think of it raise a glass for my boob.
Cheers!
I can usually turn every triumph no matter the size into a cause for a major reward, but today is a little different. This boob stuff scared the piss out of me. I held myself together surprisingly well and I'm actually very proud of myself for not falling completely apart or tearing the dreadlocks out of the head of the retarded fucking clerk at Old Navy who could not multitask beyond blinking and scanning bar codes let alone doing my exchange and talking on the phone causing her to nearly charge me thrice over for a single shirt. That's how much of a trooper I was.
Oh, I totally forgot to tell you the details. After many phone calls and 2 episodes of bursting into tears later, I finally got a call from my gyno doc herself last night where she explained to me with an almost-believable amount of fake sincerity for my sanity and well-being that yes indeedy the second set of magnified images showed nothing unusual. Nada. Zip. Zilch to be worried about. And the "useless" ultrasound while ineffective in detecting cancer does pick up cysts and shit but even if it was a waste of time for my type of big ol' girls the mammo was our ticket out of Insanityville.
Why the fuck the first 5 people I talked to earlier in the day couldn't explain any of that I don't know. I'm not your average patient and I want answers and explanations and I understand stuff so don't patronize me, alright? Just answer the question, Claire, ANSWER THE GOD DAMN QUESTION!! Ahem.
And here's a little message to the asshole woman wearing the Jehovah Lives t-shirt who was also called back for another mammogram the day I was there;
Don't give the technicians shit because you had to drive all the way from whatever shack you came from for another test. Don't pester and argue about how it's too far and you always have to come back for more pictures as if some pimple-faced kid at the photomat got a booger on your kids birthday photos instead of a mammogram with questionable results.
These people are trying to make sure you don't have fucking cancer eating away at your insides you ignorant bitch. I would drive A THOUSAND FUCKING MILES on the back of a Harley with no muffler, worn-out seats and a raging case of diarrhea for peace of mind that a second set of pictures and a closer look can give. This is not being done to inconvenience you or tear you away from the bingo hall. It's for your life so whip your tit out, shut the fuck up and say THANK YOU.
My lerd but was this a stressful week. I don't think I slept more than 3 hours every night, but bottom line, this too has past. And now we will celebrate with sushi for me, fully cooked beef for the fraidy cat non-raw fish eater, and booze. We also have a party to go to tomorrow night and I for one am glad of the story I won't be telling. I can stick with that one time I was thrown out of a Tijuana strip club instead. (That really happened, as if there where any doubt.)
I lift my glass to everyone who sent vibes and showed me support. That shit works, don't ever doubt it. Knowing that my baby, my friends, and virtual friend alike had and will always have my back makes me breathe easier. And for that, I thank you with a toast.
Here's to my tit who's been A OK'd
Much thanks to all of you who prayed
May your weekend be full of good friends & food
And If you think of it raise a glass for my boob.
Cheers!
Thursday, December 14, 2006
I weeeeeen
I knew I was the only one to enter her little contest. I friggen KNEW it!
But I don't care. I finally won a prize! YAY!
A prize originally from NaBloPoMo. YAY!
A writing prize by default, apathy and no competition! YAY!
Wait...
No, no, it's still good.
YAY!
But I don't care. I finally won a prize! YAY!
A prize originally from NaBloPoMo. YAY!
A writing prize by default, apathy and no competition! YAY!
Wait...
No, no, it's still good.
YAY!
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Limbo
First off - thank you so much for the comments all of you left yesterday. Just knowing there are friends and strangers alike taking the time to leave a note helped scrape me off the ceiling a bit. This is where things are right now; I went down to the radiology place yesterday and got lefty naked and ready where she was pulled and squeezed and smashy smashed 4 separate times then covered in goo and ultrasounded. She was very upset so later I bought her something shiny to make up for it.
All the boob wranglers were very nice, which is not the norm but much appreciated, and since they all knew why I was there kept asking me how I was doing. Such a refreshing change from being barked at by Nurse Ratchet to get naked and put this recycled from tumblweeds paper square the size of a McDonald's napkin over your lady parts only to be talked over and not to then whisked out of the office in 30 seconds but not after we try to stab you with a rusty fork 9 times to get a blood sample and if you're really lucky we'll call you fat to your face. So yesterday, although not fun and quite unsettling, wasn't too bad.
Unfortunately the ultrasound chick said my boob was too dense for her to see anything which was taken the wrong way and my stressed-out little sweater muffin got all offended at being called stupid and lashed out at the tech, punching her in the face getting that gel in her eye and the tech screamed "it burns it burns" and we tried to hightail it out of there because lefty has already had trouble with the law from that dowtown nightclub dancing in the window escapade which really wasn't her fault because what bar has giant windows facing the street anyway? They practically beg for a flashing then we all realized that breastzilla had taken the label "dense" the wrong way and we all had a good laugh.
As you can see, I'm trying very, very, VERY hard not to make anything of this before there is a this, but in my circumstance it's difficult because dammit, here we are again. A routine test has gone awry. They see something funny(my boob says 'funny, ha ha, like a clown? Do I fucking amuse you?') and need to investigate further.
This happens to me all the time. I've had countless MRI's and CT's and X-rays for all kinds of things in the past 3 years, especially 2006, Year of the Scan. Thyroid, lungs, head, neck, foot, etc. All to take a better look at the wheezing, the creaking, the aching, the hope it's shrinking stuff. And I'm always slightly bracing myself for the possibility that they'll find more than a little arthritis on my butt or a giant gas bubble in my guts, or more nasty thyroid cells trying to make pathetic a come-back like those boys from Van Halen. Dudes! JUST SAY NO! But this last thing, this one has stopped me in my tracks, for a moment.
When you've already been delivered the news that you have cancer, it's very hard to put that out of your head whenever things aren't perfectly normal. Normal for me, anyway which really means something added to my less than normal every day goings on. Every migraine makes me think it's a newly formed tumor pressing on my optic nerve. My throat has a tickle and I immediately go to lung cancer. That ingrown hair? I don't even want to think about it.
You see, once your body chemistry has gone all kerflooey you never quite trust it to behave again. The kind of cancer I had was extremely rare, has a great success rate but a 30% recurrence rate. All of that I can handle. I know what it will mean if it comes back and what I'll have to do and I'll manage. But when one of the (fucker asshole) doctors (that I don't see anymore because I don't think I'd be able to control my urge to tear his balls off with my bare hands) leaned back in his chair and smuggly said to me, "You know, your chances of getting another kind of cancer has just gone up 25%", Well, I think I went into a permanent state of panic attack that I've never, ever be able to shake off.
When the breast center called me Monday night, which they've never done before, my mind went there. You know where there is. That place in your head that remembers what it feels like to be given life-altering crap-ass news. The dark corner where the psycho clowns wait in the shadows for the right moment to jump out and flash their flesh-tearing teeth at you. The space in your brain reserved for terror. And I can't help it. I can't help being fucking freaked out because this doesn't feel routine. This one is new and worrisome and scary as fuck.
I live in a constant state of paranoia. It takes different forms and has varying degrees, but it's always there like a question mark bouncing around in my mind. Probably nothing, maybe something, definitely a thing, perhaps not. Bouncing bouncing bouncing. Like a god damn Tigger on crack and Nyquil. I hate that guy. And he doesn't share his drugs.
Most of the time I can keep it under control with chocolate and living my very good life and trying not to to let too much of my day spent being obsessed. But it's how I'm wired and I'll thank anyone not to fucking tell me how to feel about any of it (specifically, stupid co-worker). If you're going to start any sentences with "you just have to" I will not be responsible for my actions. My very painful to your person actions. And I understand the well-meaning "It's probably nothing"'s but those words fall on my deaf ears because once you bank of that being the case, and one time it's so far from the case, they don't work any more.
If you walked across a frozen lake that looked rock fucking solid, imagining inches upon inches of solid ice under your feet then you took an innocent step only to feel everything split and crumble under you with a sickening crack and your next realization being you're are falling to your possible death as you felt the freezing water rush over you, sucking the breath right from your chest rendering you momentarily paralyzed with fear and shock, you'd be pretty fucking wary of ever taking a stroll like that again, wouldn't you? I'll stay on the shore, thank you very much.
But people say, awww, come on, what are the odds that'll happen again? It's safe! I'm sure it's frozen this time. You still want to stick out a toe and take that chance? Maybe, and I think it's important to not miss out on those kinds of adventures, but I bet you won't ever forget what happened that one time. Your body will remember what it felt like to have the world fall out from under you. And you are no pussy for being careful and being prepared, just in case.
And that's what I'm doing. I hope it's nothing. I hope I'll laugh about this in a week and say "whew" all that worrying for nothing. But I'm also getting ready for another battle I might have to fight. I'm being realistic and dusting off my warrior gear. I need to handle this my way.
Just in case.
All the boob wranglers were very nice, which is not the norm but much appreciated, and since they all knew why I was there kept asking me how I was doing. Such a refreshing change from being barked at by Nurse Ratchet to get naked and put this recycled from tumblweeds paper square the size of a McDonald's napkin over your lady parts only to be talked over and not to then whisked out of the office in 30 seconds but not after we try to stab you with a rusty fork 9 times to get a blood sample and if you're really lucky we'll call you fat to your face. So yesterday, although not fun and quite unsettling, wasn't too bad.
Unfortunately the ultrasound chick said my boob was too dense for her to see anything which was taken the wrong way and my stressed-out little sweater muffin got all offended at being called stupid and lashed out at the tech, punching her in the face getting that gel in her eye and the tech screamed "it burns it burns" and we tried to hightail it out of there because lefty has already had trouble with the law from that dowtown nightclub dancing in the window escapade which really wasn't her fault because what bar has giant windows facing the street anyway? They practically beg for a flashing then we all realized that breastzilla had taken the label "dense" the wrong way and we all had a good laugh.
As you can see, I'm trying very, very, VERY hard not to make anything of this before there is a this, but in my circumstance it's difficult because dammit, here we are again. A routine test has gone awry. They see something funny(my boob says 'funny, ha ha, like a clown? Do I fucking amuse you?') and need to investigate further.
This happens to me all the time. I've had countless MRI's and CT's and X-rays for all kinds of things in the past 3 years, especially 2006, Year of the Scan. Thyroid, lungs, head, neck, foot, etc. All to take a better look at the wheezing, the creaking, the aching, the hope it's shrinking stuff. And I'm always slightly bracing myself for the possibility that they'll find more than a little arthritis on my butt or a giant gas bubble in my guts, or more nasty thyroid cells trying to make pathetic a come-back like those boys from Van Halen. Dudes! JUST SAY NO! But this last thing, this one has stopped me in my tracks, for a moment.
When you've already been delivered the news that you have cancer, it's very hard to put that out of your head whenever things aren't perfectly normal. Normal for me, anyway which really means something added to my less than normal every day goings on. Every migraine makes me think it's a newly formed tumor pressing on my optic nerve. My throat has a tickle and I immediately go to lung cancer. That ingrown hair? I don't even want to think about it.
You see, once your body chemistry has gone all kerflooey you never quite trust it to behave again. The kind of cancer I had was extremely rare, has a great success rate but a 30% recurrence rate. All of that I can handle. I know what it will mean if it comes back and what I'll have to do and I'll manage. But when one of the (fucker asshole) doctors (that I don't see anymore because I don't think I'd be able to control my urge to tear his balls off with my bare hands) leaned back in his chair and smuggly said to me, "You know, your chances of getting another kind of cancer has just gone up 25%", Well, I think I went into a permanent state of panic attack that I've never, ever be able to shake off.
When the breast center called me Monday night, which they've never done before, my mind went there. You know where there is. That place in your head that remembers what it feels like to be given life-altering crap-ass news. The dark corner where the psycho clowns wait in the shadows for the right moment to jump out and flash their flesh-tearing teeth at you. The space in your brain reserved for terror. And I can't help it. I can't help being fucking freaked out because this doesn't feel routine. This one is new and worrisome and scary as fuck.
I live in a constant state of paranoia. It takes different forms and has varying degrees, but it's always there like a question mark bouncing around in my mind. Probably nothing, maybe something, definitely a thing, perhaps not. Bouncing bouncing bouncing. Like a god damn Tigger on crack and Nyquil. I hate that guy. And he doesn't share his drugs.
Most of the time I can keep it under control with chocolate and living my very good life and trying not to to let too much of my day spent being obsessed. But it's how I'm wired and I'll thank anyone not to fucking tell me how to feel about any of it (specifically, stupid co-worker). If you're going to start any sentences with "you just have to" I will not be responsible for my actions. My very painful to your person actions. And I understand the well-meaning "It's probably nothing"'s but those words fall on my deaf ears because once you bank of that being the case, and one time it's so far from the case, they don't work any more.
If you walked across a frozen lake that looked rock fucking solid, imagining inches upon inches of solid ice under your feet then you took an innocent step only to feel everything split and crumble under you with a sickening crack and your next realization being you're are falling to your possible death as you felt the freezing water rush over you, sucking the breath right from your chest rendering you momentarily paralyzed with fear and shock, you'd be pretty fucking wary of ever taking a stroll like that again, wouldn't you? I'll stay on the shore, thank you very much.
But people say, awww, come on, what are the odds that'll happen again? It's safe! I'm sure it's frozen this time. You still want to stick out a toe and take that chance? Maybe, and I think it's important to not miss out on those kinds of adventures, but I bet you won't ever forget what happened that one time. Your body will remember what it felt like to have the world fall out from under you. And you are no pussy for being careful and being prepared, just in case.
And that's what I'm doing. I hope it's nothing. I hope I'll laugh about this in a week and say "whew" all that worrying for nothing. But I'm also getting ready for another battle I might have to fight. I'm being realistic and dusting off my warrior gear. I need to handle this my way.
Just in case.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Speaking of tits...
Messages you don't want to come home to on your answering maching:
"Hello Ms. Bitter, this is so-and-so from the Tit Smasher Breast Center. Please give me a call regarding your recent mammogram."
Please excuse me while I go shit my pants for the next 12 hours.
Update: I called. There's something wrong with my left girl. I have to go back in today for more smashing and an ultrasound.
I need another pair of pants and2 14 valium.
"Hello Ms. Bitter, this is so-and-so from the Tit Smasher Breast Center. Please give me a call regarding your recent mammogram."
Please excuse me while I go shit my pants for the next 12 hours.
Update: I called. There's something wrong with my left girl. I have to go back in today for more smashing and an ultrasound.
I need another pair of pants and
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Hey you, cocktit!
Listen ladies. I have but one request for you today. It's not huge, alright? Don't get all panicky thinking I'm going to ask you to balance my checkbook or demand a juggling act with broken glass and a running chainsaw. This will not require money, illegal action, or assistance from an outside party. It's not going to hurt. It'll take about 4 seconds of your life and could change your day. I know it will certainly change mine.
You have GOT to straighten out your nipples before you leave the house.
Tweak 'em, rub a little ice on 'em, or stick 'em in your dustbuster, I don't care, but you need to pay attention to which way they're pointing so if a cold wind kicks up, you sneeze, or the fucking over-producing AC in your office showers you with freezing air all fucking day and gives you some spectacular glass cutters it won't look like Marty God Damn Feldmen has crawled into your shirt.
I cannot look at your face when you're smuggling peas with lefty pointing directly at my face and the other towards the South Pole. One of these days I'm going to send my pinching fingers in for sweet revenge and give you a tweak that'll bring tears to your eyes. The askew boob is distracting, yo.
And it's OK. I have a set of cans on me that are impressive, although I think they belong between the pages of National Geographic instead of Playboy, so I get it. I developed much like Wynonna Ryder and Kirsten Dunst, without the tiny waists and non-existent assess but with what I like to call The Pendulous Breasts. They have a natural swing and weight and unruly nipples that need a little post-bra wrangling to get situated for the day.
But even if you're not plenteous in the chestal region you still need to take the time to level it all up. Hard nips are hot. Cocktits are not.
STRAIGHTEN THAT SHIT OUT!
OK? OK.
You have GOT to straighten out your nipples before you leave the house.
Tweak 'em, rub a little ice on 'em, or stick 'em in your dustbuster, I don't care, but you need to pay attention to which way they're pointing so if a cold wind kicks up, you sneeze, or the fucking over-producing AC in your office showers you with freezing air all fucking day and gives you some spectacular glass cutters it won't look like Marty God Damn Feldmen has crawled into your shirt.
I cannot look at your face when you're smuggling peas with lefty pointing directly at my face and the other towards the South Pole. One of these days I'm going to send my pinching fingers in for sweet revenge and give you a tweak that'll bring tears to your eyes. The askew boob is distracting, yo.
And it's OK. I have a set of cans on me that are impressive, although I think they belong between the pages of National Geographic instead of Playboy, so I get it. I developed much like Wynonna Ryder and Kirsten Dunst, without the tiny waists and non-existent assess but with what I like to call The Pendulous Breasts. They have a natural swing and weight and unruly nipples that need a little post-bra wrangling to get situated for the day.
But even if you're not plenteous in the chestal region you still need to take the time to level it all up. Hard nips are hot. Cocktits are not.
STRAIGHTEN THAT SHIT OUT!
OK? OK.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Honk Honk
Ahh, San Francisco. The place where some people leave their hearts. I, however, leave my money because that place is fucking expensive! Fuck! And have you heard that it's crowded there? Yes. It is!
I once again had a good time mixed with sore feet, a few things that went sideways and one near throw-down in the airport all wrapped up with a spectacular ending to the weekend. (Thanks, baby.) And since my ridiculously delicate system has turned from soft as a peach to thin as rice paper spending a weekend consuming 4 paltry cocktails, some diet coke, and running around more than usual I was rendered exhausted and threat-level red moody grumpy I hate everything for 2 whole days afterward.
And I've also gotten very lazy since I don't have to write every day (boo, no prizes!!) even though I want to. I swear, I'd work my ass off at the office if I there was a potential for a prize with my paycheck every 2 weeks. I could possibly take home a dancing Santa that flashes his ass? I'LL PUT IN 90 HOURS!! I'm so dumb. Anyway, onto the recap.
I hadn't been feeling well for a few days before I left and had to push visions of spending the entire weekend laying in my bed at home out of my head, because that was a much-craved prospect. But I can usually rally myself and scrape up some energy reserved for naughty talk and shopping so I was hoping this trip would be no exception. And after taking a little nap peppered with panic attacks on the plane I was a little bit refreshed. And sweaty. Refreshingly sweaty.
Matty met me soon after I picked up my suitcase and we headed for the train. We made it back to his apartment without incident (thank you for not being scary this time public transportation!), changed and headed to the Hyatt Regency for dinner and drinks and one most kick-ass glass of wine that I highly recommend and we got the pleasure of being seated next to a couple who loudly argued for 20 minutes about how he never comes over to her place and cuts her off mid-sent...shut up already. Fuck.
(clicky to make bigger)
I took my camera in hopes of photographing the astounding amount of lights the Hyatt puts up every year but I'm not that happy with the outcome of 99% of my shots this weekend, (again.) It seems to be hit-or-miss with me in the photography department which is exactly why I'm having an elicit affair with my digital camera since I can shoot 500 frames and erase them all and start over if I want to. But hell, it would be nice to have more than a couple to share. Bah.
The next morning we got ready and headed to the biggest mall west of the Mississippi which did not impress, by the way. I don't like a shopping center that acts like a 29-armed octopus and their food court sucked. Only in SF could you not find a fucking Hot Dog on a Stick but come across fusion free range organic grilled platypus skewers on every corner. For a small fee of one paycheck, please. At least they had plenty of my bff diet coke to take me from a pre-migraine head-splitter into a Christmas shopper. And the platypus wasn't bad.
Between struggling through the throngs of a gazillion Saturday browsers and paying $6.00 & change for 4 small pieces of gourmet chocolate we hit the street to shop there, where we found the rest of the population of Northern California and quite a few yelly homeless people and one dude screaming about Jesus into a megaphone. Nothing like hearing about the Almighty Lord through a distorted speaker and impatient taxi horn honks.
We hit a toy store later because I loves me some toys, and when we walked in we spied a little boy sitting in a little car pretending to drive. And being the world's educator that I am, I said to him, "You say honk, honk, GET OUTTA MY WAY." And like a good little parrot he repeated me exactly. Then I got in trouble for being a bad influence.
Finally I found one, count it, one Christmas gift of the whole weekend and we headed off for a cocktail because, shit, we needed a cocktail. Honk, honk, GET OUTTA MY WAY.
On the way back to the apartment to relax before our dinner plans we can across the famous parrots of Telegraph Hill being fed by a group of people in the park next to Matty's apartment building. It was really exciting. I used to be petrified of birds but when the man with the giant sack of seeds offered me a handful I didn't hesitate and in less than a second I was mobbed. Crazy little fuckers.
After decorating Matty's cute little balcony with some lights we headed over to the gayborhood for some Sushi where another million people were all crammed into tiny establishments and there was a long and many-subject argument with me yelling "And how do you know my ass doesn't get eaten on a regular basis!?!" which is something I didn't think I'd ever utter not-to-mention argue about and a certain someone did something naughty and I got really mad but then we made up and after a drink was spilled it was determined that I was right and probably always am. GET OUTTA MY WAY!
The last stop of the night was to wish a friend a happy birthday in a giant lesbian bar where a miniature lesbian barback kept ramming into my butt (seriously, it's not that huge tiny lesbian!) and someone puked and we left. Then Matty and I had a great convo in the cab and the driver complimented our relationship and in his thick Russian accent said we were "very good conversational" which we really are. One last ciggie on the balcony and it was off to bed.
I woke up early the next morning without a raging headache which is a miracle on account of I was served rat piss in the name of wine the night before (is chardonnay supposed to be the color of rancid apple juice?) and saw an interesting sunrise trying to break through the haze. It was so bright I was sure my retinas had popped out of my head an onto the floor so I closed my eyes, lifted the camera and clicked. Notice the askew...
Sunday got a bit screwed up with the plans and brunch was scratched and time for more shopping slipped away. New friends flew in for a visit so they picked us up in their rental car, we dropped them off after an hour-long trek through a 5 mile long street with a Catholic church on every corner, and after snagging the rental car for ourselves were off to the airport for my late afternoon flight. Matty and said a quick goodbye and I was on my way.
After a semi-uneventful plane ride, with only one panic attack (go me!), we landed back in San Diego and I mosied to baggage claim to get my suitcase. And this is where I almost killed a queen.
I was standing there minding my own business when the turnstyle started up and bags were catapulting down the slide. My side of the baggage thingy had gotten really crowded but there was plenty of room on the other side. I would have moved accept I was there first and the crowd had grown 3 people thick behind me.
Without warning this guy shrieks in an extremely annoyed voice, "EXCUSE ME", then GRIPS his hand ON my arm and SHOVES me to the left and out of his bony assed way. Well, that pissed me right the fuck off. I'm not easily intimidated and I'm sick to shit of people being assholes because they're banking on the fact that most people won't challenge them. But guess what, mother effer, I'm not most people.
The first thing that popped out of my mouth was the retro pre-school teacher in me and with a raised voice I said,
"Hey! Words work you know!!"
I wasn't satisfied with that so I added, "DON'T TOUCH ME!!"
The self-entitled pissy queen hissed as me and snotilly said, "WELL! Someone's had a bad day."
Which I then replied, "No, you are being a jerk."
And then he said "You don't have to be such a nasty BITCH about it!"
Oh. No. You did NOT go there, little man. I am tired. I just FLEW on an AIRPLANE which I HATE and I was standing here MINDING my own BUSINESS and you didn't even give me a CHANCE to get out of your WAY before you PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME without my PERMISSON and have you NOTICED that I OUTWEIGH your skinny ass by MANY pounds?
You can call me a cunt. You can call me an idiot. But when you call me a bitch is usually means I'm standing up for myself against some fucker who thinks they can say or do whatever the hell they want to and them thar are figthing words to me. So through my growing red face I pursed my lips and tersely said;
"You. Shouldn't. SHOVE. People."
Which I was hoping would be the end of it because I was right and he was wrong but no. He just had to open his yapper again and spat, "I didn't shove you" and made a snorty sound so I finished it off by roaring;
"OH SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Then I keeeled him.
Alright, I didn't kill him but man, was I PISSED. If he'd said one more thing, looked at me with even the corner of his beady little eye, or breathed the wrong way I was prepared to tackle him to the ground scratch his eyes out then shove my boarding pass into his skull. And to make matters worse some little whore standing next to me made oh my god faces at her travel companion then proceeded to giggle patronizingly until I got my bag an excrutiating 10 minutes later and left.
I went outside to cool off and call for the park-n-ride shuttle van, thinking that my most unpleasant experience was over and done with. Little did I know. I made my way up the very wide and spacious sidewalk ramp, stopped over to the left and started to dial. No sooner did I get my cell phone out did a mother pushing a stroller past me spew another snippy and undeserved "EX-CA-USE ME!" And I was like, what the fuck is going on here?
She had at least 4 feet of space to push her rat through and since I didn't have to move a fucking muscle obviously she knew it too, she just wanted to be a crab. And once again, another fucker couldn't leave it at that. She just had to put the cherry on my shit evening and added, "Gawd, you're totally standing in the middle." Which is clear to all of us I was not!
So, I keeeled her too.
No, I didn't. But I did kind of really lose it this time and in front of a shit-ton of people and shuttle vehicles, turned towards the bitchy bitcher and yelled;
"JESUS CHRIST! FUCK OFF!!"
I didn't waste a second to see if she'd heard me or reacted and I went back to dialing my phone were I politely and nicely asked for a pick up then turned around to see the 2 GOD DAMN GIGGLING WOMEN STANDING 3 FEET BEHIND ME.
~sigh~
I managed to get home without incident, magically irritating anyone else or committing strangercide and into the arms of my baby who had a pizza, chicken kickers and gooey cheesy bread waiting for me. Then I shagged the shit out of him and went to bed.
The End.
I once again had a good time mixed with sore feet, a few things that went sideways and one near throw-down in the airport all wrapped up with a spectacular ending to the weekend. (Thanks, baby.) And since my ridiculously delicate system has turned from soft as a peach to thin as rice paper spending a weekend consuming 4 paltry cocktails, some diet coke, and running around more than usual I was rendered exhausted and threat-level red moody grumpy I hate everything for 2 whole days afterward.
And I've also gotten very lazy since I don't have to write every day (boo, no prizes!!) even though I want to. I swear, I'd work my ass off at the office if I there was a potential for a prize with my paycheck every 2 weeks. I could possibly take home a dancing Santa that flashes his ass? I'LL PUT IN 90 HOURS!! I'm so dumb. Anyway, onto the recap.
I hadn't been feeling well for a few days before I left and had to push visions of spending the entire weekend laying in my bed at home out of my head, because that was a much-craved prospect. But I can usually rally myself and scrape up some energy reserved for naughty talk and shopping so I was hoping this trip would be no exception. And after taking a little nap peppered with panic attacks on the plane I was a little bit refreshed. And sweaty. Refreshingly sweaty.
Matty met me soon after I picked up my suitcase and we headed for the train. We made it back to his apartment without incident (thank you for not being scary this time public transportation!), changed and headed to the Hyatt Regency for dinner and drinks and one most kick-ass glass of wine that I highly recommend and we got the pleasure of being seated next to a couple who loudly argued for 20 minutes about how he never comes over to her place and cuts her off mid-sent...shut up already. Fuck.
(clicky to make bigger)
I took my camera in hopes of photographing the astounding amount of lights the Hyatt puts up every year but I'm not that happy with the outcome of 99% of my shots this weekend, (again.) It seems to be hit-or-miss with me in the photography department which is exactly why I'm having an elicit affair with my digital camera since I can shoot 500 frames and erase them all and start over if I want to. But hell, it would be nice to have more than a couple to share. Bah.
The next morning we got ready and headed to the biggest mall west of the Mississippi which did not impress, by the way. I don't like a shopping center that acts like a 29-armed octopus and their food court sucked. Only in SF could you not find a fucking Hot Dog on a Stick but come across fusion free range organic grilled platypus skewers on every corner. For a small fee of one paycheck, please. At least they had plenty of my bff diet coke to take me from a pre-migraine head-splitter into a Christmas shopper. And the platypus wasn't bad.
Between struggling through the throngs of a gazillion Saturday browsers and paying $6.00 & change for 4 small pieces of gourmet chocolate we hit the street to shop there, where we found the rest of the population of Northern California and quite a few yelly homeless people and one dude screaming about Jesus into a megaphone. Nothing like hearing about the Almighty Lord through a distorted speaker and impatient taxi horn honks.
We hit a toy store later because I loves me some toys, and when we walked in we spied a little boy sitting in a little car pretending to drive. And being the world's educator that I am, I said to him, "You say honk, honk, GET OUTTA MY WAY." And like a good little parrot he repeated me exactly. Then I got in trouble for being a bad influence.
Finally I found one, count it, one Christmas gift of the whole weekend and we headed off for a cocktail because, shit, we needed a cocktail. Honk, honk, GET OUTTA MY WAY.
On the way back to the apartment to relax before our dinner plans we can across the famous parrots of Telegraph Hill being fed by a group of people in the park next to Matty's apartment building. It was really exciting. I used to be petrified of birds but when the man with the giant sack of seeds offered me a handful I didn't hesitate and in less than a second I was mobbed. Crazy little fuckers.
After decorating Matty's cute little balcony with some lights we headed over to the gayborhood for some Sushi where another million people were all crammed into tiny establishments and there was a long and many-subject argument with me yelling "And how do you know my ass doesn't get eaten on a regular basis!?!" which is something I didn't think I'd ever utter not-to-mention argue about and a certain someone did something naughty and I got really mad but then we made up and after a drink was spilled it was determined that I was right and probably always am. GET OUTTA MY WAY!
The last stop of the night was to wish a friend a happy birthday in a giant lesbian bar where a miniature lesbian barback kept ramming into my butt (seriously, it's not that huge tiny lesbian!) and someone puked and we left. Then Matty and I had a great convo in the cab and the driver complimented our relationship and in his thick Russian accent said we were "very good conversational" which we really are. One last ciggie on the balcony and it was off to bed.
I woke up early the next morning without a raging headache which is a miracle on account of I was served rat piss in the name of wine the night before (is chardonnay supposed to be the color of rancid apple juice?) and saw an interesting sunrise trying to break through the haze. It was so bright I was sure my retinas had popped out of my head an onto the floor so I closed my eyes, lifted the camera and clicked. Notice the askew...
Sunday got a bit screwed up with the plans and brunch was scratched and time for more shopping slipped away. New friends flew in for a visit so they picked us up in their rental car, we dropped them off after an hour-long trek through a 5 mile long street with a Catholic church on every corner, and after snagging the rental car for ourselves were off to the airport for my late afternoon flight. Matty and said a quick goodbye and I was on my way.
After a semi-uneventful plane ride, with only one panic attack (go me!), we landed back in San Diego and I mosied to baggage claim to get my suitcase. And this is where I almost killed a queen.
I was standing there minding my own business when the turnstyle started up and bags were catapulting down the slide. My side of the baggage thingy had gotten really crowded but there was plenty of room on the other side. I would have moved accept I was there first and the crowd had grown 3 people thick behind me.
Without warning this guy shrieks in an extremely annoyed voice, "EXCUSE ME", then GRIPS his hand ON my arm and SHOVES me to the left and out of his bony assed way. Well, that pissed me right the fuck off. I'm not easily intimidated and I'm sick to shit of people being assholes because they're banking on the fact that most people won't challenge them. But guess what, mother effer, I'm not most people.
The first thing that popped out of my mouth was the retro pre-school teacher in me and with a raised voice I said,
"Hey! Words work you know!!"
I wasn't satisfied with that so I added, "DON'T TOUCH ME!!"
The self-entitled pissy queen hissed as me and snotilly said, "WELL! Someone's had a bad day."
Which I then replied, "No, you are being a jerk."
And then he said "You don't have to be such a nasty BITCH about it!"
Oh. No. You did NOT go there, little man. I am tired. I just FLEW on an AIRPLANE which I HATE and I was standing here MINDING my own BUSINESS and you didn't even give me a CHANCE to get out of your WAY before you PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME without my PERMISSON and have you NOTICED that I OUTWEIGH your skinny ass by MANY pounds?
You can call me a cunt. You can call me an idiot. But when you call me a bitch is usually means I'm standing up for myself against some fucker who thinks they can say or do whatever the hell they want to and them thar are figthing words to me. So through my growing red face I pursed my lips and tersely said;
"You. Shouldn't. SHOVE. People."
Which I was hoping would be the end of it because I was right and he was wrong but no. He just had to open his yapper again and spat, "I didn't shove you" and made a snorty sound so I finished it off by roaring;
"OH SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Then I keeeled him.
Alright, I didn't kill him but man, was I PISSED. If he'd said one more thing, looked at me with even the corner of his beady little eye, or breathed the wrong way I was prepared to tackle him to the ground scratch his eyes out then shove my boarding pass into his skull. And to make matters worse some little whore standing next to me made oh my god faces at her travel companion then proceeded to giggle patronizingly until I got my bag an excrutiating 10 minutes later and left.
I went outside to cool off and call for the park-n-ride shuttle van, thinking that my most unpleasant experience was over and done with. Little did I know. I made my way up the very wide and spacious sidewalk ramp, stopped over to the left and started to dial. No sooner did I get my cell phone out did a mother pushing a stroller past me spew another snippy and undeserved "EX-CA-USE ME!" And I was like, what the fuck is going on here?
She had at least 4 feet of space to push her rat through and since I didn't have to move a fucking muscle obviously she knew it too, she just wanted to be a crab. And once again, another fucker couldn't leave it at that. She just had to put the cherry on my shit evening and added, "Gawd, you're totally standing in the middle." Which is clear to all of us I was not!
So, I keeeled her too.
No, I didn't. But I did kind of really lose it this time and in front of a shit-ton of people and shuttle vehicles, turned towards the bitchy bitcher and yelled;
"JESUS CHRIST! FUCK OFF!!"
I didn't waste a second to see if she'd heard me or reacted and I went back to dialing my phone were I politely and nicely asked for a pick up then turned around to see the 2 GOD DAMN GIGGLING WOMEN STANDING 3 FEET BEHIND ME.
~sigh~
I managed to get home without incident, magically irritating anyone else or committing strangercide and into the arms of my baby who had a pizza, chicken kickers and gooey cheesy bread waiting for me. Then I shagged the shit out of him and went to bed.
The End.
Monday, December 04, 2006
NaBlo(PoMo) Me!!
I DIDN'T WIN NUTHIN'!!
NUTHIN'!!
Not even the dog bones that I would have been thrilled to have even though I don't have a god damn dog because it's still a prize!!
And I really wanted that turkey painting.
:(
NUTHIN'!!
Not even the dog bones that I would have been thrilled to have even though I don't have a god damn dog because it's still a prize!!
And I really wanted that turkey painting.
:(
Friday, December 01, 2006
TGIFucking hell
Dear Week,
You can stop kicking my ass now.
Thanks,
Betty
Jebus H. on a popsicle stick, has this one been extra super duper rough. It was a shit show. And now I physically feel like I drank my own personal bottle of cheap tequila, ate the worm on a sesame cracker, smoked 14 packs of no name cigarettes and didn't sleep for 3 days straight. None of which I did since that kind of activity usually comes with mind-blowing fun and nakedness. Having a simulated hangover without any preceding monkey sex just isn't fair, god dammit.
I hope I'm not coming down with something real, as opposed to the fake "I think I'm coming down with something" symptoms I have every other day. My body likes to play a cute little game of cat & mouse with me where illness is concerned. I'll wake up one morning hacking and feverish and I'll be convinced I've been infected with some kind of mutated virus from a silverfish and I'll be going into multiple organ failure by lunch.
Then it goes away a day later and once again, I've been faked out. I guess I shouldn't complain about not getting some big payoff of the killer flu, but feeling like i'm almost getting the killer flu for days at a time and then it going away then coming back again is retarded. Fucking hormones. Being a girl is hard! And stress. Stress sucks too! Hmf.
I would love to spend the weekend laying around my house watching Season 1 of Grey's Anatomy because I'm bound and determined to get on that train, baby! I'm comin' for ya Dr. McDreamy!! And snogging with my man, but nay, I'm flying to San Fran tonight for a weekend of shopping, picture taking, and mild debauchery since I'm not in the mood for extreme debauchery. Those boys in the gayborhood will just have to lay off my boobs this time. I ain't in the mood.
Hopefully I can catch a much-needed nap on the plane and I know that if I'm truly out of steam we can always go back to my best friend Matty's house and sit around staring at the wall because he's one of those people who DON'T HAVE A T.V. I know! I've been really looking forward to this trip so I hope I snap out of this crud I feel invading my system soon. Bleh.
Like I said, I'm bringing my camera and hopefully will get some more cool shots of the city. I've been told it's mandatory we go watch the ice skaters at the seasonal outdoor rink and I, in kind, have warned massive and painful bodily injury on Matt is there there is any nagging or harassing for me to get into a pair of ice skates. I can barely stand on my own feet let alone sharp, metal blades attached to plastic boots that raise my ass another 4 inches off the floor. That would be bad, people, bad.
So you all have a nice weekend and I'll be back on Sunday with a melted credit card and NO pictures of naked penii. (This time.)
You can stop kicking my ass now.
Thanks,
Betty
Jebus H. on a popsicle stick, has this one been extra super duper rough. It was a shit show. And now I physically feel like I drank my own personal bottle of cheap tequila, ate the worm on a sesame cracker, smoked 14 packs of no name cigarettes and didn't sleep for 3 days straight. None of which I did since that kind of activity usually comes with mind-blowing fun and nakedness. Having a simulated hangover without any preceding monkey sex just isn't fair, god dammit.
I hope I'm not coming down with something real, as opposed to the fake "I think I'm coming down with something" symptoms I have every other day. My body likes to play a cute little game of cat & mouse with me where illness is concerned. I'll wake up one morning hacking and feverish and I'll be convinced I've been infected with some kind of mutated virus from a silverfish and I'll be going into multiple organ failure by lunch.
Then it goes away a day later and once again, I've been faked out. I guess I shouldn't complain about not getting some big payoff of the killer flu, but feeling like i'm almost getting the killer flu for days at a time and then it going away then coming back again is retarded. Fucking hormones. Being a girl is hard! And stress. Stress sucks too! Hmf.
I would love to spend the weekend laying around my house watching Season 1 of Grey's Anatomy because I'm bound and determined to get on that train, baby! I'm comin' for ya Dr. McDreamy!! And snogging with my man, but nay, I'm flying to San Fran tonight for a weekend of shopping, picture taking, and mild debauchery since I'm not in the mood for extreme debauchery. Those boys in the gayborhood will just have to lay off my boobs this time. I ain't in the mood.
Hopefully I can catch a much-needed nap on the plane and I know that if I'm truly out of steam we can always go back to my best friend Matty's house and sit around staring at the wall because he's one of those people who DON'T HAVE A T.V. I know! I've been really looking forward to this trip so I hope I snap out of this crud I feel invading my system soon. Bleh.
Like I said, I'm bringing my camera and hopefully will get some more cool shots of the city. I've been told it's mandatory we go watch the ice skaters at the seasonal outdoor rink and I, in kind, have warned massive and painful bodily injury on Matt is there there is any nagging or harassing for me to get into a pair of ice skates. I can barely stand on my own feet let alone sharp, metal blades attached to plastic boots that raise my ass another 4 inches off the floor. That would be bad, people, bad.
So you all have a nice weekend and I'll be back on Sunday with a melted credit card and NO pictures of naked penii. (This time.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
