I see London, I see France

I see something riding up your ass.

Thoughts on an ass invasion.

Ladies, please don't think that strip of cloth or elastic sticking out from under your hipster jeans (often referred to as a “Whale Tail”) looks anything but dumb and tacky! Really, you lose IQ points for revealing your strings in public. So unless you're a Victoria's Secret lingerie model and you're on an actual runway, you look just plain stupid when it's hanging out there or you bend over and expose it.

Thongs, T-Backs and G-Strings are all known to me as “Anal Floss”. Here are the pro’s and con’s as I see them.

(Big) Pro: No panty line.

Pro: Can be very comfortable.

Pro: Can look cute/sexy. (When worn properly.)

Con: Being cheap when purchasing anal floss results in chaffage.

Con: Sisqo’s dumbass song about them.

Con: For anal floss newbies the constant atomic weggie feel. (P.S. There’s nothing cute about picking your ass in public, regardless of how “subtle” you think you’re being. In reality you’re as unnoticed as a cat dragging it’s ass across the carpet in front of company.)

Con: Sometimes a cottage cheesy ass hanging out isn’t a good thing. (And no, those aren’t called “dimples” it's called “cellulite”.)

Con: A worry to wear during menses (Up until a thong/menses genius came up with Always Alldays thong pantiliners that is.)

Con: Vaginal and bacterial infections, UTI’s, hemorrhoids and lacerations of the anus. (Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I want to hear from my GYN, “Your anus is lacerated.”)

Do I own anal floss? Yes. Why, with all of the cons I just listed? Because of the first big pro. I don't want to sport my panty lined ass around town when I'm wearing form fitting jeans or slacks. That being said, it should also be noted that a good number of men will agree that too little can be a turn-off. I find under the right circumstances bikini or tanga panties can be far more sexy and erotic, they have an air of naive innocence about them. If you're going to wear anal floss with the sole reasoning of "panties are cumbersome" all I have to say is "Hell, whatever happened to going commando?"

Warning: Virus Alert!

There is a dangerous virus being passed electronically, orally and by hand. This virus is called Worm-Overload-Recreational-Killer (WORK). If you receive WORK from any of your colleagues, your boss or anyone else via any means DO NOT TOUCH IT. This virus will wipe out your private life completely.

If you should come into contact with WORK put your jacket on and take two good friends to the nearest pub. Purchase the antidote known as Work-Isolator-Neutralizer-Extractor (WINE). Take the antidote repeatedly until WORK has been completely eliminated from your system.

You should share this warning with 5 friends. If you do not have 5 friends, you have already been infected and WORK is controlling your life.

Update: After extensive testing, it has been concluded that Best-Equivalent-Extractor-Remedy (BEER) may be substituted for WINE but may require a more generous application.

(thanks Kira! After a crappy day on the job I needed this!)

I don’t have a bit of ‘give a shit’ but I’ve got a whole bucket of ‘fuck it’

(that title is courtesy of Rose from way back in the day. thanks, Rose)

D took the car into the shop today to get a simple oil change before his trip to Lake City tomorrow (today) on business. The car had been doing a weird “hiccup” for the past few days. A few days ago I called my mechanic, he chalked it up to shitty gas.

Back to today. Yeah, shitty gas my fucking foot! One fucking thousand eighty-nine dollars later. That’s $1,089.00 fucking dollars later….I have a new fuel pump, an oil change and new spark plugs (because when they wet the engine the spark plugs started arcing). What the FUCK! So yeah, I’m a little irritated that I just shat a thousand bucks. What could possibly make this better you ask? Well, D filled up the gas tank…FULL (*flush* there went another 30 bucks) and it registered ¾ of a tank. The fucking sensor is apparently fucked. I can’t take the car back tomorrow since it’s going to be in Lake City so I guess it’ll go back in Thursday.

What added to your troubles today, Aza? Thanks for asking. Aside from money flying out of my ass at warp 9, my Norton just ran out so, (since I'm shitting money) as soon as I’m done posting this I’m going to shut down, unplug from the landline and won’t be back until I can go to Best Buy tomorrow and get the newest version downloaded. The last thing I need is a case of hard drive herpes right now.

Half a dozen other little annoyances jumped on board today as well. However, I don’t think I really feel like talking about any more of it.

fuck

Wanna see something really, really funny?

First let me say this. The following criteria must be met to click the below link.

1/ Do not click the link if you don't have working speakers. You MUST have working speakers or whole point will be missed.

2/ Do not click the link if you have children within earshot.

3/ Do not click the link if you're at work.

4/ Do not click the link if you can't deal with the "F" word.

That being said....History Of The "F" Word

I'm not crazy, I'm just a little "unwell"

I'm not right in the head, I fully admit it (sometimes embrace it) and take partial responsibility for it. Why partial? Because I was predisposed to some of it. My mother was certifiable (at times) and my dad is a genius (when he's not holding conversations with the cats). Now let me clearly state that I don't say that mom was nuts because I didn't like her. She really was a little "off". She was bi-polar, a terrible alcoholic, suicidal, violent and some suspected she had multiple personality disorder. She was all of these things when she wasn't (on the rare occasion) acting completely normal, mind you. My mother's parent's were real bad alcoholics too so there's a history that goes quite a ways back. I also don't say that my dad is a genius because I think he's really smart. He actually tests above genius....what's that old saying? "There's a fine line between genius and insanity."

Krazy K (my sister) turned out to be just like our mom and not just in looks alone. She's super incredibly irresponsible and in general a very unstable person, add alcoholism to the mix and a nasty temper and you've got yourself an extremely dangerous personality. Me? I followed more in my dad's footsteps. Don't get me wrong I picked up a lot from my mom, the addictive personality for starters. But as a general, I'm much more like my father. Krazy K makes sure to tell me that every time we speak.

In the meantime as I type this I peek out of the window into the backyard where dad is in the process of creating a hydroponic garden. He is currently "playing" in the birdbath. No, I'm not joking. I got up and leaned out the back door. "Dad, what are you doing?" He looked startled and a little embarrassed, "Uh, nothing." I'm not convinced "Dad, why are you playing in the birdbath?" he said "Well, I was cleaning it out and then I thought it'd be cool for the birds if I attached a little pump that shot water up in a spray." I said, "Uh, so you want to turn the birdbath into a shower? You know they sell birdbath attachments at the hardware store." He said in a very matter of a fact way, "Yeah, but I've already figured out how I want to do it. You know, a real neat design. Come here." At this point he pulls out a note pad and pencil that he keeps in his shirt pocket at all times and starts drawing a blueprint of the new custom 'bird shower'. "Uh dad, I really don't feel too good and am going back to bed. You might want to finish your hydroponics before you go re-vamping the birdbath." He said, "Oh yeah, I was just taking a break."

Back to the point, so if Krazy K were to be arrested (which she has been) it'd be for beating the shit out of someone or starting a fight (which it was). If I were to get arrested (which I haven't been) it'd be for something really heinous, like picking a bunch of people off or really stupid, like throwing my neighbors dog poo on his car (because his dog won't quit crapping on my lawn and I hate running over it with the lawn mower). She'd end up in prison, I'd end up in the state mental ward.

Where exactly am I going with this? I'm not sure if I'm actually nuts or just a little too honest. K would have you believe that I should have been locked in a little padded room well before our mother died (a few of my former therapists would agree with her). My friends, father and husband would have you believe that I'm a little eccentric and at the most should just be on meds (which at times I am). I think that I'm too honest. When asked what I'm thinking regardless of how sick, sad, deranged, weird etc. it is, I'll say it without hesitation (or forethought), which tends to freak people out.

Beam me up, snotty!

Alright, who’s the asshat that stuck my head in a blender while I was sleeping last night?

This weekend was supposed to be about catching up on my homework so I can take that stupid test Monday. Ha! This weekend has actually been about me lying in bed, watching The Godfather trilogy on AMC and rolling around in my own plague. Visions of shoving an M80 up my nose and lighting the fuse to relieve this head congestion comfort me. The pressure……My teeth feel like they’re trying to pull themselves free from my skull to escape my mouth. I want to scoop an eye out with a spoon, stick a garden hose in there and wash out all of the gunk. The straw breaking my back is, everything smells horrific! Maybe I should buy some Nasal Douche; desperate times call for desperate measures. *sigh* Then again, the idea of someone douching their nose freaks me out- regardless of how therapeutic some claim it to be.

Something’s gotta give.

It was how big???

It was HUGE!!! I tell ya!

It's back

If you read it before and thought it was great, check it out now...

Flies On Shit

Yeah, when I first read it I didn't think it could get better either.

Laws Of Life (passed along by Di)

Law of Mechanical Repair:
After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch or you’ll have to pee.

Law of the Workshop:
Any tool, when dropped will roll to the least accessible corner.

Law of Probability:
The probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act.

Law of the Telephone:
If you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal.

Law of the Alibi:
If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the very next morning you will have a flat tire.

Variation Law:
If you change lines (or traffic lanes), the one you were in will start to move faster than the one you are in now (works every time).

Law of the Bath:
When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone rings.

Law of Close Encounters:
The probability of meeting someone you know increases when you are with someone you don’t want to be seen with.

Law of the Result:
When you try to prove to someone that a machine won’t work, it will.

Law of the Biomechanics:
The severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the reach.

Law of the Theatre:
At any event, the people whose seats are furthest from the aisle arrive last.

Law of Coffee:
As soon as you sit down to a hot cup of coffee, your boss will ask you to do something which will last until the coffee is cold.

Murphy’s Law of Lockers:
If there are only two people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.

Law of Rugs/Carpets:
The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor covering are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet/rug.

Law of Location:
No matter where you go, there you are.

Law of Logical Argument:
Anything is possible if you don’t know what you are talking about.

Brown’s Law:
If the shoe fits, it’s ugly.

Oliver’s Law:
A closed mouth gathers no feet.

Wilson’s Law:
As soon as you find a product you really like, they will stop making it.

Wet wipe anyone?

Did the universe take a giant shit on everyone Wednesday? From the looks of things in my brief stint of “blog browsing”, a lot of good people are cleaning up the after math. Here are just a couple...

Eric, over at The Noisey Cakehole took a major shot.

Rose, over at Great Googly Moogly got it.

I know it could have been a better freaking day on my end of the planet. I guess when the shit hits the fan, everyone gets dealt a bit of the splatter.

The depth of my own stupidity never ceases to amaze me

Going to work today was such a stupid idea! I don't know what the hell I was thinking.


I think I'll go crawl into a hole now.

Ever have one of those days where everything you eat turns to shit?

Today was one of those days in the Aza household. Well it started yesterday and continued into today and is in fact still happening right now. I think Monday night was one of the worst nights I’ve ever been though in my life. The fever, the coughing/hacking, the green putrid pus like shit coming out of my chest, the projectile vomiting…….the horror, the horror.

Yeah I know, you’re probably asking yourself the same thing I did “Who in the hell projectile vomits with a chest cold???” I guess it was a cross between two things, A/ I’d stressed my abdominal muscles so badly with violent coughing spells all evening and B/ At dinner when I’d cough I didn’t want to spit the shit out right there in the middle of the restaurant and couldn’t go running to the bathroom every 5 seconds so down it went. Ewwww, is right!

Here’s my play by play of Monday and Tuesday (the short version)….

11am: D and I went to the grocery store to put in an order for my dad’s cake. I felt fine.
12pm: D and I lay down for a nap, since he’s still on the overnight shifts. He’s got to get some rest before he goes back to work tonight after we take dad to dinner.
Between 12 and 4pm: I wake up a dozen or so times coughing and burning up- each time my chest feels a little “thicker” and more deeply congested.
4:30pm: I get up feeling like crap but have talked myself into believing it’s just from an un-restful sleep and maybe one cigarette too many. I wake D up to get a shower before we take dad to dinner.
4:45pm: I go pick up dad’s birthday cake and some over the counter medicine. My chest is starting to hurt like hell. I’m thinking there’s a good chance something is wrong.
6:30pm: We load up and head to St. Augustine for dinner. The trip is long and I’m in the back seat hacking the entire way.
Between 7:30pm and 9pm: They have dinner at the Santa Maria, I sit and watch trying not to ruin the evening by looking increasingly pathetic.
10:30pm: We get home. I firmly believe at this point that I have the plague.
11pm: D goes to work, I get in bed and screw around on the laptop. I know I'm sick, I pray it won't get worse.
1am: I officially feel like shit. I can not stop coughing and my temp is at 102 with no signs of coming down.
Between 1am and 3am: On and off I call D at work or he calls me. I am steady going downhill.
Between 3:15am and 4am: The projectile vomiting begins. All of the green chest shit I swallowed at dinner (and the one roll I forced myself to eat) is now down the drain. I am sitting in a heap in front of my bathroom cabinet praying for death.
4:30am: D takes a lunch break, comes home and brings me a ton of medicine to ease the cough and stop the vomiting. Oh, and Gatorade too.
Between 5am and 9am: I roll around in a fever, nausea and coughing fit induced delusion. It feels like one of those creepy 60’s acid tripping flashback scenes you see in the movies. During a few lucid moments I consider going to the hospital. I can’t hold down fluids and am dehydrating.
9:30am: I can’t stand it anymore. I call D and ask him to come home and take me to the doctor.
10:30am: D and I are sitting in an exam room telling my doctor everything that has transpired. We are both trying to understand how something this severe could have come on in four hours.
11:15am: I still can’t pee. The doctor wants to do a UA and I still can’t freaking pee. Every time they give me water it comes right back up.
11:45pm: D, the doctor and the nurse go into a huddle. The doctor says it’s “Acute Bronchitis knocking on pneumonia’s door” (whatever the hell that means) and thinks it might be a good idea to have me admitted due to the dehydration and fever. (I can think of much better reasons for having me "admitted".)
12:15pm: Someone comes up with the brilliant idea of sticking a needle in my ass cheek filled with phenergan to stop the vomiting. Because well, we all know how much Aza loves being stuck with needles, and when she goes home and back to bed, rolling around in fever and sickness just isn’t enough- her ass should hurt real bad too!
12:45pm: My ass hurts and Thank you God, I’ve peed and want to go home right now! The doctor tells D if the vomiting continues to take me to the E.R. post haste for fluids. Again, because we all know how much Aza fucking loves needles.
1:30pm: I am at my pharmacy filling the script for mega antibiotics and giving my doctors note explaining why I won’t be in today (or tomorrow according to the note).
Between 2pm and 5:30pm: I’m in bed, I feel terrible, the fever is at 101, and my ass hurts. D has taken my dad out to look at riding lawnmowers (that’s what he wanted for his birthday). D is in a nice way trying to keep himself and my dad out of my hair while I try to sleep off the phenergan and evil sickness.
Somewhere around 8pm: Green shit starts coming out of my head. The plague is now on the move from my lungs and stomach, to my sinuses. Fucking great.
Between 8pm and now: I’ve rested on and off, this fever still won’t break, my head feels like it’s going to explode making my ears pop and my ass still hurts. To top it off, I broke my dad’s only mercury thermometer sometime in the night.

So here I sit, back from shopping at an online store that sells mercury thermometers. On the upside, I do feel progress; I’m not coughing nearly as much. If I can get rid of the fever and the head congestion lets up a little I’ll probably go to work later this afternoon. Obviously going to class isn’t going to happen this morning. Yesterday while on the mower expedition D was kind enough to drop off a doctor’s note to my professor. Evidently Prof. W thinks I’m faking based on what D told to me. “He said he wasn’t expecting you in class anyway tomorrow for the test because you told him a few days ago you were working. I wanted to slap him, Aza. He was acting like this was all a big plan you hatched to get out of taking that test.” My response? Oh fucking well. If I were the vicious sort I’d go to school today and cough on his doorknob. “Enjoy the plague Prof. W.”

Yet another open letter....this time to God

God, if you’re listening....or reading this (btw, please blogroll me)...

First, Thank you for whatever hand you played in my dad turning 59 today. We know he wasn’t supposed to live to see his 18th birthday after the accident but here he is, 59 going on 16. After dinner, I bought him 3 “quick pick” lottery tickets, so ummmm, if you have a hand in running the numbers- he’s the one! I mean come on! You hardly ever see disabled people winning the lottery, much less high functioning paraplegics. Look at it this way- he not only survived a car accident that according to the doctors should have killed him. He survived raising two daughters and a stepson. He survived being married to an abusive alcoholic for 19 years (that he loved/s more than anything else in the world)- that is, until she killed herself in a car wreak in 1990 leaving him with an 11 year old going off the deep end (me) and a 14 year old who didn’t (and still doesn’t, btw) give a shit about anything but herself (Krazy K)- to care for alone. He lost his sister, mother, father-in-law and wife in a four year span for cryin’ out loud! And to top it all off you know that this is just the very tip of the ice-burg. If you could throw him that 84 million dollar bone I’d be ever so grateful. If anyone deserves it, he does.

Uh, also, I think I’ve contracted the plague- it certainly feels that way. If there’s any way you could help protect dad and D from catching it, that’d be great too. Neither of them can physically afford to get sick- which leads me to dad being extraordinarily concerned for my personal wellbeing. If you hadn’t noticed, I looked three shades of dead at dinner tonight and well, it kind of freaked him out. He’s very worried so if you could send him some “it’s all good” vibes (read: Aza isn’t dying although she feels like it and thinks she is, vibes) that’d be great.

I have to work tomorrow, I need this job (or at least right now I think I do). Don't get me wrong, I’m not asking for a “miracle healing” overnight or anything like that but it’d be wonderful if you could direct me toward those herbs, meds and things in general that will lead to the quickest possible recovery so I will quit wishing I were dead because I hurt so bad. Oh, and something that will make the garbage I’m coughing up taste like anything other than putrid flesh (read: a five day old dead persons lungs.)

Thanks for your attention in these matters.

P.S. When I’m rolling around, clutching my heating pad, drinking cough medicine like water, coughing up a lung in my 102 degree delirium at 3am please disregard the string of obscenities and expletives that will follow.

Happy Easter to all of my peeps!

Now what would Easter be without peeps? You know, those little sugary chick/bunny shaped marshmallow delights.


"What's this 'peep' thing you speak of, Aza?"

What’s that you say? You don’t know what a peep is!? If that’s the case you need a peep education.


"Well Aza, as odd as it sounds, I'm huge fan of Lord Of The Rings AND Peeps. Is there anything out there for me?"

Indeed! Lord Of The Peeps is just what you need (weirdo)!


"I freaking hate peeps, Aza!!!"

Oh, I see, you don’t particularly care for peeps? I'm sorry to hear that but fear not, there's even something out there for the self proclaimed 'peep hater'. There's this, and if you really have something out for them there's also this.

Another open letter

To the lady that wanted to include me in a debate with herself over purchasing a $234.00 script for vaginal use.

Dear lady with the prescription for her vagina,

I really don't feel like there's a whole lot to discuss here.

A/ Keeping the big picture in mind, which is your lifespan- $234.00 doesn't seem like an unreasonable amount of money to spend on your vaginal health. I'm kind of lost on the fact that you would talk yourself out following your doctors orders. Which leads me to...

B/ I understand that $234.00 is a lot of money but after hearing "My husband isn't going to appreciate me spending this much money on a prescription. We have the money but I think he'd be really upset." I say, "Fuck your stupid husband." Should he ever need a prescription for his penis, I hope you let it fall off since he's the kind of man that can appreciate saving a few bucks at the expense of his wife and her health.

C/ You did not look embarrassed when talking to me today about your prescription, you looked ashamed. A grown person pointing at the lower portion of their body while using the words "down there" makes me sad. Whoever told you the word "vagina" was wrong, rude, shameful or dirty should be ashamed of themselves.

and D/ I hope you see your own self worth and quite allowing other people in your world put a price on your health.

I recently came upon this blog over at Googly Moogly…

This guy is a brilliant writer, the short stories- linked on the left of his page at the top under ’Friction’ are simply amazing. “Multidimensional” doesn’t even begin to cover it. If you haven't been there, check it out.


And if you don’t crack a rib reading ’The Best Fights Of All Time’, something is seriously wrong with you.

I love sports!

The kick that won the game (and sold me on soccer)!

Apparently the rules have changed

New Rule : Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com! There's a
reason you don't talk to people for 25 years. Because you don't
particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the
football team is doing these days: mowing my lawn.

New Rule: Don't eat anything that's served to you out a window unless
you're a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was
found in a bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What
did you expect it to contain? Trout?

New Rule: If you need to shave and you still collect baseball cards,
you're a dope. If you're a kid, the cards are keepsakes of your idols.
If you're a grown man , they're pictures of men.

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care
about your eyebrows: do you have two of them? Okay, we're done.

New Rule: There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle
of this crap at the supermarket, water, but without that watery taste.
Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored
water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored
water.

New Rule: Stop fucking with old people. Target is introducing a
redesigned pill bottle that's square, with a bigger label. And the top
is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it,
his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved
the Social Security crisis.

New Rule: The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the ass
hole. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a "decaf grande half-soy,
half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra
dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low and one NutraSweet," ooh, you're a
huge ass hole.

New Rule: I'm not the cashier! By the time I look up from sliding my
card, entering my PIN number, pressing "Enter," verifying the amount,
deciding, no, I don't want cash back, and pressing "Enter" again, the
kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my
Almond Joy.

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't
make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it
translates to "beef with broccoli." The last time you did anything
spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not
spiritual. You're just high.

New Rule: Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one of the seven deadly
sins. ESPN recently televised the US Open of Competitive Eating, because
watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting.
What's next, competitive farting? Oh wait. They're already doing that.
It's called "The Howard Stern Show."

New Rule: I don't need a bigger mega M&M. If I'm extra hungry for M&Ms,
I'll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you're going to insist on making movies based on crappy,
old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a
remote so we can see what's playing on the other screens. Let's remember
the reason something was a television show in the first place is that
the idea wasn't good enough to be a movie.

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for
weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab.
Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you
isn't gift giving, it's the white people version of looting.

New Rule: and this one is long overdue: No more bathroom attendants.
After I zip up, some guy is offering me a towel and a mint like I just
had sex with George Michael. I can't even tell if he's supposed to be
there, or just some freak with a fetish. I don't want to be on your
webcam, dude. I just want to wash my hands.

New Rule: When I ask how old your toddler is, I don't need to know in
months. "27 Months." "He's two," will do just fine. He's not cheese. And
I didn't really care in the first place.

Still messing around with the template

I'm thinking the white text on such a dark background is hard on the eyes. Maybe I should make it like an 'off white'.

The greys and dark blue are nice and still lend to that "night time" feeling.

I can't believe I'm putting so much thought into this. It's not like I don't have a ton of other things going on right now....I think I'm avoiding. That's what I'm doing, I'm avoiding.

Playing with templates

I wear my sunglasses at night...(and I'm still stuck in the 80's)

Now that I'm getting used to the general lay out of this thing and how it works, I've been playing with some templates.

I'm kinda diggin' this night/moon theme.

I'm not diggin' how long it took to transfer all of the font style, size and links- that part super sucked. I'm sure there's an easier way to do it but I'm not ashamed to say that I'm mildly retarded when it comes to computer...stuff

Crazy people, the black plague and internal hemorrhoids

The insane woman I mentioned in the previous entry was back today. She came up to me and began to cry as she apologized for losing it yesterday. I handed her tissue and tried to comfort her by telling her that I took what she said seriously but I didn’t take it personal. I wanted to say “Hell Ms. So-and-so, half the time I’m one pill away from the nut house (or prison).” Since shit rolls down hill and usually takes about a week to do so, I’ll know if this has truly blown over sometime next week.

I took a nap when I got home from work tonight. D is on his last overnight shift so I woke up around 11 and gave him a call to tell him about my day at work and to figure out what I’m supposed to take him for dinner (which he’ll probably be eating around 3:30am or so). I’ve got class at 8am, it’s now nearly 1:45am and I’m avoiding my homework like the black plague.... Which brings to mind a paper I wrote on the Bubonic plague my second term into college titled “The Black Death”. My English comp. professor thought I was a freak but I got an A. My second paper? “How To Survive A Pap Smear”, it also got an A and had a little note from her at the bottom that said “This was hilarious! You should submit it to Cosmo.” There, see? I'm doing it right now. I'm avoiding my homework by blathering on about nothing. I digress.

And finally…..An open letter to the gentleman that wanted to discuss with me the possibility that he might have an internal hemorrhoid today.

Dear Sir,

You explained to me in the greatest form of depth and detail a human could possibly explain to another that you’re having a major ass issue. The detailed information you bestowed upon me in the course of nearly 45 minutes could have been neatly and less nauseatingly summed up in 5 minutes. You’ve admitted that you’ve purchased at least $50 in laxatives in the last few days. That money could and should have been spent on a doctors co-pay to figure out what the fuck is happening to your anus, rectum, lower intestines and stool.

Which brings me to my next point. Just because I can look you straight in the eye and use words like “anus”, “rectum” and “stool” without cracking a smile doesn’t mean I’m not in hysterics on the inside. It also does not mean I’m a doctor nor does it mean I want to discuss your “anus”, “rectum” or “stool” for 45 minutes. I am but a mere pharmacy technician. But since you want my “professional opinion” here it is. Your body is in my view sending out a pretty big mayday. A/ You’re in a great deal of pain. B/ Whatever is prohibiting you from taking the browns to the superbowl needs to be addressed, immediately. And C/ If you have an intestinal obstruction you could die. Really, what more needs to be said here?

I’d also like to take this opportunity to say that starting a conversation off with “Oh wow, ummm, I don’t know how comfortable I feel with telling such a pretty young lady and a complete stranger what I’m about to tell you….” should tell you something. It should tell you that if you’re uncomfortable with discussing your anus, rectum and stool with “such a pretty young lady and a complete stranger” that is not a doctor maybe you should do us both a favor and not. This does however raise a question in my mind. If your (temporary) reservation of telling me about your ass in such depth and detail was based on the fact that I’m a “complete stranger” then this would lead me to believe that all of your friends and or family know about this issue because they are not “complete strangers”. If none of them have told you to see a doctor you might want to re-evaluate your friendships after you fully evaluate (with a doctor) what is wrong with your tail end. Now that we both know you can muster the courage to take on such a taboo subject with a “pretty young lady” and “complete stranger” it is my deepest most sincere hope that you will take on this subject with your doctor before you kill yourself with laxatives.

In summery, I think you should ask my boss to give me a raise based soley on the fact that I held my composure like a Marine when you made the following statements throughout our conversation not once but twice (honestly, I really did hear you the first time) “It feels like my rectum is on fire when I use Prep-H wipes or laxative suppositories but it also hurts real deep inside so that must mean it’s an internal hemorrhoid, right?! I mean, it hurts so bad I double over!” and “I feel like there’s a hard stool up there and I wanna push all the time but nothing comes out!” With that last exclamatory statement I leave you sir. But before I do, please, for the love of all that is holy, go see a freaking doctor!

Warning: Work related rant to follow...

I've got a yuck feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about work.

I had a bit of an upset yesterday and day before involving a piece of garbage pharmacist that tried to lie….yes, you read that right…LIE to my boss about a register shortage and then had the balls to throw it on me. My golden moment came this morning at 8am. I couldn’t sleep at all last night because of what went on. I went to work this morning with the sole intent of talking to my boss (I wasn’t due on the clock until noon). I asked her exactly what time the transaction took place. 10:48am on March 31st. The golden part? I didn’t clock in until 2:10pm that afternoon. My car was in the shop getting a new tire put on (due to the shitbag the night before shooting it) until 1:47 (according to my receipt) sooooo that’s why I didn’t clock on until 2:10. I told her I wasn’t there when the transaction took place, she looked at my time and sure enough….I….wasn’t…there. I felt totally vindicated- the feeling was short lived. Did my boss apologize for the insinuation? Nope. Blew the whole fucking thing off. “I told you not to worry about it, Aza.” Well, if you didn’t want me to worry about it I seriously doubt you would have brought it to my attention (in the manner that you did) in the first place.

Overall my hope is that I conveyed to her that I take shit like this seriously and my attitude is, if I screwed up by God I’m going to learn from it and if I didn’t screw up, I’m NOT going to roll over and take it.

Friday night another problem arose that bled into today (Saturday). A woman comes in cursing and yelling at me, the manager and the pharmacist on duty about a script we filled. I filled the script in question- word for word as the MD wrote it (last I checked I followed state/federal law to a T). Her MD wrote the script for the wrong med. I followed procedure, she walked out without looking at the drug (that’s why we ask every single freaking patient “Do you have any questions about this medication for our pharmacist?”). If she had taken the time to look at the damn script BEFORE she brought it to me or if she had bothered to look at the script BEFORE she left the building we could have helped her. Once the drug leaves our building there isn’t a damn thing we can do -UNLESS- it was a data entry error on OUR part. We have no control over the MD writing the wrong information. A lot of bullshit can be avoided if people would take the time to talk and listen to their MD’s (and double check their damn scripts).

My goal when taking this job back in February was to work the weekends. I wanted to have a little extra money to cover tuition for D and I going to college. Money got tight when D decided to go back. I made it clear that I’m in school and didn’t want anymore than 25 hours a week. This leads me to my third and final bitch for the evening. My schedule goes into suck mode on the 13th of the month. One of my coworkers went on vacation so now I’m working her shifts, my shifts and trying to make it through finals. My scheduling manager is giving me shit about having Thursday the 13th off for a dentist appointment. This is the appointment where I get my permanent crowns seated. My solution? I’m going to the appointment at 2 and will try to make it through the procedure without novacain so I can go straight to work afterwards. She knows I don’t want to work Mondays or Wednesdays because I’m in class (plus, Monday the 17th is my dad’s 59th birthday- I’d like to take him out to dinner.) My point? This is the problem when your scheduling manager (one of 3 bosses) is a twenty year old kid. I think her only problem in life is when she can get to the mall to buy those cute new heels she’s been eyeing. She doesn’t give a shit that I am in finals for this term, that I have a paraplegic father that I love dearly and want to take to dinner for his birthday, that I have had major dental work that has been an ongoing issue for a month now, that we agreed on how many hours a week I'd work, etc. etc. etc.

So here’s hoping that…
I get to go to the dentist on the 13th,
take my dad to dinner on the 17th,
make it through finals,
the shit with the insane customer blows over,
without adding to my psychosis.

Great Googly Moogly needs YOU!

Now is the time for all good bloggers and non-bloggers alike to come to the aid of the Great Googly Moogly!

Rose, owner and operator of Great Googly Moogly is a member of the "Shitty Blogs Club" and therefore is a contestant in the Shitty Blog Survivor challenge. The first week's immunity challenge has been presented.

Please go HERE and vote for her! While you're at it, leave a comment about why Rose should win. "The more interesting and creative the comments, the better."

And to my non-blogging cohorts- no, you don't have to have a blog to vote.

That is all.

Filthy Stinking Humans!!!

Oh Yeah....
I love it.
I wanted it.
I bought it.
Now I can't wait for it.

"It" is ZIM!

I've been wanting this box set for two years now. I finally decided to do something nice for myself and buy it.

Note to self: Must buy Band Of Brothers box set next.

I feel so very screwed at the moment...

and the sad part is I screwed myself.

If you remember I went on a big fat rant awhile back about how much I fucking hate "type 4" forwards. Now let me clearly state that Kira did not intend to send the below entry as a "type 4", she meant it as a "funny". The whole point here is I fell for it as a "type 4" hook, line and sinker.

Along came Mikey (he's got a groovy blog over at Hey Freak!) who very politely passed along a link to Snopes about this particular legend. (without rubbing the fact that I'm obviously having a "mentally challenged" moment in) I salute you, kind sir.

The really sad part is... I have a link to Snopes in Linkalicious.

This mental constipation is killing me!

Still....waiting for the brilliance.

Got this in email....just sharin' the love

Thanks Kira!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You gotta love this guy... This is a true story about a recent wedding that took place at Clemson University. It was in the local newspaper and even Jay Leno mentioned it. It was a huge wedding with about 300 guests...

After the wedding at the reception, the groom got up on stage with a microphone to talk to the crowd. He said he wanted to thank everyone for coming, many from long distances, to support them at their wedding.

He especially wanted to thank the brides and his family and to thank his new father-in-law for providing such a lavish reception.

As a token of his deep appreciation he said he wanted to give everyone a special gift just from him. So taped to the bottom of everyones chair, including the wedding party, was an envelope. He said this was his gift for everyone, and asked them to open their envelope.

Inside each manila envelope was an 8x10 glossy of his bride having sex with the best man. The groom had gotten suspicious of them weeks earlier and had hired a private detective to tail them.

After just standing there, just watching the guests reactions for a couple of minutes, he turned to the best man and said, "F--- you". Then he turned to his bride and said, "F---you". Then he turned to the dumbfounded crowd and said, "Im outta here." He had the marriage annulled first thing in the morning.

While most people would have canceled the wedding immediately after finding out about the affair, this guy goes through with the charade, as if nothing were wrong.

His revenge...making the brides parents pay over $32,000 for a 300 guest wedding and reception, and best of all, trashing the brides and best mans reputations in front of 300 friends and family members.

This guy has balls the size of church bells.

Do you think he might get a MasterCard "priceless" commercial out of this?

Elegant wedding reception for 300 family members and friends .. $32,000.
Wedding photographs commemorating the occasion ... $3,000.
Deluxe two week honeymoon accommodations in Maui ... $8,500.

The look on everyones face when they see the 8x10 glossy of the bride humping the best man..........Priceless.

There are some things money cant buy, for everything else theres MASTERCARD!

And then I cried

I am not a ‘crier’. You could cut my arm off and beat me with it; I doubt I’d shed a tear. I’m more likely to crawl in bed for a week, roll around in a pile of depression and pout before I’d cry. “Rock up” that’s my motto….until today. Today I bawled like a two year old.

The dentist called at 1 and asked if I could be there at 3 for my new permanent crowns. “YES, YES, YES!!!!!! See you at 3!” At 2:55 I'm signing in ready to get my permanents seated and sport my new grill.

You hear that sound? Sounds kinda like something straining? Yeah well, that’s the sound of the universe straining to take a giant dump on me.

After pulling off 3 of the temporaries and me handing the tech the other 3 that I pulled off myself (those were the ones I kept popping off) Dr. H walks in. I explained that even breathing cool air over the posts hurts like haydes soooooo, out comes the needle. Honestly, I really don’t mind the shots that much. I do mind however the fucking permanents the lab finally sent (after just over 3 weeks) NOT fucking fitting right!!!!

Long painful story short: They reseated my temporaries and sent me on my way. I got home and *wham* it hit me. I’m not sure if it was the fact that my permanents weren’t right, or the fact I’ve not eaten any real food in weeks now, or the fact that I missed class again this morning (and the MAJOR test I was supposed to take), or the bullshit that took place the other night, or a combination of all of the above, but I lost it. I called D and told him what had happened (which upset and worried him), gorged on applesauce, bit my numb upper lip twice, bawling my eyes out the whole time.

After I pulled myself together I called the dentist and asked him to write a note explaining to my professor that my TMJ has re-emerged and to please excuse me from class this morning. He said he would so that should at least get me out of hot water as far as class is concerned.

There it is; another week. I firmly believe this liquid/soft food diet is killing me.