The agenda tonight

I've got to get some take out so I can eat in while relaxing. Because tonight I intend to rent the following films: American Movie (on David’s recommendation- yes, he's the owner and operator of Spiderbites) and MirrorMask which I saw on a trailer- it looked pretty cool.

Relax- that's my intention.

Oh! Speaking of David, later, I need to explain why he is just plain rockin’ awesome. And why you, yes you, need to listen to his radio program (which can be done via the internet) Thursday the 14th (I think).

Timothy Leary's dead

No, no no no, he's outside looking in.…

I’ve come to the conclusion that I must have some serious issues with my limbic system.

In the last six years…
Neurontin for quite awhile (anticonvulsant), Lamictal very briefly (which is another anticonvulsant) then, Klonopin (an anti-seizure) again, for quite awhile usually taken PRN (a big no-no). And a little of this and that in between that didn’t seem to work out so well either.

A few weeks ago I played with the idea (and finally committed to it) that Klonopin would be a thing of the past in the near future. It’s addictive; over a period of time people tend to need more to get the same effect and it’s notorious for deepening depression. Seems to me that a person could begin playing psychosomatic games with themselves while taking it too.


Humor my theory (or at least find the humor in my theory). Let’s say an individual has been diagnosed “anxiety disorder” (read: panic attack prone)- if you subscribe to that sort of thing- and prescribed Klonopin (yet they do not know the true nature of the beast/drug). After taking it, for the first time in a long time they’re not scared anymore. Keep in mind their “triggers” (those things that would normally induce a panic attack) are still hanging around, but now they’ve become somewhat unnoticed which in turn leaves them unaddressed. After taking the Klonopin for awhile these triggers, start being a little less unnoticed. So naturally the person would take more of said drug to reduce the possibility of going back to where they started. Still, the triggers go unaddressed (or they are addressed on purpose in the wrong ways which could delude a person into believing they are “getting to the core issues“ when in actuality it’s an excuse for taking more of the drug) and in the meantime an addiction is silently born. A nasty pattern begins. Thanks, I think I’ll pass Go and collect my $200 dollars.

Now- as of yesterday anyway, Seroquel (a novel little antipsychotic) which is lacking such an addictive nature, is on the menu. I’m working my way around to taking trigger avoidance off of the menu.

Anyone who’s ever taken a psychotropic knows that most of them can have the following three psychological impacts in common at the start (this is not always the sequence in which these commonalities fall, btw): The drooling zombie effect (heading you off at the pass, no, it’s no relation to the movie The Butterfly Effect). Then, a continual sneaking notion of “Whatever, fuck it” or “Who gives a shit? Cause right now I know I sure don’t!” and finally, feeling like you’re outside looking in. After a few days these three main symptoms tend to ease and either other symptoms set in (depending on the drug) or you begin to regain and maintain a semblance of “normalcy” (for lack of better terms while trying not to crack a smile).

So in summary: standing outside looking in, that is. I have no idea where I was going to go with this.

Oh! I remember now, I’ve come to the conclusion that I must have some serious issues with my limbic system. But that is how all of this started so- whatever, fuck it.

Praying

I guess my phone takes really bad pictures (weird thing is, it looks crystal clear when viewing it on my phone or in email)....





Anyway, I read a really cool story quite some time back that was inspired (I think) by a picture of a praying mantis. While I was out running errands tonight I saw him….(or her)…and thought of the story so I snapped a pic.

Just thought I'd share.

On IM querying

I’ve gotten a couple of emails in the last few weeks asking why my IM status on google talk and yahoo are always set to “Sleeping”, “Working“, or “Invisible”. In fact, this very question was posed earlier by someone who just happened to google talk me even though my status was set to “Sleeping” and managed to catch me. So I figured I’d address it here rather than sending out a dozen emails since most of my IM buddies drop by occasionally.

The answer is 9 times out of 10 I forget to change my status; regardless of whether or not I’m actually online I leave my laptop on 24/7. So, all I can say is, if I appear offline (or don't respond when it says I'm online and you buzz me) it’s because of a few possibilities: I’m actually offline, I forgot to change my status, I’m bummed out and don’t feel like wearing the “happy mask”, it's before 7pm (I'm a night person- the best time to buzz me is late at night. Hence, the reason I usually post here after 10pm) or I’m avoiding someone creepy (present people who I IM with or visit my blog excluded). In fact, that “someone creepy” is why I no longer use and have permanently turned off my MSN messenger. Again, 9 times out of 10 I just forgot to change my status.

I'll shut up about work sooner or later...

Yawn

So, since I worked all damn day, and it wasn’t a particularly “good” day (and I‘ll be working an entire weekend- that‘ll probably suck too)- I’ve got an idea. How about I hire someone to allow me to lay here in my scrub top (because I was too tired/lazy to remove the entire ensemble when I got home), watch cartoons (or whatever’s on AMC or Discovery- I’m too tired/lazy to reach 3 feet for the remote), get me an icy beverage (with a bendy straw to minimize movement on my part), a lightly toasted bagel (with strawberry cream cheese please), provide a neck/shoulder massage, take down and brush my pretty hair and allow me to roll around and yawn while softly singing to me "When The World Ends"?

No? I have to get off my tired, lazy ass and actually get something done?

So how exactly do you fit two hours of chores into two minutes of energy?

A bittersweet success

The PTCB results were posted on the website this morning at 9am.

I passed. D didn’t.

I’m certain I didn’t pass by much, as I had no idea what the hell I was doing. It all looked like a foreign language to me. I feel like shit over it. If it had to be one or the other I had really hoped it’d have been him to make the grade. I was prepared for that very situation. Ready to sign up for the November test. Convinced I’d failed and he’d passed and I was fine with it. Him passing would have meant major financial burdens lifted (due to a substantial raise and promotion), major self confidence issues lifted etc., etc., etc. This was his second time taking it. He came so close last time (within 20 points)- I was just certain he'd passed.

We won't get our actual scores for a few weeks. All the website provided was a "pass" or "fail" status.

Now he's screwed for fall semester too. He just can't carry a 60+ hour a week job, studying for and retaking the PTCB in November, trying to get major marriage issues ironed out (if that's possible), health issues AND a part time fall term.

For as pissed off and hurt as I am at him/with him (and I'm sure he is at/with me), regardless of where things go (as uncertain as our future is at the moment); I'm still happy and hopeful for his successes and terribly saddened by those goals he attempts to achieve but doesn't.

When it rains, it fucking pours.

Bootstraps- a work related rant- revisited, revised and uncensored

I’m desperately seeking to regain some semblance of peace, patients and tolerance AGAIN. So I’m going to have myself a(nother) good old fashioned (uncensored) fit. I’m going to kick, scream and curse- get it all out of my system and hopefully move the fuck on with my life (but I doubt it).

This is an entry you will want to skip. The countdown to me showing my ass begins now.

Military wife is AGAIN pissing me the fuck off because I got called by the 19 year old boss on her behalf (AGAIN) a few days ago. What wonderful information did she have to bestow upon me? Apparently I will be pulling 6 day work weeks for the entire fucking month of September. Why? Because military wife after much whining, crying and bitching to her parents actually got a fucking plane ticket to travel half way around the planet to vacation with her husband who is stationed in another country. Why? Because much to her dismay, she was informed that the military (and my fucking tax dollars) won’t buy her a plane ticket to fly half way around the planet to vacation with her husband. She was fucking depressed about it and showing her ass; mommy and daddy felt real bad, gave in and bought the ticket. So I have to reschedule my fucking life around her, AGAIN! My other co-workers will hardly even notice the change because they had already signed up for fall term and will be in class while I work her shifts as well as mine.

Now to a few of the repercussions in my world….I will not be able to enroll in fall semester because of having to work her shifts and mine, I will have to reschedule my Monday sessions with Whore-Hey, and every other appointment in my life, yes, because I’ll be working her fucking shifts- and most importantly- all this while desperately trying to hold my home and a 10 year marriage together only to find that I may be fighting a battle I already lost. So, there’s a possible divorce in my midst (that’s another long fucking story).

Here are a few points I’d love to get off of my chest to dear military wife, AGAIN…

1/ FUCK YOU!!!! Men are fucking dying in a desert right now and wives are being notified by the evening fucking news! Your husband is stationed far, far away from insurgents, Osama Bin-fucking-Laden, death and all of the horrors associated with sand, hot fucking climates and war. These poor women being notified won’t have the luxury of seeing their husband in a few months, they just got told he’s never coming home!

2/ The wives of these men at WAR go to fucking work every fucking day. They live, they work, they take care of their families, they support each other. They have more strength and intestinal fortitude in their weakest moments than you do in your strongest.

3/ I’d LOVE for you to meet some of the military women I know, start your bitching about how you only spoke to your husband three fucking times today(!!!), and I’d love even more to watch them kick your sniveling ass (considering some of them haven‘t heard their husbands voice for months).

4/ You need to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and get the fuck over yourself, dear child. You’re lucky and you’re a fucking asshole for not seeing that.

5/ Contrary to what you believe YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY FUCKING WOMAN GOING THROUGH THIS!!!!! When this fact is mentioned to you, you fucking ignore it and start whining, tears and all, about how no one could possibly know how hard this is. Did I mention, FUCK YOU!!!?

6/ Now that mommy and daddy were duped into buying you the fucking plane ticket to go visit him and I get to cover your goddamned shifts (AGAIN!!!) I fully expect you to show some fucking gratitude and shut the fuck up when you get back!

And finally,

7/ If hear you whine pitifully “He’ll be home in December, but I’m going to be so mad if it’s after the 16th because I want him here for my birthday!!!” one more time- So help you Christ, I’m going to do something really, really, really beyond horrible to you. December is also when my birthday falls. By then I very well may not have a fucking husband to celebrate it with you inconsiderate, miserable, bratty little fucking shit!

P.S.

Thanks for continuing to fuck everyone and their families (particularly mine) in the ass by making the schedule revolve around you! (for the 50th fucking time)

P.S.+

That bullshit phone call you made tonight to “check in on me” and “just see how I’m doing” was nothing more than that. Bullshit. It was an extremely poor attempt at a fact finding, pump Aza for information mission. I know the 19 year old boss was there listening in to see where I stand on the various work related issues you addressed in such a superficial manner. Next time you try that, do us both a favor and save us both some time; piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining- I might walk away from it with a little more respect for you for at least bullshitting me to my fucking face.

All Work and No Play Makes Aza

Insane

I've got a MAJOR rant in the works. It's gonna be bad, real bad.

Seriously.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAEVYN!!!!

Today is Maevyn's birthday from over at Witch Speak! She was one of the first folks to welcome me into the blogospere and one of the kindest I know!

She's an amazing lady- As beautiful as a Shakespearean moonlit summer night and sweet as the finest jasmine honey! Completely enchanting!

Happy Birthday, Maevyn! Much love and many blessings to you on your special day!

How To Survive A Pap-Smear

A day and an age ago during my first term in college I took an English composition class. We had to write five short and sweet papers: Process/Analysis, Contrast/Comparison, Cause/Effect and so on. All of mine were terribly written because well, lets be honest here- I'm not a writer. I specifically chose odd and macabre topics to write about based on a few facts: 1/ We had to read them aloud in class and 2/ The subject matter would make the actual material written more heard/experienced and less seen (people wouldn't pay as much attention to the fact I was/am a crappy writer) based on the fact that I'm a very animated story teller. Basically, you can hand me any shitty paper to read aloud and those listening will think it's brilliant. It's all in the presentation.

My Cause/Effect was titled "The Black Death". It was written in first person style about a young man who lived through the bubonic plague in Italy during the year 1347. It was harsh, overly descriptive and elicited just the response I was looking for. My Process/Analysis paper was titled "How To Survive A Pap-Smear" a paper I was particularly proud of (tho not nearly as much as "The Black Death"). Certainly not because it was well written (the freshmen in my class had no clue what "well written" meant) but because of its shock value (as unshocking and censored as I felt it was/is) visits to the GYN aren't often publicly addressed in a room full of strangers. So here I offer you a freshmen's view of how to survive a pap-smear.

Aza Whatever
Professor Whoever
ENC1101, Process/Analysis Rough Draft
8 December, A Long Time Ago

How To Survive A Pap-Smear

Yes, it's that time of year again. The notice you received in the mail that arrived or the message on your voice mail today has informed you in a matter-of-fact manner that you're due for an "annual". There it is, psychology at its best- they use that term to soften the blow. Instantly your stomach twists in response. "Annual". The word itself seems harmless but you know better and since you know better, "annual" conjures images of medieval torture chambers. With your stomach now violently protesting you pick up the phone to make the appointment. What are you met with? A cheery voice on the other end all too pleased to schedule you. So begins the five steps to surviving a pap-smear.

Step one: After making your appointment, resist the urge to call all of your girlfriends and female family members to complain. They've been there and most probably do not wish to have images of their last "annual" resurrected. This rule applies to men as well. Any attempts at explaining the process will not be met with sympathetic ears. You will almost certainly ensure an immediate dial tone in reply. They don't understand; they don't want to understand.

Step two: When the day of the appointment arrives, contemplating ways out of it is futile. However, feel free to allow yourself to go with the process of making up every excuse you can dream of not to go; oddly this tends to be therapeutic. Do not cancel your appointment! Like many things in life, this is a necessary evil. With uterine, ovarian and cervical cancer being a potential alternative it is imperative that you keep your appointment.

Step three: Once you've arrived at the doctor's office and have successfully pried yourself out of your car you're halfway there! Swallow the arising panic attack, calmly check in at the front desk, seat yourself and wait to be called. Daydreams of slapping the chipper receptionist with the latest issue of People magazine, believing every man in the waiting room knows exactly why you're there, considering if the chair you are seated in is heavy enough to break a window for a quick escape are all completely normal thoughts.

Step four: Once you are called DO NOT run for the nearest exit! Take a deep breath and follow the technician. She or he is simply going to take your skyrocketing blood pressure, racing heart rate, temperature and yes, your weight. Upon stepping off of the scale you may feel an urge to spontaneously vomit- this too is completely normal, more deep breathing usually helps this sensation pass. You will then be led into a small, odd smelling sterile room, asked to disrobe and don a giant roughly textured piece of paper with armholes in it. They refer to this garment as a "gown". If the office is particularly warm, this "gown" will stick to you like wet Charmin. This too is a regular occurrence (especially during summer months). You will then be left to carry out the given tasks while agonizing over what is now inevitable.

Step five: Expect to wait a minimum of 45 minutes for the doctor to arrive. It is important to understand that you are not the only patient he or she is seeing that day and he or she must have time between patients to boondoggle around the office and tell his or her peers about the last weirdo he or she just examined. When the doctor finally walks into your room fully expect him or her to engage you in pointless chit-chat. He or she may even attempt to "break the ice" by telling a stupid joke. At this point the worst is nigh- do not freak out! Within 15 minutes this will all be over and you will have survived. Please note that during your exam is it not recommended that you laugh, cough or sneeze- speculums are known projectiles.

Congratulations, you made it! Once dressed you may now begin to regain what is left of your dignity (this may take as long as a week). When you arrive home, please refer to step one. No one is interested in hearing about cold stirrups, projectile speculums or cotton swab cultures.

I should be featured on the Weather Channel…

I predict the shit storm currently raging at work will continue throughout the rest of the weekend and well into the coming week. Since its arrival early last week it has shown no signs of letting up. If you decided to stay and disregard the suggested evacuation- adorn your waders and flack jackets folks, the time to seek shelter and hunker down is well behind us.

The exact extent of the damages this storm is causing is currently too massive (and still gathering mass) to calculate, we can at the very least expect to see continued: severe depression, homicidal/suicidal tendencies, sleep deprivation (from those 11+ hour shifts), panic attacks, spontaneous obscene outbursts, psychotic episodes, humiliation, temper tantrums, and much, much more.

The upside? Well folks, there is no fucking upside. FEMA hid under the bed as soon as they saw this one coming and clean up crews are not preparing for the storms end- that will be left up to the individual.

In short, you’re fucked.

Has it really come to this?

Are we so bound to technology? It’s the beginning of the end, I say!










(and no, that's not me (or Tabby) from Monday night thankyouverymuch!)

The malfunction of my sensibility organ

began when Tabby came into town for a visit and I came up with the brilliant idea of meeting at the local pub.













Yes, I'm the albino on the right. Shut up.















Yeah, yeah, I know... it all looks innocent enough. A couple friends catching up on old times, having a few drinks. She's showing me pictures and video of her internship on her laptop in the background...













As bad as this one looks, I'm actually getting ready to slide my butt up on the edge of the pool table to sit.

















Then...















Some asshole (thanks D!) invited Patróns shots to the 'get together'. It all went downhill from there. Out of 27 pictures, these are the only five that are really 'showable'.



(P.S.- No need to point out the painfully obvious, I am fully aware of the fact that I have never had a 'good' picture taken of me. I blame my face.)

Sensibility and booze don't work well together

There is a little known about but regularly used organ hidden deep within the recesses of the brain called “sensibility” (though it goes by many names; good judgment, conscience, scruples, etc.). Everyone has it, most use it; with the exception of Darwin Award winners, of course. It’s that little thing that makes you look both ways before barreling through busy intersections, keeps you from sticking your tongue in electrical outlets, tells you your limitations when drinking and keeps you from having your famous last words be “Hey ya’ll, looky here!” We use it everyday yet it goes unnoticed for the most part because most of us are born with it. We’re used to it being around- that quiet little voice advising us not be to stupid.

It is important to note that alcohol consumed in vast quantity (and other drugs I’m sure) render this little organ completely useless- that’s where binge drinking, alcohol poisoning and driving after imbibing (those vast quantities) come in. Prior to disabling this little organ it is best to plan your evening carefully: a designated driver (or a pre-paid taxi), a map to the nearest hospital and a trusted friend trained in the Heimlich maneuver that’s willing to stay up all night watching you with the eyes of a hawk so when you start choking on your own vomit, you do not end up in your local city morgue with a stupid “How’d I get here?” expression on your face.

Where in the hell am I going with all of this? That’s a good question.

Sadly, as a child my “sensibility” organ was either beaten clean out of my head or to the point of spontaneous malfunction (it’s a large debate among my family). Come to think of it, most of the women in my family have or have had a malfunctioning sensibility organ with regard to drinking (which lends to the theory that stupid may truly be genetic). Where this little organ in a lot of folks malfunctions in survivable ways: choosing crummy partners, hanging out with the wrong crowd, buying cars they can’t really afford- the organ in the women of my family malfunctions (or is maybe ignored and or unplugged) during any kind of decisions made involving the quantity of alcohol consumed by the average 125 pound person. Ultimately this malfunction led to an early death for my mother (yes, an alcohol related car accident), chronic alcoholism in my sister and binge alcoholism within myself. I use the term binge for myself because I only drink two to three times a year now…but when I do, I’m lucky I survive it.

So I guess the whole point to this is…listen to your inner sensibility organ, or win a Darwin award.

I bid thee farewell for now as I have vomit to hose off my lawn and grass stains to scrubs out of the knees of my jeans- because last night, I nearly won a Darwin award.

Come on, just do it...

even if you're a 'lurker'. Put your answers in the comments or jack it and put it on your own blog then comment that it's there (but please give credit to the original author: Kilroy_60)

I jacked this from Fear And Loathing in the Blogosphere. This isn’t the whole post (the whole post is linked at the bottom), just the questions because I thought they were rather interesting.

Kilroy_60 wrote:

“I am interested to learn about my visitors as much as I am curious about what you think of the content offered here. If you would indulge me, I have 17{ish} question for you…”


1/ A person opens a fortune cookie ~ What does the fortune say that you have written?

Better luck next lifetime.

2/ You are having a long lunch at the Time Travel Diner ~ what three people from history will be joining you?

The Marquis de Sade, Hunter Thompson, Rod Serling

3/ What has been the primary area in which you have worked and what other job would you be most interested in pursuing?

Veterinary Field (though I’m now in pharmaceuticals. I’d be most interested in pursuing forensic and or mortuary science (my current major is forensics)

4/ The last thing you had to eat was what?

Cottage Cheese and Triscuits

5/ What has been the most memorable musical performance you attended live? {When was it?}

I saw Cats in New York, in 1986 or 7

6/ Your favorite fragrance is what?

Certain male pheromones set me off but I love the smell of jasmine

7/ What happens to you when you die?

You cease to breathe

8/ What do you collect?

Psychoses and books (for the last few months, books on paralanguage in relation to kinetics)

9/ You have the opportunity to spend one day anywhere in the world ~ Where do you go?

Home

10/ The thing you find most interesting in nature is what?

The Universe

11/ Given the opportunity to order one meal {Your last?} ~ What do you have to eat?

Nothing

12/ The first thing that comes to mind when you see the word romance is what?

Saddness

13/ You are getting a tatoo {or another one}? Where are you getting it and what will it be?

’God’s Guffaw’ on my chest, over my heart

14/ Friday night, what is your favorite thing to do?

I work Friday nights

15/The last television program you watched was what?

Something about Giant Squids on Discovery

16/ What do you find most confusing in life?

My perception of it

17/ What question do you wish had been on the list? And what is the answer?

If you could describe yourself in one or two words, what would it be? Ans: A contradiction

18/ If there were a prize for answering the questions, what would you want it to be?

Sanity

19/ Do you have a blog you would recommend to visit other than your own?

Spiderbites- his writing (and general outlook) is phenomenally complex (yet incredibly entertaining).

One last question...

{ This banner isn't a live link. }
What is the target market and to what type of website was this link pointed?




The target market is the mentally disturbed, the website would take you to some sort of new psychotropic medication.


Here is the original post by Kilroy_60 in its entirety.

HoW To KeEp A HeaLthY LeVel Of iNsAniTy aNd dRiVe OtHeR PeOple iNsAne!

Yeah, so since I just got off of an eleven hour shift that suck, suckity, suck, sucked (and am at the beginning of my work week...ahhh, Monday- Hoorey Beer!)...I brought out an old work related email that Kira sent to me. Thanks Kira. I know Monday is the start of your work week but you really should consider joining me at the pub for a shot of something yummy and a game of pool.

1. At lunch time, sit in your parked car and point your hair dryer at passing cars to see if they slow down.

2. Page yourself over the intercom. Don't disguise your voice.

3. Insist that your e-mail address be: zena-goddess-of-fire@companyname.com

4. Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with that.

5. Encourage your colleagues to join you in a little synchronized chair dancing.

6. Put your garbage can on your desk and label it "IN."

7. Develop an unnatural fear of staplers.

8. Put decaf in the coffee maker for 3 weeks. Once everyone has gotten over their caffeine addictions, switch to espresso.

9. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sexual favors."

10. Reply to everything someone says with, "That's what you think."

11. Adjust the tint on your monitor so that the brightness level lights up the entire work area. Insist to others that you like it that way.

12. Finish all your sentences with "In accordance with the prophecy."

13. Don'tuseanypunctuationorspaces

14. As often as possible, skip rather than walk.

15. Ask people what sex they are.

16. Specify that your drive-through order is "to go."

17. Sing along at the opera.

18. Go to a poetry recital and ask why the poems don't rhyme.

19. Find out where your boss shops and buy exactly the same outfits. Wear them one day after your boss does. (This is especially effective if your boss is the opposite gender.)

20. Send e-mail to the rest of the company to tell them where you're going. For example: If anyone needs me, I'll be in the bathroom.

21. Put mosquito netting around your cubicle.

22. Five days in advance, tell your friends you can't attend their party because you're not in the mood.

23. Hum when you ride an elevator.

....AnD tHe FiNaL wAy tO aNnOy PeOpLe:

24. Send this to everyone in your address book, even if they sent it to you.

Oh and Karma? (if you're still listening)

Since you’re obviously dishing out the universal justice and all….uh, would ya mind throwing me a bone? I’ve been such a good girl, really! I'd just like to wake up towmorrow morning, hear the shower running, walk in, yank the curtain back and....TA-DA!!!! A naked, soaking wet Vin Diesel!

What are the lyrics to that NIN song, "I wanna soap you like an animal!"?


(Thanks again to Daniel for that pic!)

Hey Karma, thanks for saving me the trouble...

I’m checking my mail day before yesterday and find a business card stuck on my mailbox. A Social/Child Services business card. I called the number, left a message telling them I found the card and was inquiring as to why it was on my mailbox (as I have no children of my own to beat and the neighbor's children A/ run too goddamned fast and B/ their parents need the beating, not them). I didn’t get a call back. So, I called them today.

Remember the evil fucker that tried to kill Kaz? Yeah, well apparently he and his clan of shit are being investigated.

Here’s the Karma part- divinity as my witness, I did not call social services on them. Anyone who knows me knows I allow a little time to pass while plotting. Weeks, sometimes months will pass before the wrath of Aza befalls wicked scum shits like him (unless the problem warrants immediate action). My motto in situations like Kaz is “Fucker, you won’t see me coming, but you’ll remember the outcome for the rest of your life.”

So anyway, thank you Karma! You’ve just enabled me to mark one thing off of my “How I’m going to ruin the neighbor’s lives” check list.

On hangovers and reflections

And now back to my regular programming…

Upon waking I slung my legs over the edge of the bed (they felt heaver than usual) and straightened my “chicken poop” tee shirt. Bleary eyed I stumbled into the bathroom intentionally avoiding my reflection in the mirror as I walked by. The only reflection I was intent on was last night’s playing pool, trivia and drinks. The shitty music in the juke, made me insist on playing ten dollars worth of my favorites and watching everyone’s face change when a rompin’ Hank Williams tune some guy at the bar proudly and loudly proclaimed he’d chosen earlier changed into Bill Withers “Ain’t No Sunshine”. Ah, my first song! The next hour should be interesting. Bill turned into Alice in Chains which turned into BB King which turned into Poe which turned into Bob Marley which turned into The Cult which turned into a lot of obscure music no one there had ever heard and so on. I kept getting asked “This is great, who is this?” or getting told “You’ve got eclectic tastes!” After the fifth person walked up, tried to put quarters on the pool table and was politely told I was playing solo, I think my position was made clear. I just wanted to play some pool, listen to anything but what the ’regulars’ were cranking out of the juke and be left the fuck alone.

My thoughts moved to Whore-Hey as I realized that I was standing in front of the mirror now. I was more than surprised to see I didn’t look the way I felt. The make-up from last night was still neatly in place on my unwashed face, my hair (which I usually tie back before bed) was untangled and fell smoothly down my back. I wasn’t sick to my stomach and my head didn’t hurt. But I felt/el sick and hollow. Why was I expecting to see Tim Curry from the Rocky Horror Picture Show staring back at me? Why did I feel guilty for not having a headache or sour stomach? I thought such an image looking back at me would be quite fitting or at least interesting. Nope, just me. Standing there, feeling sick, knowing no amount of pepto will quell it and no amount of soap will wash it off. Pepto and soap work on the exterior, you know. Just me staring, trying to figure out what therapy will consist of today. I briefly considered taking the fifty dollars I will spend on the co-pay out of my wallet and flushing it down the toilet.