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.

Okay, so I thought of something...

Melty chocolate, notebook, tea, bad TV, and good book: Best evening activities ever.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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!

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.