http://warshipsatin.wordpress.com/
Blogger isn't working out. So's soz.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Ugh, I hate you guys.
Today was the most annoying day I've had in a while. Maybe.
Early, early morning I went to the doctor for my appointment. I was twitchy and too-awake the entire time because I was up all night, and as I told him, wanted to book it so I could go to bed.
Afterward, I thought a trip to the wasteland that is WalMart couldn't hurt. This usually isn't my attitude, especially during the October weather and I'm in August clothing, but whatever. I needed a goldfish.
Yeah. I locked my keys in the car. Wandering back and forth in the store without socks and wearing stiff shoes, my feet bled. I lost a $20 that was in my pocket, and by the time I called a locksmith (thought you'd get a kick out of that, Aaron), I had sworn vendetta towards everyone I called who wasn't home or picking up their phone.
I had to return everything I bought but the goldfish to pay him the first payment I now owe this guy, who in another life (high school) chased me down in a truck because I was illegally trespassing, but either it was the uncontrollable twitching in my eye, or the fact that I had a bra clearly sitting in my passenger seat, because he told me "don't worry about it".
I'm eating now, trying not to fall asleep, and getting ready to run back into town to go ahead and pay the rest of it.
Aaron, was gonna send you a text about this, but you can only say 'fuck' so many times before it loses all meaning. I hate you guys. Fuck.
Early, early morning I went to the doctor for my appointment. I was twitchy and too-awake the entire time because I was up all night, and as I told him, wanted to book it so I could go to bed.
Afterward, I thought a trip to the wasteland that is WalMart couldn't hurt. This usually isn't my attitude, especially during the October weather and I'm in August clothing, but whatever. I needed a goldfish.
Yeah. I locked my keys in the car. Wandering back and forth in the store without socks and wearing stiff shoes, my feet bled. I lost a $20 that was in my pocket, and by the time I called a locksmith (thought you'd get a kick out of that, Aaron), I had sworn vendetta towards everyone I called who wasn't home or picking up their phone.
I had to return everything I bought but the goldfish to pay him the first payment I now owe this guy, who in another life (high school) chased me down in a truck because I was illegally trespassing, but either it was the uncontrollable twitching in my eye, or the fact that I had a bra clearly sitting in my passenger seat, because he told me "don't worry about it".
I'm eating now, trying not to fall asleep, and getting ready to run back into town to go ahead and pay the rest of it.
Aaron, was gonna send you a text about this, but you can only say 'fuck' so many times before it loses all meaning. I hate you guys. Fuck.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Hey kids, I'm still alive.
October is hella busy, hella fun, so I haven't been able to keep up on my interwebbings as usually scheduled.
Quick things:
October is hella busy, hella fun, so I haven't been able to keep up on my interwebbings as usually scheduled.
Quick things:
- Abandonment issues, for the lulz
- Aaron, I'm gonna give you a call Wednesday around six because I have BRAKING NEWS
- My dating life still sucks, but at least I'm taking people down with me
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Everything floats down here
Aaron came down from Joplin on Saturday, and after wandering Nixa for a while, I met him at the mall for some mediocre hijinks. About the only thing worth noting about that was as a birthday present for a friend who's party we were going to later, I bought a paddle.
Afterward, we went to the cemetery to look at Confederates, then the park/art museum, which was even more mediocre because there was construction and unlike the last time, in which I wandered about by my lonesome, there was no one to let us in.
We did what any rational adult would have done in that situation: We nabbed a spotlight and took to the sewers.
It was hard to breathe down there, and very dark. The last time I'd gone I didn't have a flashlight, and just assumed that this underground tunnel ended somewhere, and it did; in a pile of human feces, graffiti glorifying murder and fellatio (in that order), and the car key falling off of Aaron's lanyard.
The sun was going down by the time we discovered what had happened, and by our second trip down (a search and rescue mission), no dice. Wheezing from the noxious fumes we'd just willingly subjected ourselves to, which being of a certain age bracket isn't too bad a thing, we called road service who promptly told us to fuck off.
I called my friends to help, even my dad, in search of a slim jim. Again, no dice, so we just relied on some buddies who'd already gotten drunk to come pick us up. The wait was spent in a Mexican restaurant, eating with our sewer hands and listening to the Mexican National Anthem on the jukebox.
We went to a shitty hick club, one of dozens you can find in Springfield, and aside from enabling my innocent young friend to be molested by the paddle I'd bought unintentionally for her boyfriend (apparently), there wasn't much to say about that aside from giving my phone number away to a cute boy with too many holes in his face, running into a friend of the family, and getting high in the bathroom.
I was too drunk to remember much of what happened, or at least the order. Aaron and I got lost in Springfield after deciding the best choice of action would be to drive an hour away for keys in my unreliable car, and then an hour back, again in my unreliable car.
On the way back, maybe five o'clock in the morning, Aaron and I were stupid from the kind of tired you can only get from staying awake long enough to be sober again. The highway would have been lulling, hypnotic, if my car didn't rattle in a disturbing way whenever it goes over 45.
As usual our peace of mind didn't last. Flashing lights, and shining glass on the road, lead us to a semi-truck that had tipped to its side.
Of course we pulled over to help. The driver had a broken collarbone but didn't seem too hurt, so we stayed until moar people arrived, I left my first aide kit, and we continued onward.
This was Saturday. Today is Sunday, and after having dinner with an apparently amiable ex-boyfriend's family (which really was nice, what with somewhat masochistic renewed interest and all), I am exhausted and still have a sore throat. My voice has been going all day, and Aaron is having troubles too. I'm guessing from the sewer, cheap weed, or cigarette smoke. Take your pick.
How was your weekend?
Afterward, we went to the cemetery to look at Confederates, then the park/art museum, which was even more mediocre because there was construction and unlike the last time, in which I wandered about by my lonesome, there was no one to let us in.
We did what any rational adult would have done in that situation: We nabbed a spotlight and took to the sewers.
It was hard to breathe down there, and very dark. The last time I'd gone I didn't have a flashlight, and just assumed that this underground tunnel ended somewhere, and it did; in a pile of human feces, graffiti glorifying murder and fellatio (in that order), and the car key falling off of Aaron's lanyard.
The sun was going down by the time we discovered what had happened, and by our second trip down (a search and rescue mission), no dice. Wheezing from the noxious fumes we'd just willingly subjected ourselves to, which being of a certain age bracket isn't too bad a thing, we called road service who promptly told us to fuck off.
I called my friends to help, even my dad, in search of a slim jim. Again, no dice, so we just relied on some buddies who'd already gotten drunk to come pick us up. The wait was spent in a Mexican restaurant, eating with our sewer hands and listening to the Mexican National Anthem on the jukebox.
We went to a shitty hick club, one of dozens you can find in Springfield, and aside from enabling my innocent young friend to be molested by the paddle I'd bought unintentionally for her boyfriend (apparently), there wasn't much to say about that aside from giving my phone number away to a cute boy with too many holes in his face, running into a friend of the family, and getting high in the bathroom.
I was too drunk to remember much of what happened, or at least the order. Aaron and I got lost in Springfield after deciding the best choice of action would be to drive an hour away for keys in my unreliable car, and then an hour back, again in my unreliable car.
On the way back, maybe five o'clock in the morning, Aaron and I were stupid from the kind of tired you can only get from staying awake long enough to be sober again. The highway would have been lulling, hypnotic, if my car didn't rattle in a disturbing way whenever it goes over 45.
As usual our peace of mind didn't last. Flashing lights, and shining glass on the road, lead us to a semi-truck that had tipped to its side.
Of course we pulled over to help. The driver had a broken collarbone but didn't seem too hurt, so we stayed until moar people arrived, I left my first aide kit, and we continued onward.
This was Saturday. Today is Sunday, and after having dinner with an apparently amiable ex-boyfriend's family (which really was nice, what with somewhat masochistic renewed interest and all), I am exhausted and still have a sore throat. My voice has been going all day, and Aaron is having troubles too. I'm guessing from the sewer, cheap weed, or cigarette smoke. Take your pick.
How was your weekend?
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Somewhere out there, there's a woman keeps up with her interweb meanderings, has a perfectly organized social calendar, and never ever feels the urge to slap her associates silly just because they have the slappable eagerness of a squirmy, wiggly puppy.
Somebody find this woman for me, I'll pull a Nicholas Cage in Face Off, or at least hire this bitch.
Anyway. Book meme.
A book that made you cry:
Worm, and the Wizard of Oz. The Tin Man gave me nightmares after I read what he did to those mice and that cat with his hatchet.
A book that scared you:
The Stand. I read this book in the fifth grade, and was doing fine until the part when one of the protagonists has to make his way through a pitch black tunnel full of bodies. Since then, scenes from movies that have this sort of device make me squirmy. 28 Weeks Later, anyone? Eugh.
A book that made you laugh:
The Greedy Bastard Tour Diary
A book that disgusted you:
I don't remember the name of the book, but it was one of the first real, gritty, non-pulp crime novels I ever read. An albino girl I went to school with read it with me during lunch, sixth or seventh grade, and during a very graphic chapter including unintentional cannibalism followed by brisket sex, I threw up my square pizza and Fruitopia.
A book you loved in elementary school:
Interview With a (the?) Vampire. The Subtle Knife. It's still one of my favorite books, and I can't wait until the film adaptation.
A book you loved in middle school or junior high school:
When Darkness Loves Us, The Jungle Book
A book you loved in high school:
Psycho, Papillon, The Gunslinger
A book you hated in high school:
I Heard the Owl Call My Name, Romeo and Juliet
A book you loved in college:
The Fox and the Hound, Alex and Alexandria
A book that challenged your identity:
The Yellow Room
A series that you love:
The Thomas Covenant Chronicles. I love these books, and hate that the first editions have been tragically thrown out. My absolute favorites of any literature ever.
Your favorite horror book:
Lord Foul's Bane - see above
Your favorite science fiction book:
Contact Imminent
Your favorite fantasy:
The Black Swan
Your favorite mystery:
The Dick Tracy Anthology
Your favorite biography:
Me - a bio of Kath Hepburn. Alex and Alexandria was another favorite.
Your favorite "coming of age" book:
Ordinary People
Your favorite classic:
Murders in the Rue Morgue
Your favorite romance book:
Interview with a (the?) Vampire
Somebody find this woman for me, I'll pull a Nicholas Cage in Face Off, or at least hire this bitch.
Anyway. Book meme.
A book that made you cry:
Worm, and the Wizard of Oz. The Tin Man gave me nightmares after I read what he did to those mice and that cat with his hatchet.
A book that scared you:
The Stand. I read this book in the fifth grade, and was doing fine until the part when one of the protagonists has to make his way through a pitch black tunnel full of bodies. Since then, scenes from movies that have this sort of device make me squirmy. 28 Weeks Later, anyone? Eugh.
A book that made you laugh:
The Greedy Bastard Tour Diary
A book that disgusted you:
I don't remember the name of the book, but it was one of the first real, gritty, non-pulp crime novels I ever read. An albino girl I went to school with read it with me during lunch, sixth or seventh grade, and during a very graphic chapter including unintentional cannibalism followed by brisket sex, I threw up my square pizza and Fruitopia.
A book you loved in elementary school:
Interview With a (the?) Vampire. The Subtle Knife. It's still one of my favorite books, and I can't wait until the film adaptation.
A book you loved in middle school or junior high school:
When Darkness Loves Us, The Jungle Book
A book you loved in high school:
Psycho, Papillon, The Gunslinger
A book you hated in high school:
I Heard the Owl Call My Name, Romeo and Juliet
A book you loved in college:
The Fox and the Hound, Alex and Alexandria
A book that challenged your identity:
The Yellow Room
A series that you love:
The Thomas Covenant Chronicles. I love these books, and hate that the first editions have been tragically thrown out. My absolute favorites of any literature ever.
Your favorite horror book:
Lord Foul's Bane - see above
Your favorite science fiction book:
Contact Imminent
Your favorite fantasy:
The Black Swan
Your favorite mystery:
The Dick Tracy Anthology
Your favorite biography:
Me - a bio of Kath Hepburn. Alex and Alexandria was another favorite.
Your favorite "coming of age" book:
Ordinary People
Your favorite classic:
Murders in the Rue Morgue
Your favorite romance book:
Interview with a (the?) Vampire
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Quick Update
Today I had my first day of outpatient care.
I woke up bright and early, took part I of my medication, brushed my hair and teeth, and got dressed in some of my favorite clothes. Aside from a brief internal debate regarding when we'll run out of water as an ecosystem (never, I'll drink elephant-poop-water like Bear if I have to), the morning went down like any day of school ever ought to.
If you've never visited the mental wing of a hospital, I suggest it. Everyone imagines screaming, hair-pulling geriatrics and anorexic pyrophiliacs, but couldn't be further from the truth: Even under the veil of lithium and some warmed blankets, there was a sense of calm that radiated from the place like purr from a kitten.
It was the outpatient office that made me remember why I carry mace.
There were two men, one the patient and the other, I'm guessing by his age to be either younger brother or state-sponsored caretaker. Both were hunched over and glaring, regarding myself and the bell-like ass of the woman next to me like we were gnats.
Thunder and the force of heavily falling rain made everything abuzz, giving the building a nervous energy. The 3d puzzle of a boat on my doctor's wall trembled and for a while, we just discussed the weather and why staying in bed would have been the better option for the morning.
On my way out, a woman who looked atavistic walked straight towards me. I don't mean that in the way the people I attended high school looked atavistic, but in a true, slack-jawed, empty-eyed, soulless way. Another doctor, at the end of the hall, told me to scoot to the side, so I flattened myself to the wall as this woman shuffles past; turning left as he directs her to, in the beginning of what I assume to be a lap around the square shaped office.
It reminded me of two things. Firstly, never agree to any further medication, and secondly, I want to be either a zombie or a zombie hunter this Halloween.
Anyone know where one can procure a used, preferably brain-encrusted cricket bat?
I woke up bright and early, took part I of my medication, brushed my hair and teeth, and got dressed in some of my favorite clothes. Aside from a brief internal debate regarding when we'll run out of water as an ecosystem (never, I'll drink elephant-poop-water like Bear if I have to), the morning went down like any day of school ever ought to.
If you've never visited the mental wing of a hospital, I suggest it. Everyone imagines screaming, hair-pulling geriatrics and anorexic pyrophiliacs, but couldn't be further from the truth: Even under the veil of lithium and some warmed blankets, there was a sense of calm that radiated from the place like purr from a kitten.
It was the outpatient office that made me remember why I carry mace.
There were two men, one the patient and the other, I'm guessing by his age to be either younger brother or state-sponsored caretaker. Both were hunched over and glaring, regarding myself and the bell-like ass of the woman next to me like we were gnats.
Thunder and the force of heavily falling rain made everything abuzz, giving the building a nervous energy. The 3d puzzle of a boat on my doctor's wall trembled and for a while, we just discussed the weather and why staying in bed would have been the better option for the morning.
On my way out, a woman who looked atavistic walked straight towards me. I don't mean that in the way the people I attended high school looked atavistic, but in a true, slack-jawed, empty-eyed, soulless way. Another doctor, at the end of the hall, told me to scoot to the side, so I flattened myself to the wall as this woman shuffles past; turning left as he directs her to, in the beginning of what I assume to be a lap around the square shaped office.
It reminded me of two things. Firstly, never agree to any further medication, and secondly, I want to be either a zombie or a zombie hunter this Halloween.
Anyone know where one can procure a used, preferably brain-encrusted cricket bat?
Monday, September 24, 2007
Lucid Barely Awake Rambling!
As long as I can remember, I've nightmares when stressed out. They would be so bad sometimes that my doctor put me on medication, saying they were night terrors, and night terrors can cause apnea, which is true because having a panic attack while asleep usually results in trying to swallow the pillow. Not sure whether that qualifies as apnea or not, but I'd still rather not experience it.
I had one last night, sort of, but I really think it was this morning. It left me with a really small, futile feeling, and since my dreams are in a bastard Russian/German, left me very confused too, since some words don't match up and are just gibberish.
My dad stayed for the weekend, and I love him so much that it aches, but my parents make me so mad sometimes, and whenever he stays over it gets worse. I don't understand how a Southern Baptist and a Catholic could master Jewish guilt, but they have, and if they were ganging up on me rather than trying to form camps against each other in the household, it wouldn't be so mind-numbingly irritating.
We had a fight before he left, immediately before he left, so of course he had to die in my dream, and of course every past romantic companion (or futile current ones) had to be there and do something to make me end up killed.
It left me all wanky and stupid when I woke up, and due to impeccable Annie Logic, angry at the people who spited me in the dream, and really missing my dad.
As a rule in general, I have to check behind the shower curtain as I enter any bathroom that has one. I also don't like stairs or parking lots at night, because of that old urban legend about having one's Achilles Tendon slashed. It's just a part of me, that misplaced caution.
I don't think that counts though, when after waking up you kick a coat off the bed because its black and nebulous and foreboding, or scream at a shirt on a hanger because in the dark of just exiting a brightly lit bathroom, it looks like a zombie about to lurch out at you.
Dammit. Tonight I'm going to be sleeping with the door open and the hall night light on tonight.
Anyway, back to my interweb hiatus. Here's some LOLckey Horror to keep you company. http://www.ee0r.com/lolckyhorror/index.html
I had one last night, sort of, but I really think it was this morning. It left me with a really small, futile feeling, and since my dreams are in a bastard Russian/German, left me very confused too, since some words don't match up and are just gibberish.
My dad stayed for the weekend, and I love him so much that it aches, but my parents make me so mad sometimes, and whenever he stays over it gets worse. I don't understand how a Southern Baptist and a Catholic could master Jewish guilt, but they have, and if they were ganging up on me rather than trying to form camps against each other in the household, it wouldn't be so mind-numbingly irritating.
We had a fight before he left, immediately before he left, so of course he had to die in my dream, and of course every past romantic companion (or futile current ones) had to be there and do something to make me end up killed.
It left me all wanky and stupid when I woke up, and due to impeccable Annie Logic, angry at the people who spited me in the dream, and really missing my dad.
As a rule in general, I have to check behind the shower curtain as I enter any bathroom that has one. I also don't like stairs or parking lots at night, because of that old urban legend about having one's Achilles Tendon slashed. It's just a part of me, that misplaced caution.
I don't think that counts though, when after waking up you kick a coat off the bed because its black and nebulous and foreboding, or scream at a shirt on a hanger because in the dark of just exiting a brightly lit bathroom, it looks like a zombie about to lurch out at you.
Dammit. Tonight I'm going to be sleeping with the door open and the hall night light on tonight.
Anyway, back to my interweb hiatus. Here's some LOLckey Horror to keep you company. http://www.ee0r.com/lolckyhorror/index.html
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Oh, shit. A meme.
I'm going to randomly write up my favorite thing about three anonymous people. Lame, amirite? Too bad. I'm sentimental tonight, dammit.
My favorite thing about these three people are...
1) How our first kiss was during Zodiac, sitting next to already creeped out geriatrics, and you didn't even say a word afterward when I accidentally wandered into the men's room because I was so giddy.
2) How you remind me that being a girl can be fun, even if it means laughing at your bug-eyed sunglasses and questionable fashion choices.
3) How I can say anything without feeling like a crazy person, because you remind me that I'm just stressing over things that everyone does.
Nathan, Brandon, and Aaron, consider yourselves tagged. Because our sad little blogs need beefing up, 'nabbit.
My favorite thing about these three people are...
1) How our first kiss was during Zodiac, sitting next to already creeped out geriatrics, and you didn't even say a word afterward when I accidentally wandered into the men's room because I was so giddy.
2) How you remind me that being a girl can be fun, even if it means laughing at your bug-eyed sunglasses and questionable fashion choices.
3) How I can say anything without feeling like a crazy person, because you remind me that I'm just stressing over things that everyone does.
Nathan, Brandon, and Aaron, consider yourselves tagged. Because our sad little blogs need beefing up, 'nabbit.
Hey Kids, I'm still alive!
I try not to blog when under duress (un-amusing duress, anyway... ) so updates will be a little iffy lately.
There's no trouble going on in my life, if anything getting all this sleep is fantastic, but I don't deal with change very well. It's a Catch-22 situation: Stagnation makes me completely bonkers, but whenever something very drastically changes in my life, like say quitting my job, it takes forever to adapt.
When I move to a state with a different climate, I find myself dressing for the old one. When people die, I catch myself leaving them messages on their machine asking how they're doing, we should catch up. It's especially bad when pets die; if I don't put up all the bowls and all that immediately, I keep feeding them.
I'm looking for a part-time job in the Springfield area, and yes, I'm still looking for a pet-friendly roommate. Classes are in the immediate future, and if my brother hadn't sold literally every piece of scrap, I'd be welding again- but even that isn't a horrible thing, because I won't be working in copper, so it'll be easy to come by.
So. We have metal-working, looking for a part-time job, classes, and roommate hunting. In a nutshell.
There's no trouble going on in my life, if anything getting all this sleep is fantastic, but I don't deal with change very well. It's a Catch-22 situation: Stagnation makes me completely bonkers, but whenever something very drastically changes in my life, like say quitting my job, it takes forever to adapt.
When I move to a state with a different climate, I find myself dressing for the old one. When people die, I catch myself leaving them messages on their machine asking how they're doing, we should catch up. It's especially bad when pets die; if I don't put up all the bowls and all that immediately, I keep feeding them.
I'm looking for a part-time job in the Springfield area, and yes, I'm still looking for a pet-friendly roommate. Classes are in the immediate future, and if my brother hadn't sold literally every piece of scrap, I'd be welding again- but even that isn't a horrible thing, because I won't be working in copper, so it'll be easy to come by.
So. We have metal-working, looking for a part-time job, classes, and roommate hunting. In a nutshell.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
(23:21:16) annie: not if you don't run on the panty platform, no
(23:21:34) annie: a vote for panties is a vote for peace!
(23:22:10) aaron: or pieces of panties
(23:22:29) annie: after bunches of punches?
(23:23:07) aaron: thats the opposing party
(23:23:39) annie: i'm thoroughly endorsing the spleen party, myself
(23:24:35) aaron: naw, they always seem to rupture under pressure
(23:24:59) annie: oh no, you're thinking of intestinal parliament
(23:25:34) aaron: oh man, i'm so tired of those guys...
(23:25:40) aaron: they're always full of shit
(23:21:34) annie: a vote for panties is a vote for peace!
(23:22:10) aaron: or pieces of panties
(23:22:29) annie: after bunches of punches?
(23:23:07) aaron: thats the opposing party
(23:23:39) annie: i'm thoroughly endorsing the spleen party, myself
(23:24:35) aaron: naw, they always seem to rupture under pressure
(23:24:59) annie: oh no, you're thinking of intestinal parliament
(23:25:34) aaron: oh man, i'm so tired of those guys...
(23:25:40) aaron: they're always full of shit
Friday, September 14, 2007
Lesson learned. For once.
Last night I took my "regular" dosage of Xanax, as in what I had been taking since my last post regarding it, before my "new" dose of it. I misinterpreted the paperwork on my new prescription, which is time-released, and split the pill, which in a nutshell, resulted in my usual wee miligram (two hours' worth) combined with an entire day and nights' worth at one time.
My throat is still really puffy and splotchy, still migrainey, but I'm totally fine other than being embarrassed and confused about work, which I didn't go to today because I fell asleep in the shower while getting ready, then hallucinated that I was driving. In the shower. Four hours too late.
I don't know why I'm posting this, other than again, being embarrassed. I didn't want to go to the thing tomorrow in the sense that I didn't want to go, but I did want to hang out with my friends who would be there and take pictures, especially.
I shouldn't go if I didn't go to work today, especially if it was due to my own stupidity and inability to read simple directions, but what will happen if I do go after not going today, and blargh?
It isn't the situation itself, because apparently I can get my stupid ass and a guest there any time, but Saturday I was going to a bridal shower before this said event, which I did promise a friend I would take, and have fun with, despite my sourpuss self. And I don't want to call it like a medical emergency or anything because I didn't go to the hospital, just stayed either in bed or thought (dreamt or hallucinated) that I'd been to work, and then didn't, because I thought I had.
Interweb, halp?
I almost killed myself today out of sheer stupidity (and failure to read instructions, all of which, including prescription, now being dictated by the alarm on my cell phone rather than self), and get to choose between being a flake to employers or friends.
Halp me chooose.
Most of you who know me know I'd rather eat my own hat than broadcast this kind of stupidness on my part, but so many of my friends are on this same drug, and there is so much jumblement between the nature of the pills, it would have been easy to have made my mistake and then rather than gone to bed, gone out on the road, or to work, or God forbid out drinking, and self-pwn.
Sooo. Do as I say and not as I do, seriously. I should have looked up on the drugs' website, or called my doctor or pharmacist, or something, because I looked at the tablet and knew something looked different about it, but took it they way I always take my regular ones.
Yeah... don't do that!
My throat is still really puffy and splotchy, still migrainey, but I'm totally fine other than being embarrassed and confused about work, which I didn't go to today because I fell asleep in the shower while getting ready, then hallucinated that I was driving. In the shower. Four hours too late.
I don't know why I'm posting this, other than again, being embarrassed. I didn't want to go to the thing tomorrow in the sense that I didn't want to go, but I did want to hang out with my friends who would be there and take pictures, especially.
I shouldn't go if I didn't go to work today, especially if it was due to my own stupidity and inability to read simple directions, but what will happen if I do go after not going today, and blargh?
It isn't the situation itself, because apparently I can get my stupid ass and a guest there any time, but Saturday I was going to a bridal shower before this said event, which I did promise a friend I would take, and have fun with, despite my sourpuss self. And I don't want to call it like a medical emergency or anything because I didn't go to the hospital, just stayed either in bed or thought (dreamt or hallucinated) that I'd been to work, and then didn't, because I thought I had.
Interweb, halp?
I almost killed myself today out of sheer stupidity (and failure to read instructions, all of which, including prescription, now being dictated by the alarm on my cell phone rather than self), and get to choose between being a flake to employers or friends.
Halp me chooose.
Most of you who know me know I'd rather eat my own hat than broadcast this kind of stupidness on my part, but so many of my friends are on this same drug, and there is so much jumblement between the nature of the pills, it would have been easy to have made my mistake and then rather than gone to bed, gone out on the road, or to work, or God forbid out drinking, and self-pwn.
Sooo. Do as I say and not as I do, seriously. I should have looked up on the drugs' website, or called my doctor or pharmacist, or something, because I looked at the tablet and knew something looked different about it, but took it they way I always take my regular ones.
Yeah... don't do that!
Thursday, September 13, 2007
<3 /b/
Holy shit, guise. Three posts in one day.
I had a good TV night tonight. Was s'posed to go to a tattoo parlor to pester some old friends tonight, but I've been out every night this week, and while that's fine and all, I just wanted to stay in.
Ugly Betty was delicious, CSI gave me palpitations, and you can't complain about an hour of Family Guy.
Tomorrow will be a busy day. Returning the scanner, doing one of those dreaded bank runs, and getting ready for a photolicious weekend. I'll be posting pictures from the shitty emo concert, people pointing up at a big hole (you read that right), heavy machinery, and the National Cemetery.
Saturday will also be Acrofuckingbats of Red Menace. 10pt for lead paint in the theatreomigroffle!
∧∧
( ﾟ∀ﾟ) ～FAILURE!
⊂ つ
(つ ﾉ
(ノ
＼ ☆
| ☆
(⌒ ⌒ヽ /
＼ （´⌒ ⌒ ⌒ヾ ／
（'⌒ ; ⌒ ::⌒ ）
（´ ） ::: ） ／
☆─ （´⌒;: ::⌒`） :; ）
（⌒:: :: ::⌒ ）
I had a good TV night tonight. Was s'posed to go to a tattoo parlor to pester some old friends tonight, but I've been out every night this week, and while that's fine and all, I just wanted to stay in.
Ugly Betty was delicious, CSI gave me palpitations, and you can't complain about an hour of Family Guy.
Tomorrow will be a busy day. Returning the scanner, doing one of those dreaded bank runs, and getting ready for a photolicious weekend. I'll be posting pictures from the shitty emo concert, people pointing up at a big hole (you read that right), heavy machinery, and the National Cemetery.
Saturday will also be Acrofuckingbats of Red Menace. 10pt for lead paint in the theatreomigroffle!
∧∧
( ﾟ∀ﾟ) ～FAILURE!
⊂ つ
(つ ﾉ
(ノ
＼ ☆
| ☆
(⌒ ⌒ヽ /
＼ （´⌒ ⌒ ⌒ヾ ／
（'⌒ ; ⌒ ::⌒ ）
（´ ） ::: ） ／
☆─ （´⌒;: ::⌒`） :; ）
（⌒:: :: ::⌒ ）
Elephants can't decipher the squeals of adoring children. They're ignorant of letters, and have atrocious table manners. They roll in the dust, they belch, and unless peanuts are being tossed their way, are aloof to even the warmest of hugs.
Elephants can, however, kill you. With big feet and hides as tough as armor, they can crush your head like a melon and then go about their day without the slightest twinge of remorse.
There's a very popular belief that they use their big ears for keeping cool in their deadland homes, but anyone who truly knows elephants will tell you that this is a dangerous misconception, for the fan-like appendages were in actuality evolved for the purpose of hearing the footsteps of potential prey.
Hundreds of years ago elephants survived on lions and the rare and endangered Syrian Wombat, but now that their habitat has forced them into urban society, these enemies of humanity have adapted themselves to hiding behind corners and waiting for unsuspecting passerby, before using stealth to attack.
Once we were fortunate, for groups of saintly men vanquished elephants like St George and the dragon, making good of this evil by making charming crafts from the fangs of the common elephant. Alas, cruel, man-hating terrorists passed legislation protecting the beasts despite pleas from a terrified populace.
Now that zoos have put "breeding programs" into place (likely due to strong-arming from an unnamed Jumbo), we now have the misfortune of what one can only assume to be super enhanced pachyderms.
Beware, public! For behind that streetlight, that trash can, death may be lurking.
Elephants can, however, kill you. With big feet and hides as tough as armor, they can crush your head like a melon and then go about their day without the slightest twinge of remorse.
There's a very popular belief that they use their big ears for keeping cool in their deadland homes, but anyone who truly knows elephants will tell you that this is a dangerous misconception, for the fan-like appendages were in actuality evolved for the purpose of hearing the footsteps of potential prey.
Hundreds of years ago elephants survived on lions and the rare and endangered Syrian Wombat, but now that their habitat has forced them into urban society, these enemies of humanity have adapted themselves to hiding behind corners and waiting for unsuspecting passerby, before using stealth to attack.
Once we were fortunate, for groups of saintly men vanquished elephants like St George and the dragon, making good of this evil by making charming crafts from the fangs of the common elephant. Alas, cruel, man-hating terrorists passed legislation protecting the beasts despite pleas from a terrified populace.
Now that zoos have put "breeding programs" into place (likely due to strong-arming from an unnamed Jumbo), we now have the misfortune of what one can only assume to be super enhanced pachyderms.
Beware, public! For behind that streetlight, that trash can, death may be lurking.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
You picked a fine time to leave me Lucielle
Just a friendly reminder that I really can't afford to receive or send text messages right now.
The customer service thing didn't go over well, and if I'm forced into it I'm going to do what I always do when I'm forced into things I don't like, and that's get the fuck out of there.
My doctor's appointment did go well, however. I can has Xanax, dig? Groovy.
On another good note, Nathan from Work had his opinion posted in the lolnewspaper. The funny part about that is that his father-in-law wrote about the same event, was featured in the same issue, and neither knew about it until it was published.
It gave me teh funnees. Anyway, check it out here.
The customer service thing didn't go over well, and if I'm forced into it I'm going to do what I always do when I'm forced into things I don't like, and that's get the fuck out of there.
My doctor's appointment did go well, however. I can has Xanax, dig? Groovy.
On another good note, Nathan from Work had his opinion posted in the lolnewspaper. The funny part about that is that his father-in-law wrote about the same event, was featured in the same issue, and neither knew about it until it was published.
It gave me teh funnees. Anyway, check it out here.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Phonophobe
I'm going to miss the horses and the scenery, dizzy and rolling hills, I'm going to miss bluegrass music and county rodeos, and I'm going to miss my friends and family.
I'm not going to miss outlandishly undeserved sense of self-importance, or the sense of oppression that comes from sprawling acres of pool supply outlets, of stretch pants, and constantly wondering if the water you're drinking is infected by e-coli from cow or human waste.
So bai! I'm saving my money now, working hard at getting a scholarship to either the Northwest College of Art, or the Cornish College of the Arts.
If neither work, I'm going to move regardless and pester State until they let me in. This will take a few months obviously, but I'm planning a visit (by plane- gulp!) within two months, if there's any justice at all in the world.
This isn't going to turn out the way New York or Chicago did, because the simple fact that I'm not going to let it. I want to go back to school, dagnabbit!
-
At work, I'm going to be working customer service, along with the rest of the writing team. This is bullshit, and I'm hoping that it won't last. I left work after seven hours, directly after the meeting, because the news literally gave me a panic attack.
The phone terrifies me. Anyone who's ever been unlucky enough to travel with me knows my fear of planes, how I turn absolutely retarded and can't concentrate. My heart races and my palms sweat, and if there's anything in my stomach, I'll probably vomit.
The phone does this to me too. The same, mortal fear I have of flying, which is really just a fear of death and survival instinct kicking in, I have towards hearing that voice on the other end of the line going What? or Can you repeat yourself? I can't understand you, stop mumbling. Oh, or my favorite, Well you're stupid!
I left the office, immediately, and just sat in my car for a few minutes. For the life of me I can't remember the drive home.
But hey, Frasier is on! It's that episode where there's a verbal misunderstanding!
I'm not going to miss outlandishly undeserved sense of self-importance, or the sense of oppression that comes from sprawling acres of pool supply outlets, of stretch pants, and constantly wondering if the water you're drinking is infected by e-coli from cow or human waste.
So bai! I'm saving my money now, working hard at getting a scholarship to either the Northwest College of Art, or the Cornish College of the Arts.
If neither work, I'm going to move regardless and pester State until they let me in. This will take a few months obviously, but I'm planning a visit (by plane- gulp!) within two months, if there's any justice at all in the world.
This isn't going to turn out the way New York or Chicago did, because the simple fact that I'm not going to let it. I want to go back to school, dagnabbit!
-
At work, I'm going to be working customer service, along with the rest of the writing team. This is bullshit, and I'm hoping that it won't last. I left work after seven hours, directly after the meeting, because the news literally gave me a panic attack.
The phone terrifies me. Anyone who's ever been unlucky enough to travel with me knows my fear of planes, how I turn absolutely retarded and can't concentrate. My heart races and my palms sweat, and if there's anything in my stomach, I'll probably vomit.
The phone does this to me too. The same, mortal fear I have of flying, which is really just a fear of death and survival instinct kicking in, I have towards hearing that voice on the other end of the line going What? or Can you repeat yourself? I can't understand you, stop mumbling. Oh, or my favorite, Well you're stupid!
I left the office, immediately, and just sat in my car for a few minutes. For the life of me I can't remember the drive home.
But hey, Frasier is on! It's that episode where there's a verbal misunderstanding!
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Saturday, September 8, 2007
I need a security blanket
I finally finished the last Harry Potter book. Considering that it was bought on the night it came out, I don't think it really could've taken longer, but I've been reading it a page or two at a time until the night before last, when I read from about page 200 to the end in one marathon session.
Page 665 was when I started enjoying it, and I know that because I remember looking down at the page number and thinking, Wow, page 666 and Snape is being nice.
I've always been a Snape fan, moreso now that Hermione seems to have been consistently ragging since book 3 on, and Sirius got whacked. So needless to say, the authoress gained at least a little respect from me by the way she peppered hints about my favorite Dark Arts Professor. When I realized who's patronus the white doe was, I about squealed. Although, it would have been better for me at least, if it wasn't lamed down by 'Oh, he was in love with Lily and that was why he had that patronus, not because he could have had further redeeming values or anything'.
My problem with the books has always been that Harry is a boy of very little flaw, and everyone does seem either unfairly against, or so very in love with him. I'm pretty sure that if I tested the boy who lived with the Mary Sue Litmus Test, the results would be in the top percentile. I also wasn't a fan of how out of the blue the Hallows was.
Wow, that has to be one of the nerdiest rants to ever leave my head. I'll go back to internally obsessing about the new Indiana Jones movie now.
... because it belongs in a museum!
Yesterday I hopefully cleared up my apartment stuff, but just didn't go back to work. I'm going to put in 40 hours next week and from therein, but to be honest, I was wee inches close to locking myself in the regrettably unisex bathroom and hiding, I was so upset. Knowing my track record of behavior when I'm upset, leaving really was the better option.
After getting to Brandon's pad, he, and a friend, and I watched this hilarious documentary about sex addiction and commitment phobias, the latter of which I really could've taken notes on. His friend was really cool too, and I wouldn't mind hanging out with her more (omig subtle hintery).
On the drive home though, it was weird. The weather had cleared up but it was very foggy out, it was about midnight or midnight thirty and I was going down the highway at about 50mph because it was deserted anyway, and I didn't want to hydroplane. Going that slow though, I still almost hit a car that was halfway on the shoulder. The emergency lights were on and a woman was walking not too far from it.
I called the highway patrol to report a possible accident, and it was in the middle of nowhere but near a landmark everyone knows (how can you miss a quarry?), gave them the car's color and as good a description of the woman that I could, but kind of hung around a little bit just in case. When I volunteered for the Red Cross, I noticed that a lot of the people we looked for in the woods were seen earlier by people who just drove by; I don't want to be one of those people, obviously.
Not too long afterward, maybe an half an hour, an officer called my cell and told me they found the car but no woman, and asked if I was sure about what I saw. I told him yes, she had bright blond hair and that's hard to miss even in the dark, then I told him to call again if they still don't find her and I'll lend a hand.
They never called back so I'm assuming they found her, but I can't help but remembering when I was younger and with the car that seemed to hate me. So many times that, without a cell phone, I was stranded on the side of the road. For miles I would walk, but I never really thought about how easy it would be for me to just slip into the woods and disappear forever.
Has anyone ever called the highway patrol for me, and have they ever gone looking, only to find I was already gone?
There's something upsetting about that.
There needs to be a hotline, a 1-800 number that you call, you leave your name and a message just to let them know you're okay. That way, if anyone ever calls, they can know. Even if by then you're not fine, you need to hear that from people sometimes, that they're safe and secure.
Page 665 was when I started enjoying it, and I know that because I remember looking down at the page number and thinking, Wow, page 666 and Snape is being nice.
I've always been a Snape fan, moreso now that Hermione seems to have been consistently ragging since book 3 on, and Sirius got whacked. So needless to say, the authoress gained at least a little respect from me by the way she peppered hints about my favorite Dark Arts Professor. When I realized who's patronus the white doe was, I about squealed. Although, it would have been better for me at least, if it wasn't lamed down by 'Oh, he was in love with Lily and that was why he had that patronus, not because he could have had further redeeming values or anything'.
My problem with the books has always been that Harry is a boy of very little flaw, and everyone does seem either unfairly against, or so very in love with him. I'm pretty sure that if I tested the boy who lived with the Mary Sue Litmus Test, the results would be in the top percentile. I also wasn't a fan of how out of the blue the Hallows was.
Wow, that has to be one of the nerdiest rants to ever leave my head. I'll go back to internally obsessing about the new Indiana Jones movie now.
... because it belongs in a museum!
Yesterday I hopefully cleared up my apartment stuff, but just didn't go back to work. I'm going to put in 40 hours next week and from therein, but to be honest, I was wee inches close to locking myself in the regrettably unisex bathroom and hiding, I was so upset. Knowing my track record of behavior when I'm upset, leaving really was the better option.
After getting to Brandon's pad, he, and a friend, and I watched this hilarious documentary about sex addiction and commitment phobias, the latter of which I really could've taken notes on. His friend was really cool too, and I wouldn't mind hanging out with her more (omig subtle hintery).
On the drive home though, it was weird. The weather had cleared up but it was very foggy out, it was about midnight or midnight thirty and I was going down the highway at about 50mph because it was deserted anyway, and I didn't want to hydroplane. Going that slow though, I still almost hit a car that was halfway on the shoulder. The emergency lights were on and a woman was walking not too far from it.
I called the highway patrol to report a possible accident, and it was in the middle of nowhere but near a landmark everyone knows (how can you miss a quarry?), gave them the car's color and as good a description of the woman that I could, but kind of hung around a little bit just in case. When I volunteered for the Red Cross, I noticed that a lot of the people we looked for in the woods were seen earlier by people who just drove by; I don't want to be one of those people, obviously.
Not too long afterward, maybe an half an hour, an officer called my cell and told me they found the car but no woman, and asked if I was sure about what I saw. I told him yes, she had bright blond hair and that's hard to miss even in the dark, then I told him to call again if they still don't find her and I'll lend a hand.
They never called back so I'm assuming they found her, but I can't help but remembering when I was younger and with the car that seemed to hate me. So many times that, without a cell phone, I was stranded on the side of the road. For miles I would walk, but I never really thought about how easy it would be for me to just slip into the woods and disappear forever.
Has anyone ever called the highway patrol for me, and have they ever gone looking, only to find I was already gone?
There's something upsetting about that.
There needs to be a hotline, a 1-800 number that you call, you leave your name and a message just to let them know you're okay. That way, if anyone ever calls, they can know. Even if by then you're not fine, you need to hear that from people sometimes, that they're safe and secure.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
In which I'm a sloppy blogger
I feel really weird lately. It's a combination of my job and worry, I think, but on the upside I'm about halfway through this book and working on getting prescribed something mind-numbing so work is tolerable again. And did you know how hard it is to find an apartment during fall semester?
Or stealing back Xanax from relatives? When it should be really easy because they're in a full arm cast? And would probably go down like a ton of bricks?
Bah.
Or stealing back Xanax from relatives? When it should be really easy because they're in a full arm cast? And would probably go down like a ton of bricks?
Bah.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
It's the first day of the projeckt!
Gmail is down, so my blog roll is in need of updating- if you don't see your link yet, my apologies.
Anyway, Aaron Kafton and I are starting a groovy photoblog soon, so be sure to keep an eye out for it. I'll be relaying a list of phrases or sentences to him, which he'll photograph, and then post daily. Of course I'm stoked, and you should be too.
Today's entries?
the kite-eating tree
emancipation
the fluff
take a bite out of _____
secret garden
smashed to atoms
tell a secret
spidersilk
cats are up to something
snake-oil salesman
Wish me luck for tomorrow, by the way. I'm turning in my apartment application and could really go for not being homeless.
Anyway, Aaron Kafton and I are starting a groovy photoblog soon, so be sure to keep an eye out for it. I'll be relaying a list of phrases or sentences to him, which he'll photograph, and then post daily. Of course I'm stoked, and you should be too.
Today's entries?
the kite-eating tree
emancipation
the fluff
take a bite out of _____
secret garden
smashed to atoms
tell a secret
spidersilk
cats are up to something
snake-oil salesman
Wish me luck for tomorrow, by the way. I'm turning in my apartment application and could really go for not being homeless.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
IT'S FUCKING KITTY HEAVEN OKAY?!
There is a cat food commercial that features a cat prancing through a field of... well, cat things, I guess. The first time I saw it I said, "Holy shit, it's fucking kitty heaven!"
Yes, Virginia, there really is a cat heaven. Also, Liz and I have strong-armed Andy into including more cat memes into the newsletter because, as I told him about it, he gave a mouse a cookie and now he has to deal with it.
-
There was another setback in my apartment hunt, but hopefully it will be settled by tomorrow. Hopefully.
It isn't bothering me too badly because today, someone gave me barnacles that Grandpop pried off of a ship in the Phillipines during WWII. While I never knew Grandpop because he died a few days before/after I was born (depending on who you ask), the shells of the barnacles are the objects of my affection right now.
When he pried them off the ship, his fingerprints were pressed into their surface, and all these years later, the things are like engraved porcelain. His fingerpads had the same whorls and peacocks eye that mine have, and a psychic once told me years ago that those are the sign of a freewheeler.
My Grandma told me that I have his mouth and his swagger, and an accidental time capsule tells me that I have his hands and gypsy ways.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Happy Jimmy Hoffa Day!
I went to work today, but after sleeping in and then only for two hours. I left so early because I felt like a scab, and if there's one thing my grandmother's taught me (she taught me a lot actually), it's that the best thing to do with a scab is punch them in the coinpurse, then kick their teeth down their throat while they're down.
Since I don't have a coinpurse, I'm just going to eat a big steak and play video games.
And because I love you, here's some Labor Day reading:
Sunshine Mine Disaster
It is appropriate, therefore, that the nation pay tribute on Labor Day to the creator of so much of the nation's strength, freedom, and leadership — the American worker.
How the mafia works
Since I don't have a coinpurse, I'm just going to eat a big steak and play video games.
And because I love you, here's some Labor Day reading:
Sunshine Mine Disaster
It is appropriate, therefore, that the nation pay tribute on Labor Day to the creator of so much of the nation's strength, freedom, and leadership — the American worker.
How the mafia works
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Chaneling WC Fields
W. C. Fields (January 29, 1880 – December 25, 1946) was an American juggler, comedian, and actor. Fields created one of the great American comic personas of the first half of the 20th century—a misanthrope who teetered on the edge of buffoonery but never quite fell in, an egotist blind to his own failings, a charming drunk; and a man who hated children, dogs, and women, unless they were the wrong sort of women. - Wiki
I have, arguably, an undesirable way of life. I'm perpetually homeless, stressed to the point of going grey, bounce between unbalanced men, and act like a dick to people who don't deserve it.
However.
When I feel like sleeping, I usually sleep. When I feel like trashing my liver, I do that too. Most of the time, if I feel like telling someone to suck it, it's gonna happen.
Someone had confronted me about that, and in my defense, a third party replied "she's just channeling WC Fields and fucking Alistair Crowley".
So. The next time I start to regret an audible office fart, I'm just going to remember that crazy old man who waits in the bushes with a BB gun, and remember that apparently I'm his second coming.
While I'm at it: Fuck you too, Sammy Hagar. We didn't want you here anyway.
I have, arguably, an undesirable way of life. I'm perpetually homeless, stressed to the point of going grey, bounce between unbalanced men, and act like a dick to people who don't deserve it.
However.
When I feel like sleeping, I usually sleep. When I feel like trashing my liver, I do that too. Most of the time, if I feel like telling someone to suck it, it's gonna happen.
Someone had confronted me about that, and in my defense, a third party replied "she's just channeling WC Fields and fucking Alistair Crowley".
So. The next time I start to regret an audible office fart, I'm just going to remember that crazy old man who waits in the bushes with a BB gun, and remember that apparently I'm his second coming.
While I'm at it: Fuck you too, Sammy Hagar. We didn't want you here anyway.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
El Beasto
I'm yancy today. Nathan smelled like toothpaste (sh'up, you did D:) and the interweb kept going down, which was pretty sweet. Other than that though, I've been really out of it. I think I stole some tooth paste from WalMart (fuck! I was supposed to be not shopping there), but I don't think so, considering that I'd bought weights and need two hands to carry that shit.
So possible shoplifting aside, I'm in a foul mood and keep thinking up these plans for getting to [aforementioned destination], but thus far, none of them really have outcomes that don't involve living under a bridge and being ground up into hamburger meat by a vagrant or perverted state senator.
Enough about the Kennedy's though, I am having my very own pre-mid-life crisis. Although, they're nowhere as fun to have when one doesn't have the money to squander on fast cars and slow women.
Oh well. Here are song lyrics for the day, they were stuck in my head all day:
a hemisphere with no fear, fly over
the blue yonder where
the sky meets the sea
and eye meets no eye
and boy meets world
and became a man to serve the world
to save the day, the night, and the girl too
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Dutchess of Irritable Bowel
John Wayne was a hero.
He took what he wanted when he wanted, drank, smoked, yelled, lead cattle drives across the rugged desert, usurped stage coaches, slapped women, and sometimes he even starred in movies. Little boys wanted to be him when they grew up. He was the quintessential man who men wanted to be and women wanted to be with.
When the Duke died, doctors found a chunk of shit in his colon that was weighed more than a small child. Apparently it isn't easy being a hero.
Despite how good it feels, every drag of cigarette, every bottle of schnapps, every off the wall tantrum brings us closer to a mortician finding an ecosystem in our bowels. That's just from living well, too.
So I don't know what made me think of this. Talking about the Hepburn book maybe, she always makes me think of him (and vice versa), or something. It got me thinking to how much damage I'm doing to my body by stressing so much, and how much it really doesn't matter because everything worth doing in life is bad for you.
Not eating or sleeping right is giving me ulcers, but doing some of my favorite hobbies has broken about every bone imaginable.
Conclusion? I can't win!
I don't know where I was going with this. I can has cheezburger now.
He took what he wanted when he wanted, drank, smoked, yelled, lead cattle drives across the rugged desert, usurped stage coaches, slapped women, and sometimes he even starred in movies. Little boys wanted to be him when they grew up. He was the quintessential man who men wanted to be and women wanted to be with.
When the Duke died, doctors found a chunk of shit in his colon that was weighed more than a small child. Apparently it isn't easy being a hero.
Despite how good it feels, every drag of cigarette, every bottle of schnapps, every off the wall tantrum brings us closer to a mortician finding an ecosystem in our bowels. That's just from living well, too.
So I don't know what made me think of this. Talking about the Hepburn book maybe, she always makes me think of him (and vice versa), or something. It got me thinking to how much damage I'm doing to my body by stressing so much, and how much it really doesn't matter because everything worth doing in life is bad for you.
Not eating or sleeping right is giving me ulcers, but doing some of my favorite hobbies has broken about every bone imaginable.
Conclusion? I can't win!
I don't know where I was going with this. I can has cheezburger now.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
3 TMI Post
- While grabbing then shaking my thigh-fat during a fight with my parents tonight (we're a passionate breed, us) my dad gives me this shocked look and goes, "You have a tattoo?!" when he was the very first person I told/showed when I got the dumb thing.
- Friday or Saturday I was in a verbal argument that resulted in not leaving the bathroom until about five pm last night, not even to call work, because apparently being well enough to call in means being well enough to go.
- Did you know that after olfactory and maxillary surgery, vomiting usually ends with a downright apocalyptic sneeze that, more often than not, will make the author bang the back of her head against the faucet? -especially if she is forced to utilize every basin in the entire house, including the tub and one misplaced flower pot?
I'm not an entirely happy camper right now, in other words.
I love Missouri. I love Illinois with all my heart, and despite living next to a railyard and stockyard, still have a soft spot for Kansas. But I hate the Midwest.
This one is a relatively new discovery, maybe only a few minutes old, but I've come to realise that a lot of my hassles and griefs are coming from the location, the people, and the circumstances.
Also. Due to unforeseen emotional blackmail, plans with Brandon have been canceled or at least postponed and if he reads this before he gets off work/I call him, feel free to grant me with the Biggest Douche Bag in the Universe Award.
One more gripe, then I'll get back to digging around through spider nests: Why post an ad for an apartment when your building has absolutely no openings, or even temporary vacancy?
-
My prescription for the day? Close blinds, curl up in bed with Mudhoney blaring, enjoy a good book in my own home.
The activities for the day? Painting and packing then unpacking.
-
Ah. To end this on a good note: Someone I've been writing with for about a year informed me last night that we have about 400 pages down. That made me slap-happy.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Sometimes I have these thoughts that just pop right up (in accordance to the previous post), and they either piss me right the hell off, or just make me sad in the way that might have made you curl under the bed when you were little.
A few minutes I thought about someone who died when I was very young. He ended just as I began, and I thought, what if I'm ending, this very minute maybe, and someone else is beginning?
I'm a tad selfish, in case you haven't noticed.
A few minutes I thought about someone who died when I was very young. He ended just as I began, and I thought, what if I'm ending, this very minute maybe, and someone else is beginning?
I'm a tad selfish, in case you haven't noticed.
Secondhand Prick-Guilt
My mouth tends to not listen to my brain. Either that, or they have some sort of instant wiring service that I'm unaware of, because I can't really recall the last time my mouth has acted with my permission or blessing. It just spouts off whenever it wants, telling everyone what I'm thinking before even I'm aware that I'm thinking it.
It's annoying. It's very, very annoying, and it makes people mad at me for being mad at them because, I hate to say it, but what I call "common sense" is really just "being a dick" sometimes.
People irritate me sometimes though, and when it seems that they're being just blatantly stupid or trying to be malicious to me (as was the case today), what little control I have on that evil mouth-type-thing goes completely out the window and I can really tear someone a new one if I need to.
. . .
Still feel pretty shitty over it, though. Bah.
It's annoying. It's very, very annoying, and it makes people mad at me for being mad at them because, I hate to say it, but what I call "common sense" is really just "being a dick" sometimes.
People irritate me sometimes though, and when it seems that they're being just blatantly stupid or trying to be malicious to me (as was the case today), what little control I have on that evil mouth-type-thing goes completely out the window and I can really tear someone a new one if I need to.
. . .
Still feel pretty shitty over it, though. Bah.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Today was chock full of win.
I've finally reached the end of my book, and the end of Kingdom Hearts.
Tomorrow I am going to cash/deposit my check, and Tuesday, Doug and I are going to chillax at his house for a few hours of mindnumbing infotainment.
I chalked my wooziness to regular summer yuck, but apparently everyone in my family who ate at the same BBQ got a really nasty stomach thing from it, and I only had a few hours of puking.
Score.
Tomorrow I am going to cash/deposit my check, and Tuesday, Doug and I are going to chillax at his house for a few hours of mindnumbing infotainment.
I chalked my wooziness to regular summer yuck, but apparently everyone in my family who ate at the same BBQ got a really nasty stomach thing from it, and I only had a few hours of puking.
Score.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Unsolicited AIDS Tests
It's the weather, or not sleeping last night, or something, but I can't really seem to wake up today.
My mouth hurts on the one hand, but on the other, my stomach pain has gone away and of course since the two accompany each other, my "oh so awesome" panic attacks have let up too. Sweet!
I'm facing sort of a dilemma right now- Cardin is showing me a $300 apartment soon, and I'm considering a studio since it will be just me and the animal(s), so hopefully there will be a bit more cash flow.
$300 a month for rent
$90 a month for car insurance (bleh)
$50 a month for food for self, animal(s), and possible cleaning supplies
$50 a month for gas + recreation
$9 - 20 a month for the telephone
$40 a month for interweb
Utilities
This means getting a freelance or night job. While I have no doubt I can do that, especially if it's only part-time (four or so hours a night isn't bad for $100 - 120 a week), I really want and need to attend school again.
Am I putting too much on my plate? I know people who attend full-time, play sports, work full-time, and manage a family. I will just be doing the work, school, lackadaisical sports, and herding cats thing.
You know, there's a lot to be said for feminism, but I have to wonder if we've given up too much. Right now I could be taken care of and married, comfortable, and surrounded by a man and children who love me. A lot.
. . . Pff.
I'm going to try my hand at online classes, but it's the classroom experience that I miss. We'll see.
Oh!
Snaps to a friend of mine, who's recently had his first AIDS test. I can't tell you how many times the gentlemen I know of only get tested after nagging and nagging and not putting out and nagging and so on.
Good for him.
My mouth hurts on the one hand, but on the other, my stomach pain has gone away and of course since the two accompany each other, my "oh so awesome" panic attacks have let up too. Sweet!
I'm facing sort of a dilemma right now- Cardin is showing me a $300 apartment soon, and I'm considering a studio since it will be just me and the animal(s), so hopefully there will be a bit more cash flow.
$300 a month for rent
$90 a month for car insurance (bleh)
$50 a month for food for self, animal(s), and possible cleaning supplies
$50 a month for gas + recreation
$9 - 20 a month for the telephone
$40 a month for interweb
Utilities
This means getting a freelance or night job. While I have no doubt I can do that, especially if it's only part-time (four or so hours a night isn't bad for $100 - 120 a week), I really want and need to attend school again.
Am I putting too much on my plate? I know people who attend full-time, play sports, work full-time, and manage a family. I will just be doing the work, school, lackadaisical sports, and herding cats thing.
You know, there's a lot to be said for feminism, but I have to wonder if we've given up too much. Right now I could be taken care of and married, comfortable, and surrounded by a man and children who love me. A lot.
. . . Pff.
I'm going to try my hand at online classes, but it's the classroom experience that I miss. We'll see.
Oh!
Snaps to a friend of mine, who's recently had his first AIDS test. I can't tell you how many times the gentlemen I know of only get tested after nagging and nagging and not putting out and nagging and so on.
Good for him.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Maybe we're just weird.
So as I was doing a happy little dance over my freshly opened carton of cottage cheese, it occurred to me that America is a very icky place to live.
Taking a bite of a large chunk of fermented milk (and loving it), I pondered.
We inject ourselves with botulism, eat bacteria harvested for the purpose of consumption, give birth in unnatural and stressful circumstances, cut the foreskin away from our sons when an education in simple hygiene would suffice, rip hair from our bodies, eat animals that lived in conditions that don't make them fit for eating... I could go on forever, I really could.
However.
We create shots that make our wombs safe from cancer. Cancer vaccines.
Our newspapers come from renewable farms, a constantly reusable source that has left our country with more trees now than when we got to it in the first place- albeit misplaced, you take your victories where you can.
Millions of dollars a year help the starving, the impoverished, $19.99 a month (less than the cost of a cup of coffee a day) to help the orphans in Darfur because God knows a nun without arms can't hold a spoon properly.
We don't do not nearly enough as a society, and we are hella icky, but I look over what a kooky, zany people we are and I have to lawl at least a little.
Taking a bite of a large chunk of fermented milk (and loving it), I pondered.
We inject ourselves with botulism, eat bacteria harvested for the purpose of consumption, give birth in unnatural and stressful circumstances, cut the foreskin away from our sons when an education in simple hygiene would suffice, rip hair from our bodies, eat animals that lived in conditions that don't make them fit for eating... I could go on forever, I really could.
However.
We create shots that make our wombs safe from cancer. Cancer vaccines.
Our newspapers come from renewable farms, a constantly reusable source that has left our country with more trees now than when we got to it in the first place- albeit misplaced, you take your victories where you can.
Millions of dollars a year help the starving, the impoverished, $19.99 a month (less than the cost of a cup of coffee a day) to help the orphans in Darfur because God knows a nun without arms can't hold a spoon properly.
We don't do not nearly enough as a society, and we are hella icky, but I look over what a kooky, zany people we are and I have to lawl at least a little.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Vrij Veilig der Saalon!
Work has been the suck lately, partially because of an upside-down sleep schedule.
Sometimes I remember that I work for a .com business, and I shudder. When some people live on the edge, they have wild sex with beautiful strangers, they adventure through war-torn countries, they drink deep and toast the sunrise.
I have a complete disregard for job security.
La vida loca, interwebs, marico triste.
Sometimes I remember that I work for a .com business, and I shudder. When some people live on the edge, they have wild sex with beautiful strangers, they adventure through war-torn countries, they drink deep and toast the sunrise.
I have a complete disregard for job security.
La vida loca, interwebs, marico triste.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Insomnia
When I was a little girl, nothing bothered me as much as being in that old Phillips house at night.
It was in that house where my dad had grown up in with his five brothers and one sister, in the bed that one of those brothers died. My cousin and I would cling to our plush horse toys and huddle together under the blankets, peeling away sunburn like snakes shedding their skin, and like those snakes, we were irritable and snappish towards each other.
That's how we deal with fear in my family, or any adverse stimuli. We drink, we abuse one another, we snap like twigs under the weight of sensations we weren't genetically equipped to handle.
My grandmother and grandfather died in that house. My uncle festered with AIDS during the early nineties, and would later break my brother's arm with a branch from a tree and rob us blind.
My father ran away from there when he was 16, out to join the army and fight in Vietnam with his brother. They were tired of breaking their backs drilling oil, tired of watching that bastard wolf-dog Duke tear into neighbors, ripping flesh, and chasing cops to the hoods of their cars.
Even at such a young age, even curled up with my cousin, my best friend until not very long ago, that tiny, three-room house felt so sad that my chest would ache.
In Texas, where all old houses feel like that, a wind kicks up at night.
It doesn't whistle or sigh through the canyons, it shrieks. It slams against the panels of the houses until the paint gets sanded to nothing, and a seven-year-old girl can get knocked right down into a cluster of goatheads, or mesquite thorns, that tear into the meat of tender young hands until they've embedded themselves into sleepless nights and make the owners of those tiny hands shudder into adulthood.
They were prairie ghosts, vengeful and bitter, as angry as a nest of rattlesnakes. On nights like this, when I can't sleep and the heat makes us all a little crazy, I watch old Spike Lee movies and gnaw my fingernails to the bone.
I think of how the wind would slam into the house at night, and no one would remember it but me.
It was in that house where my dad had grown up in with his five brothers and one sister, in the bed that one of those brothers died. My cousin and I would cling to our plush horse toys and huddle together under the blankets, peeling away sunburn like snakes shedding their skin, and like those snakes, we were irritable and snappish towards each other.
That's how we deal with fear in my family, or any adverse stimuli. We drink, we abuse one another, we snap like twigs under the weight of sensations we weren't genetically equipped to handle.
My grandmother and grandfather died in that house. My uncle festered with AIDS during the early nineties, and would later break my brother's arm with a branch from a tree and rob us blind.
My father ran away from there when he was 16, out to join the army and fight in Vietnam with his brother. They were tired of breaking their backs drilling oil, tired of watching that bastard wolf-dog Duke tear into neighbors, ripping flesh, and chasing cops to the hoods of their cars.
Even at such a young age, even curled up with my cousin, my best friend until not very long ago, that tiny, three-room house felt so sad that my chest would ache.
In Texas, where all old houses feel like that, a wind kicks up at night.
It doesn't whistle or sigh through the canyons, it shrieks. It slams against the panels of the houses until the paint gets sanded to nothing, and a seven-year-old girl can get knocked right down into a cluster of goatheads, or mesquite thorns, that tear into the meat of tender young hands until they've embedded themselves into sleepless nights and make the owners of those tiny hands shudder into adulthood.
They were prairie ghosts, vengeful and bitter, as angry as a nest of rattlesnakes. On nights like this, when I can't sleep and the heat makes us all a little crazy, I watch old Spike Lee movies and gnaw my fingernails to the bone.
I think of how the wind would slam into the house at night, and no one would remember it but me.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Switzerland or Bust
I wanted to post some pictures today, or go on about my dad's weekly departure, but I don't feel like it now.
We live in a country ruled by the popular media. A media owned by the entertainment business, because free enterprise died... hell, ages ago, before my time at least, youngun that I am.
Now while that's a discouraging thing in itself, what's worse is that our information, our pop culture, our anything, will be based entirely off of our coastal cities. LA and New York, Cisco and Boston, Hookers and Blow, etc etc etc.
I've ranted about this for a while to my friends, and yeah I do agree that I'm taking it to heart, but Jesus Christ. This country is not the fucking East or West Coast, this is a country that used to be great solely because of the fact that so many cultures blended together to form an incomplete, constantly evolving society.
Now our cultural identity is http://www.mtv.com/ontv/dyn/the_hills/series.jhtml or whatever piss-poor stereotype Hollywood can pull out of its ass in order to humiliate, and take advantage of popular locations that once had their own, original, cultural identities.
Now I can't even find a news story about a psychopath walking to a small-town Missouri church and mowing down people with a machine gun.
I will post pictures later
So the tux-fitting didn't pan out again, but our schedules have been so twisted lately that it's hard to really be irritated about that other than the fact that... well, our schedules have been so twisted lately.
Aside from missing those crazy kids, it was a pretty alright day. Rob and I went to gawk at the big fork (that doesn't really get old), saw Shrek 3, took a long walk to a Chinese fast food place that was something akin to highway robbery, and then watched Army of Darkness.
I got home at something like 1am, but didn't go to sleep until about 3am, because... ah, I don't remember, actually. I think I was waiting for someone.
Toodles, poodles.
Aside from missing those crazy kids, it was a pretty alright day. Rob and I went to gawk at the big fork (that doesn't really get old), saw Shrek 3, took a long walk to a Chinese fast food place that was something akin to highway robbery, and then watched Army of Darkness.
I got home at something like 1am, but didn't go to sleep until about 3am, because... ah, I don't remember, actually. I think I was waiting for someone.
Toodles, poodles.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
I am laying in bed, trying to configure keyboard shortcuts for Black & White 2, and eating a whole wheat shrimp and steak fajita. Later today, if I ever get out of bed, Rob and I are going to Pythian Castle for God knows what (exploration, adventure), and then another if, if Doug and Shiloh and I ever find a day that our sleep/work hours aren't butting heads, we'll do a tux fitting.
Paid presentations are guilty little pleasures for me. Kitchen appliances, Dean Martin collections, and the Carol Burnett show, especially. The colon cleansers I'm pretty sure we could go without.
- and yes, still quite the photo hoor.
Paid presentations are guilty little pleasures for me. Kitchen appliances, Dean Martin collections, and the Carol Burnett show, especially. The colon cleansers I'm pretty sure we could go without.
- and yes, still quite the photo hoor.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
I Hart White Porcelain
I could have gone without knowing about the third installment of My Wife is a Gangster, the latest piece in a series of Korean cinema goodness to obsess over. The first one was great, and I saw it last night for the first time, same goes for the second.
Don't waste your money on the third one.
Vanilla Sky was fantastic; I'm very rarely glad that I watch the movies I'm talked into watching, but it was actually very good.
Also. Brandon is really good at Guitar Hero, and it makes me angry with the jealousystuff. My friends make me want to buy that game again, practice and absurd amount in my dark cave of a room, and then whip out l>>t Guitar Hero skills on them. Ha!
Until then though, I'm going to stick with Kingdom Hearts, now that playing it doesn't make me ridiculously dizzy. I was doing alright with it today until playing with my gums, and kind of spurting blood and the chocolate I'd been eating earlier today everywhere.
Foamy carpet stuff didn't get it out of the shag, but most of it ended up in the sink, and I can never resist a good photo op with porcelain (the definition of "good" here is negotiable, by the way).
Aside from that, there was a dark cloud hovering over Springfield all day, that kind that randomly spits droplets of rain at you, but does it so petitely that you wonder if it had really happened, or if you are just feeling things.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
1o5 Degrees Out Today
Billy Idol has this nice habit of putting moods and days in a nutshell. I have a lot on my mind right now and a lot to write, but it's kinda avalanching because of the few days no posting/technical difficulties. Expect a play-by-play guide to Blogger very soon.
For now though.
I've been having trouble with work lately. I won't go into it because that's rude to my employer despite relative anonyminity and all, but basically, myself and about 90% of my co-workers are really uncomfortable at work.
Never treat your workers in a way that you'd be uncomfortable with if you knew they were sharing on the internet. If they keep MySpace or LiveJournal blogs, then chances are, the whole world knows your business practices.
Anyway, that's going to be it for now. My camera ate some delicious pictures of the fountain, Brandon, fair people, and anything else interesting that went on.
By the way- speaking of work, I've finally shared the address with someone from work.
Hi, Nathan!
Saturday, August 4, 2007
I'll eatcha!
My once a day post for the day. Kinda had a bad day today, but tomorrow's will be doubly awesome to make up for it.
+10 if it has rofflesauce!
+10 if it has rofflesauce!
Sleeepy again
I'm sleepy again, and just haven't been up to blogging lately, to be honest. It's something I enjoy a lot period, just not entirely so right this moment.
The reason I'm so tired today is that last night Brandon and I went to the Palace to not see a movie. This turned into wandering into the world's largest fork, a very speshul statue, and eventaully the Ozarks Empire Fair.
We had a blast, and I'm glad we got to hang out for a few hours. But? Going home and staying up for the remainder of the night playing with the new camera, that wasn't very smart at all. Tonight I'll prolly post like mad while trying to stay up, turning hours back around for work and all, so look forward to moar pictures and moar barely comprehensible mutterings!
The reason I'm so tired today is that last night Brandon and I went to the Palace to not see a movie. This turned into wandering into the world's largest fork, a very speshul statue, and eventaully the Ozarks Empire Fair.
We had a blast, and I'm glad we got to hang out for a few hours. But? Going home and staying up for the remainder of the night playing with the new camera, that wasn't very smart at all. Tonight I'll prolly post like mad while trying to stay up, turning hours back around for work and all, so look forward to moar pictures and moar barely comprehensible mutterings!
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Moar pah!
Today was tiring. This morning was the second-to-last appointment, the last being on Monday, when the stuffing is going to be removed and all will be well.
Last night I signed up for the Big Sister/Brother organization, which is an uberspiffy thing that anyone over 18 (or 16, whatthefuckdoIknow) should do, and I am waiting for the phone-call about that.
There's only one conclusion to come to regarding this: I am a masochist. Only after hours of gnawing fingernails to stubs regarding work, and then carting sproglings around for neither fame nor lulz, can this be explained any other way.
Currently it's 8:30pm and I'm waiting for nine to roll around so that sleeps can be had. Tomorrow will be even busier but see, I am going to take the fun route. After work, that is.
Also! Thinking of getting a camera tomorrow. That will entail returning this computer, but hell, fuck it. Vista. Pah!
Last night I signed up for the Big Sister/Brother organization, which is an uberspiffy thing that anyone over 18 (or 16, whatthefuckdoIknow) should do, and I am waiting for the phone-call about that.
There's only one conclusion to come to regarding this: I am a masochist. Only after hours of gnawing fingernails to stubs regarding work, and then carting sproglings around for neither fame nor lulz, can this be explained any other way.
Currently it's 8:30pm and I'm waiting for nine to roll around so that sleeps can be had. Tomorrow will be even busier but see, I am going to take the fun route. After work, that is.
Also! Thinking of getting a camera tomorrow. That will entail returning this computer, but hell, fuck it. Vista. Pah!
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Well hey there, chilluns!
So we actually have my brother's kids this week, that is pretty groovy. They don't really care about me right now because I'm currently not setting off fireworks, threatening life and limb on the four-wheeler, or showing them violent video games, but they'll come crawlin' back... you'll see!
Actually, I have a box of Zebra Cakes in my room, so once they catch whiff of modified sugars and icing, they'll remember how cool Aunt 'Nnie is. Pwn!
EDIT: HAHA! About two minutes after writing that, they came in for hugs. I love those sprogs.
My temperature is down and after the grossest night evar, I am ready to do things tomorrow. Will get a note explaining the being absent from work thing, and take another Endothing for sleep, then be back up to par again.
Still taking a break from writing, but obviously not blogging or work- just a quick hiatus to get caught up on work again. S'all groovy.
Actually, I have a box of Zebra Cakes in my room, so once they catch whiff of modified sugars and icing, they'll remember how cool Aunt 'Nnie is. Pwn!
EDIT: HAHA! About two minutes after writing that, they came in for hugs. I love those sprogs.
My temperature is down and after the grossest night evar, I am ready to do things tomorrow. Will get a note explaining the being absent from work thing, and take another Endothing for sleep, then be back up to par again.
Still taking a break from writing, but obviously not blogging or work- just a quick hiatus to get caught up on work again. S'all groovy.
My nose blowed up
My temperature got to aboot 103-5 today, and mi madre was nice enough to call the clinic for me to see what was happening. In all the paperwork I got, none of it said "stop taking penicilin", "don't lift over five pounds", or "don't got to work for ten days". Hell, I wasn't even supposed to blow my nose and have been doing that for days, because that is what one does.
I had no idea at all, and I know I am a dumbfuck on occasion when it comes to listening to my body, but if the doctor had said to stay at home then I'd have done so. Right now I'm on penicilin again for the infection, back on a liquid diet (oh yay), and on some new tranquilizer. I don't remember the name of it right now but it has "Endo" written on the tabs, and they are magic.
So that is what is going on. Still going to ArtWalk/work/otherthings if all goes well at the clinic today, because I need a doctor's note (had no idea I'd be missing work!) and will be in town anyway.
In a nutshell: I basically made myself seriously ill by having an extremely half-assed day at a desk job, and then blowing my nose.
It may just be this "Endo" stuff... but yes, it is darn hyelarious. See you all soon, and keep me updated on your things!
I had no idea at all, and I know I am a dumbfuck on occasion when it comes to listening to my body, but if the doctor had said to stay at home then I'd have done so. Right now I'm on penicilin again for the infection, back on a liquid diet (oh yay), and on some new tranquilizer. I don't remember the name of it right now but it has "Endo" written on the tabs, and they are magic.
So that is what is going on. Still going to ArtWalk/work/otherthings if all goes well at the clinic today, because I need a doctor's note (had no idea I'd be missing work!) and will be in town anyway.
In a nutshell: I basically made myself seriously ill by having an extremely half-assed day at a desk job, and then blowing my nose.
It may just be this "Endo" stuff... but yes, it is darn hyelarious. See you all soon, and keep me updated on your things!
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Weeerk.
My body told me not to go to work today, and when I fell asleep telling mi madre something about cats running on the roof, she told me not to too.
I've always been able to handle pain really well, in a mental sense, but physically it just doesn't go well. If there's something wrong with a bone or joint, or menstrual cramps especially, I'll walk in my sleep.
There isn't anything deeply... deep, or anything about it- my dad does the same thing, especially after his last stroke, so it isn't anything dangerous or too out there. Actually, aside from pissing off family to the point of wanting to whack me over the head with a frying pan, the most dangerous thing I'd ever done from this was crawl into a stranger's car and fall asleep.
We keep the doors locked now. Haw. Anyway, I forgot where I was going with this. Going to sleep now, so later taters.
I've always been able to handle pain really well, in a mental sense, but physically it just doesn't go well. If there's something wrong with a bone or joint, or menstrual cramps especially, I'll walk in my sleep.
There isn't anything deeply... deep, or anything about it- my dad does the same thing, especially after his last stroke, so it isn't anything dangerous or too out there. Actually, aside from pissing off family to the point of wanting to whack me over the head with a frying pan, the most dangerous thing I'd ever done from this was crawl into a stranger's car and fall asleep.
We keep the doors locked now. Haw. Anyway, I forgot where I was going with this. Going to sleep now, so later taters.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Okay, so I thought of something...
Melty chocolate, notebook, tea, bad TV, and good book: Best evening activities ever.
Tonight kicks ass.
Tonight kicks ass.
I've never had good luck with men.
Maybe I took that old addage about "the fastest way to their heart being through their stomach" too seriously, eh?
I keed, I keed. Today was groovy.
I'm stealing my car tomorrow, because paying for 200 miles of gas a day won't really work well, and the last time I've done that was at 14- six years is time enough for a gal to do something perfectly legal but not entirely honorable, yes?
Besides, I miss my drives to work in the morning.
-
Yeah, that was another big post about nothing. Today was exhausting and I'm not looking forward to tomorrow, but sleep tonight will be nice and ArtWalk Friday will be doubly so.
A better post will come later, maybe. For now though, I need to finish some work stuff and watch the shitty (but oh-so delicious) Nanny 911 shows.
I keed, I keed. Today was groovy.
I'm stealing my car tomorrow, because paying for 200 miles of gas a day won't really work well, and the last time I've done that was at 14- six years is time enough for a gal to do something perfectly legal but not entirely honorable, yes?
Besides, I miss my drives to work in the morning.
-
Yeah, that was another big post about nothing. Today was exhausting and I'm not looking forward to tomorrow, but sleep tonight will be nice and ArtWalk Friday will be doubly so.
A better post will come later, maybe. For now though, I need to finish some work stuff and watch the shitty (but oh-so delicious) Nanny 911 shows.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
There aren't a lot of things to write about-
- but not a lot of them are very interesting, is all.
I woke up after a nap to a very welcome phone-call from someone I feel like I know, only I don't. This is the part where we quote from A Streetcar Named Desire and go back and forth between strangers being friends you've never met, and sickies who've yet to find a barrel to pickle your dismembered remains in.
In surgical news, because this is vastly fascinating, I've figured out that astoundingly, if one pulls out their stitches, it will unravel like a thread from a sweater until blood is caked onto the bathroom sink and the individual is left wondering why the hell they'd just done that.
-
That was kind of gross, so I will end this on a good note.
I did a google image search for "female chest tattoo" and one of the first results was Al Franken. Silver Fox!
I woke up after a nap to a very welcome phone-call from someone I feel like I know, only I don't. This is the part where we quote from A Streetcar Named Desire and go back and forth between strangers being friends you've never met, and sickies who've yet to find a barrel to pickle your dismembered remains in.
In surgical news, because this is vastly fascinating, I've figured out that astoundingly, if one pulls out their stitches, it will unravel like a thread from a sweater until blood is caked onto the bathroom sink and the individual is left wondering why the hell they'd just done that.
-
That was kind of gross, so I will end this on a good note.
I did a google image search for "female chest tattoo" and one of the first results was Al Franken. Silver Fox!
Saturday, July 28, 2007
ई फोर्गोत वहत ई वास गोइंग तो राइट.
वालियम इस थे अवेसोमे-ईएसटी। किन्दा।
ई विल पोस्ट फिक्टिओंलेट्स हियर लेटर, बुत उन्तिल थें, मिन्द्लेस राम्ब्लेस।
ओह! अल्सो, बेल्लओंलिने इस डाउन। ला त्रगेदिए!
ई विल पोस्ट फिक्टिओंलेट्स हियर लेटर, बुत उन्तिल थें, मिन्द्लेस राम्ब्लेस।
ओह! अल्सो, बेल्लओंलिने इस डाउन। ला त्रगेदिए!
Drugs are bad, roight?
I kept going in and out during the surgery. Like I know I was awake, but what I do and don't remember are iffy.
I remember the sound of bone being cut out (they used a punch method with this itty-bitty tool with diamond dust on the tip, just like my scar treatments) so it sounds much worse than it was- for anyone considering having it done, it barely hurt.
I also remember occasionally taking a swing at the surgeon when he tried to put the separator in, and trying to grope the nurse. As in, hand on butt, grope.
They tried to take away my music player, and that resulted in a little freaking out. Doctor grabs it, Annie holds on tighter, doctor lets go, Annie hits self in chin and declares music player suddenly undesirable: Surrenders.
I made them take the divider out because I thought I had to pee, but that was just normal surgical stuff. Also decided that there was an air-bubble in the tube and demanded to be disconnected: Anesthesialogist ups medicine, Annie goes to sleep for the final part of the procedure, consisting of unbundling nerves and re-aligning the shiny, brand new jawline.
Had a dream about a puppy with an upside-down face. Woke up snapping fingers in the face of another woman in the recovering room and declaring, "Ym mead mowikip."
As a closer, I yelled at a lady at McDonalds to "get it right."
On an up note though, aside from a rash and killer nosebleed, as soon as the swelling goes down, my jaw is going to be killer. Can't wait to show it off- when the chin is done (via invisiline braces), it's going to look even better.
I do miss the roundness of my face, but A) totally unavoidable and B) hopefully the lisp will be taken care of.
-
A boy hit on me at the Goodwill Store, and I got a discount. When I say boy, I do mean boy, because he either looked young or was about 17-years-old. He was really sweet though, and it made me feel foxy in an only-slightly-illegal-because-this-is-Missouri kinda way.
I will go back in a few days, after the stitches are removed and the hole is graphed, to see about getting a couch. Just call me Mrs. Robinson... only, you know, minus the sex because it will be a cold day in hell before I get with a male virgin- those things are just icky. If he were to go to the state fair with me though, that would be different. Mostly because he strikes me as the kind who I can hook up with a cousin who totally needs a "good influence" and playing matchmaker to teenagers is fun in a LiveJournal Drama kinda way.
Yes, I am rambling. Well fuck you, because I am on Valium and can eat solid foods again in only about four days.
What are you goons up to? I want to hear about how your lives are going.
I remember the sound of bone being cut out (they used a punch method with this itty-bitty tool with diamond dust on the tip, just like my scar treatments) so it sounds much worse than it was- for anyone considering having it done, it barely hurt.
I also remember occasionally taking a swing at the surgeon when he tried to put the separator in, and trying to grope the nurse. As in, hand on butt, grope.
They tried to take away my music player, and that resulted in a little freaking out. Doctor grabs it, Annie holds on tighter, doctor lets go, Annie hits self in chin and declares music player suddenly undesirable: Surrenders.
I made them take the divider out because I thought I had to pee, but that was just normal surgical stuff. Also decided that there was an air-bubble in the tube and demanded to be disconnected: Anesthesialogist ups medicine, Annie goes to sleep for the final part of the procedure, consisting of unbundling nerves and re-aligning the shiny, brand new jawline.
Had a dream about a puppy with an upside-down face. Woke up snapping fingers in the face of another woman in the recovering room and declaring, "Ym mead mowikip."
As a closer, I yelled at a lady at McDonalds to "get it right."
On an up note though, aside from a rash and killer nosebleed, as soon as the swelling goes down, my jaw is going to be killer. Can't wait to show it off- when the chin is done (via invisiline braces), it's going to look even better.
I do miss the roundness of my face, but A) totally unavoidable and B) hopefully the lisp will be taken care of.
-
A boy hit on me at the Goodwill Store, and I got a discount. When I say boy, I do mean boy, because he either looked young or was about 17-years-old. He was really sweet though, and it made me feel foxy in an only-slightly-illegal-because-this-is-Missouri kinda way.
I will go back in a few days, after the stitches are removed and the hole is graphed, to see about getting a couch. Just call me Mrs. Robinson... only, you know, minus the sex because it will be a cold day in hell before I get with a male virgin- those things are just icky. If he were to go to the state fair with me though, that would be different. Mostly because he strikes me as the kind who I can hook up with a cousin who totally needs a "good influence" and playing matchmaker to teenagers is fun in a LiveJournal Drama kinda way.
Yes, I am rambling. Well fuck you, because I am on Valium and can eat solid foods again in only about four days.
What are you goons up to? I want to hear about how your lives are going.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Harry Potter and the Missing 300-Fucking-Pages
Today at work we got to talking about the Harvard/Oxford/Serial comma, as opposed to the Serial coma, I guess. Which would be the suck.
A Harvard Comma is when a comma is used before a grammatical conjuction, which is 99% and, but it can also be or. It's used to disambiguate, which would be like "I'm going to the store today to pick up basil, beer, and soda" as opposed to "I'm going to the store today to pick up basil, beer and soda".
Nine out of ten style guides agree that when you don't use the Harvard comma, God kills a kitten.
-
I've picked up Harry Pooter again because apparently in the middle of the book somewhere (in some copies) there's about 300 pages missing. It's a toss-up between worrying that I'll have to read these off of ED and wondering if I have a collectable- the good news though, is that there are prolly too many to really match up to, say, an upside down stamp print.
But while I'm still un-drugged and elephant tranq'd, I'm trying to get through The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana.
I'm on Part 2 now, when Yambo has gone to his childhood home away from Milan, to collect himself. Comics and articles from his childhood are making him remember these flashes of memory, or "flames" to go back to the title, and he's starting to recognize more than just common knowledge.
The book is brutally practical sometimes, especially when Yambo talks about shitting in the vineyard, but it really keeps the dreamy style of writing from getting boring.
It reads like a mystery, and yeah, I'm absolutely ga-ga over it.
Wish me luck tomorrow!
A Harvard Comma is when a comma is used before a grammatical conjuction, which is 99% and, but it can also be or. It's used to disambiguate, which would be like "I'm going to the store today to pick up basil, beer, and soda" as opposed to "I'm going to the store today to pick up basil, beer and soda".
Nine out of ten style guides agree that when you don't use the Harvard comma, God kills a kitten.
-
I've picked up Harry Pooter again because apparently in the middle of the book somewhere (in some copies) there's about 300 pages missing. It's a toss-up between worrying that I'll have to read these off of ED and wondering if I have a collectable- the good news though, is that there are prolly too many to really match up to, say, an upside down stamp print.
But while I'm still un-drugged and elephant tranq'd, I'm trying to get through The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana.
I'm on Part 2 now, when Yambo has gone to his childhood home away from Milan, to collect himself. Comics and articles from his childhood are making him remember these flashes of memory, or "flames" to go back to the title, and he's starting to recognize more than just common knowledge.
The book is brutally practical sometimes, especially when Yambo talks about shitting in the vineyard, but it really keeps the dreamy style of writing from getting boring.
It reads like a mystery, and yeah, I'm absolutely ga-ga over it.
Wish me luck tomorrow!
Monday, July 23, 2007
Chess, among other things
When I was a kid, a cousin and I used to play chess together. Neither of us knew the rules so we made up our own, and even after he learned them from one of those Bobby Fischer books, I demanded that we stick to our "knights do whatever they want but you gotta save the queen" rules.
Today I started picking up chess again because I need to exercise my brain with something besides travel destinations, recipes, and legal smallprint (oh shit, I've become my mother). It's very interesting, the chess. I don't have it all down pat yet, but when he gets back, I'm making my dad play.
There's also Russian. Russian is going very well, but I do need to start saving up for classes or the discs. The alphabet is what's easy, surprisingly enough, because I was thinking that hearing a word and then visualizing it's sounds would be hard. It's not though, the letters are easy.
See? If I'd just cared so much about studies when I was in school, we wouldn't be having this interweb conversation, I'd be sipping appletini's with my homies at Brown.
I keep looking at myself in the mirror and pushing my jaw forward so I'll see what it'll look like after my surgery. My jawline will be hella pronounced, like a DC hero, and I think that is dashing.
Today I started picking up chess again because I need to exercise my brain with something besides travel destinations, recipes, and legal smallprint (oh shit, I've become my mother). It's very interesting, the chess. I don't have it all down pat yet, but when he gets back, I'm making my dad play.
There's also Russian. Russian is going very well, but I do need to start saving up for classes or the discs. The alphabet is what's easy, surprisingly enough, because I was thinking that hearing a word and then visualizing it's sounds would be hard. It's not though, the letters are easy.
See? If I'd just cared so much about studies when I was in school, we wouldn't be having this interweb conversation, I'd be sipping appletini's with my homies at Brown.
I keep looking at myself in the mirror and pushing my jaw forward so I'll see what it'll look like after my surgery. My jawline will be hella pronounced, like a DC hero, and I think that is dashing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
