My God, I’m showing my stupid

what is a graphic short story? I can do short stories, no problem, but I can’t fucking draw. I’m kind of doing my cousin’s homework. I read the book last night, it’s about the integration of Central High School in Little Rock Arkansas in 1958. Amazingly easy, but I’m thinking, “WTF graphic short story” and I can’t get a definition anywhere (Google has failed me) and I can write a short story in my sleep (I’ve got a great idea and I’ll post it here when I’m done.) The closest I’ve got is “graphic novel” and I’m like, “WTF? My cousin is in a lower level English class. They expect these kids to draw?” I love my boy, but he just struggles so hard to get through the simplest subjects at school. I’d like to see him get his diploma, at least, though. If he doesn’t, he’s going to have no chance. He does okay in his math classes, but English eludes him. So what the hell.

And he’s been having problems this year. Mental problems. His senior year. God knows I wouldn’t have graduated if my dad hadn’t helped me out, and by helped me out I mean did my homework for me. I was homebound that year, suffering serious mental illness and periodic hospitalizaions. He has come dangerously close to being hospitalized this year. I see it as being a matter of time, really. I’m going to get him probably an A, if I get the instructions right. And I’m pretty sure I’ve got it other than “graphic short story”. That should bump his average up enough to pass him.

And if I wrote the words to a song I write, would anyone be able to make music to it?

Sleep seems to be eluding me tonight

Ah, hypomania. Welcome back, homegirl. And Aunt Flo's staying for an extended visit. The cousins have also come bearing gifts. Crampy has been a particular joy this time around. OMG, give me a heated spoon and I'll remove the ovaries myself. Heated. Spoon. Moody and Bitchy have been making their appearance, egged on by homegirl mania. Luckily, Weepy is nowhere in sight. I tell you, I can be a bitch when I'm in a normal mood, but at least I feel bad about it. When I'm hypomanic, (or, God forbid, manic) I'm not just a bitch, I'm an unrepentant bitch. Add Aunt Flo to the mix and you'll have to thank my high functioning frontal lobe for the fact that there is no streets running with the blood of the innocent in sleepy Columbus, IN. Weepy will show up later, after the crash, and bring her twin brother Guilt.

I'm not feeling quite human right now. Thankfully, I don't see the insanity lasting for much longer than a day or two. I hope.

Thoughts on my own bisexuality

I’m 31 years old. I’ve never been with a woman. Not that I’ve not wanted to…OMG I’ve wanted to. But I live in a conservative, Midwestern town and it just seemed I couldn’t meet one gay female. The very few I did meet, just no. It didn’t work.

When I was single. Of course, now that I’m in a relationship I’m very happy with (with an amazing man) I seem to be the Columbus gay girl magnet.

There’s this girl who now works at Circle K (where I used to work also) who has actively flirted with me. Of course, she sees me come in with my boyfriend, but she’s still just really cool. I would guess she’s mid twenties, maybe late 20’s. She’s taller than me, stocky, but actually kind of sexy in a way that I just can’t describe.

If I were single, she is exactly the kind of person I’d like to have my first female experience with. She’s fun, cute and charismatic.

Damn my monogamous heart.

Just chilling

Still haven't turned the TV off football yet.

WTF? Maybe because I'm so accustomed to having it as background to net surfing and general fucking around on the computer because the boyfriend fucking L.O.V.E.S. it. I can handle it, up to a point. I like the local hometeam (Colts) because they don't seem to be douchey douchingtons compared to a lot of the other teams but I really think I've just developed a tolerance, kind of like a disease you've been exposed to over and over again.

People who waste air that we breathe

Just when you think the story of poor little 10 year old Zahra Baker can't possibly get any worse...it does. If you want to know the story and don't, google it. I just...can't.

Here's where my mental illness shows itself. Be warned. It's not pretty.

I do know that I have several ideas for her gaping useless cuntslime of a stepmother that involve razor blades, salt and rubbing alcohol and ALL of her bodily orifices. AND OMG WHY HASN'T HER WANKSTAIN DOUCHECANOE FATHER BEEN ARRESTED ALREADY? Even if he didn't actually kill the child, you know he knew. People like this just need to stop wasting air, seriously. If you ever have a thought of doing these things to a child, or letting these things happen to a child around you, do the entire world a favor and kill yourself now. Preferably by rolling in broken glass, taking a salt bath, dipping yourself in gasoline and setting yourself on fire. Then have your bodies dumped in a large hole in the ground so that every abuse victim in the world would have the option of taking a huge dump on your remains. After that, open it up to include everyone else in the world who had to crap. I, myself, would eat a very large mexican meal and bring along some ex-lax.

Because everything I just said in the above sentence...preferable to what happened to this child.

This guy gets off on my worst nightmare

I found this video through The Ranter's Box, who I found through Vegetable Assassin. I need to update my Blogger a hell of a lot more often than I actually do.



I don't know if I've ever shared my absolute terror of balloons. I fucking hate them. I hate them with the white hot intensity of a million supernovas. If I could take every balloon, balloon manufacturer and the technology that allows balloons to exist and fire it into the middle of a black hole, I would do a naked happy dance. In public. This guy has a balloon fetish. I have a balloon phobia. I'm not so much afraid of balloons, as I'm afraid of the bigger-than-the-world noise they make when they pop. I have been known to bust out crying, tears and sobs, the whole works, if one pops in my general vicinity. Especially before or during visits from the aunt in my pants named Flo, but not neccessarily during those times.

I have a child. She likes balloons. What kid doesn't? (Me as a kid, that's who. Yes, I was a child balloon hater.) Maybe I should say what normal kid doesn't? Because of my abnormal hatred of balloons and my mightier than thou fear of big booms, if there is a balloon in the house, it automatically gets transferred to her room. And there it stays. Until she leaves for her weekend with her dad and his family and I take the fucker downstairs and either a: let it go if it's a helium or b: toss it in the outside bin if it's not. I can't help it. It's like having a suicide bomber in your house.

Funny thing though. I can watch this video. Because the popping balloon is not in the same room with me, I can laugh at this happy asshole getting off on overinflating a balloon until it pops in his face. And I can simultaneously hope to hell he loses an eye or a hand or maybe his dingaling doing this one of these days. Maybe then people will understand what a fucking menace to society these colorful pieces of satanic rubber actually are.

I...have been so fucking sick.

It's not even right. Let's see...vomited so much from Tuesday through Thursday that I had to be hospitalized Thursday night. Saw Dr. McGillvary at Prompt Med an immediate care center. (I love her and if she ever goes anywhere, I'm going to try and get her in a heartbeat!) and she pretty much had me admitted Thursday night due to severe dehydration. I lost 6lbs in 4 days. You don't just do that unless you've lost water. A metric fuckload in other words. Though pretty much the doctor on call Thursday is on my shitlist, because she was on call, she took over my care to speak...and I honestly think I was released way too soon. I spent most of yesterday and today puking my guts up. I'm getting a little relief now. And that's pretty much thanks to my green friend. And Dr. Porter, who I saw at walk in this morning. I've been taking the medicine (I throw up everything that goes into my stomach, ugh) and he gave me sublingual (under the tongue) medicine to help with stomach pain and a compazine suppository to MAYBE help with the fucking constant vomiting. And when I say constant, omg. It's been insane!

I have an appointment my Dr. in 2 weeks. Fucking A. Honestly, if I'm not seeing some real help this time, I'm leaving her and going to either, the doctor Dad goes to...or leave Sandcreat entirely and try and find somewhere that will take my fucking insurance.

I'm really, really hoping and praying to God that I will feel so much better by tommorrow. It's Halloween, damnit! I want to go out with my kid. :(

Every single medication I've taken at home...has not worked on my vomiting in the slightest. In the hospital, they gave me Zofran. THAT shit works, but guess what my insurance doesn't cover it-unless I'm actually hospitalized. Phenergan doesn't work. I believe I threw up more after I got the shot today from the Dr that was supposed to stop it and the compazine doesn't work (though I'm taking it because I don't think it's hurting me)

Guess how many bong hits it took for my stomach to feel miles better, enough for me to eat a half a can of chicken noodle soup (mostly broth)?

Three.

How fucked up is that?

Oh, and add this to the list of shit that can only happen to me. I was taking a walk LAST Saturday, and reading my book (yes, I walk and read at the same time). This is a slow neighborhood. Not exactly watching where I'm going. All of a sudden, this 9-10 year old boy comes barreling around on a bicycle. Not exactly watching where HE'S going. You see where this is going?

Kaboom. I'm flat back on the sidewalk, slamming my head and upper back in the process. The kid lands on me, so he's fine. I, on the other hand, am still having a residual headache and massive upper back pain. The joys of getting older. Fuck. I pass out for a few seconds though because one minute I'm on the ground with the kid on top of me and the next second the kid is beside me screaming, "LADY, HEY LADY, WAKE UP! ARE YOU OKAY? LADY WAKE UP!" and my first words, "You okay, bud?" He was. I'm glad the kid is okay though. I couldn't have stood the guilt had he hurt himself too. Little fucker, however, landed on me. He was able to avoid getting hurt by landing on my squishy ass.

Went to the ER Saturday night because I thought there was a chance I was concussed, but I wasn't. Woke up Sunday morning with agony in my upper back. Agony. So I go to Prompt Med. Dr. Lovins is there (WTF? Seems everyone who quits Sandcrest ends up at PromptMed). Well, she gives me 21 Soma (muscle relaxer) and forty vicodin. I'm like 0_o. Yeah, have never been given quite that much before. I didn't even get close to taking all of it.