Sometimes my demonic pride gets the best of even me. One of my best friends in the world who is also my roommate (but not for much longer) got into a screaming match over something totally foolish and silly (and I can't even remember exactly what it was over now). But simply put, we are now going our separate ways and only talking through short and to the point text messages. We have both been rather stressed out lately and although that is always a poor excuse that doesn't stop angry words from being said either. The sad thing is that we are more than capable of making amends with each other and he even did try to do that after I locked myself crying in my room. But of course that would have relied on me being willing to listen which I am too damn stubborn and prideful to bother doing. So we are splitting apart into different directions and are both losing a very good and important friend in the process. Life hurts even more when it doesn't really have to hurt at all.
(Afterthoughts)
I should swallow my pride and reach back out to him but my pride tastes horrible and I can surely find something better to go into my mouth. At least I get to withdraw from the world for a while now.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Damn girl, someone is adorable and it's me
Ok, ok, so I hate to admit it but someones, once in a blue moon, I do submit to my cuter nature and in a brief moment of weakness bought myself this Hello Kitty hoodie. OMG!!!! I sooooooo freaking love it though, sigh.
(Afterthoughts)
I guess the heart of a sweet and adorable girl is beating quite loudly today from it's jar on the shelf in my laboratory closet. ;)
(Afterthoughts)
I guess the heart of a sweet and adorable girl is beating quite loudly today from it's jar on the shelf in my laboratory closet. ;)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Fun Times at the River
It's the simple things in life in which we derive the bestest of pleasures. For example: poking things with a stick. And the next best thing to poking things with a stick is a video game about poking something with a stick, or to be more specific, a corpse floating down a river. What more possibly needs said to send y'all sprinting away to play it. Absolutely nothing, that's right, so click here, go have fun, and stay up late, you deserve it.
(Afterthoughts)
Why are you still reading this!?! Let the poking comense.
(Afterthoughts)
Why are you still reading this!?! Let the poking comense.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Back in the saddle as still angry as ever
Welcome one and all to yet another alluring post-type ramble from our illustrious half-demoness from the Midwestern hell belt.
For those who actually check the expiration dates on various items, thou may hast noticed that it has been a while since I doth last posted (figured I would jump on the obvious train even though a small child could have figured that out without the large blinking arrowed sign pointing straight at that fact).
Turns out that my internet service account got merged with someone else's account who shared a landline # that was the same as my internet #, and when they canceled their service my got partly canceled as well. Now of course it was done in a way that their systems showed my account was active regardless of there not being any brain draining internet piped into my home. Would have been nice for once had it worked out the opposite way where my account would have showed canceled in their system but I continued to receive interwebs beamed into thine house (even when it takes a broom to get them out of the corners at the ceiling). So it took 3 weeks of fighting with them and getting transfered back and forth between departments and being given every excuse a few times over before I got tired of it and told them to offically cancel it the rest of the way out because it was like pulling teeth to even try to get them to cancel service so that we could simply start a new account with them. Blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. The last few posts I did on her were actually via cell phone which is rather a pain in my ass to write through.
Y'all missed out on my angry holiday rants but it does look as though the world has once again survived the incredible amount of damage done to it from you insane humans warping the very fabric of reality to dangerous breaking levels. We all are lucky that it has a bit more flex to it than the few of us who know what is happening to it give it credit for having (oohhh, cryptic). My Christmas involved multiple break-ins, destruction of some of my stuff, and a horribly failed blackmail attempt by a pathetic excuse (even by human standards) of a guy who used to live with us and stole about $1000 of my stuff & disappeared in the night.
I got to work on both the holiday's this past week and am hoping to make the trip to my Mom's house in a few weeks to see my family and exchange loot with them (however meager it will be from all of us being perpetually broke).
(Afterthoughts) ... (stolen from Mousehunt)
Festive Restraining Order:
At this festive time and season, I could finally find a reason, To send a card, and say with glee, Please stop hiding in my tree.
For those who actually check the expiration dates on various items, thou may hast noticed that it has been a while since I doth last posted (figured I would jump on the obvious train even though a small child could have figured that out without the large blinking arrowed sign pointing straight at that fact).
Turns out that my internet service account got merged with someone else's account who shared a landline # that was the same as my internet #, and when they canceled their service my got partly canceled as well. Now of course it was done in a way that their systems showed my account was active regardless of there not being any brain draining internet piped into my home. Would have been nice for once had it worked out the opposite way where my account would have showed canceled in their system but I continued to receive interwebs beamed into thine house (even when it takes a broom to get them out of the corners at the ceiling). So it took 3 weeks of fighting with them and getting transfered back and forth between departments and being given every excuse a few times over before I got tired of it and told them to offically cancel it the rest of the way out because it was like pulling teeth to even try to get them to cancel service so that we could simply start a new account with them. Blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. The last few posts I did on her were actually via cell phone which is rather a pain in my ass to write through.
Y'all missed out on my angry holiday rants but it does look as though the world has once again survived the incredible amount of damage done to it from you insane humans warping the very fabric of reality to dangerous breaking levels. We all are lucky that it has a bit more flex to it than the few of us who know what is happening to it give it credit for having (oohhh, cryptic). My Christmas involved multiple break-ins, destruction of some of my stuff, and a horribly failed blackmail attempt by a pathetic excuse (even by human standards) of a guy who used to live with us and stole about $1000 of my stuff & disappeared in the night.
I got to work on both the holiday's this past week and am hoping to make the trip to my Mom's house in a few weeks to see my family and exchange loot with them (however meager it will be from all of us being perpetually broke).
(Afterthoughts) ... (stolen from Mousehunt)
Festive Restraining Order:
At this festive time and season, I could finally find a reason, To send a card, and say with glee, Please stop hiding in my tree.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Let the "slay" bells ring
Today has not been a promising day for the tiny bit of humanity that I keep locked up and buried deep, deep inside of me just like how Scrooge kept his gold coins securely buried away (seasonally appropriate reference).
I am burning with such fury that I can melt a snowman into a puddle at 20 paces. They have not even invented terms for all the kinds of angry I am today!!! Luckily my mind is humming too damn fast to submit y'all to the blind redness dripping through my skull.
And it is all because of a shirt.
Yes, a God damn Fucking T-shirt.
Although to be more precise, it is due more to our world's degradation into tree hugging, ass kissing, calloused knees, cum drunk, politically correct, over sensitive, whiny little bitches who overachieve in only the single aspect of stripping down the world to it's most blandly lukewarm configuration that is as dangerous and terrifying as a sack of newborn kittens. Screw those motherfuckers and the horse they raped on their way into town. I HATE those worthless, childish games and dragging me to the table to join in and play my hands does not make me a happy girl in the slightest bit.
My favorite videogame shirt has a white mage from the original Final Fantasy on the front and proclaims a slogan on the back saying "guns don't kill people, magic missiles do." Amazing how that simple article of clothing which I have worn to work countless times suddenly became "inappropriate" enough overnight for my boss to be dragged into work on her day off for the incredibly complex task (that a roomfull of managers who were already there could apparently not do themselves) of informing me that because someone complained about a gun reference on my shirt (which promotes NOT using guns), that I have to submit humbly to censorship and turn my shirt inside out AND go home.
What the fucking hell is the deal with that shit. I don't know if I'm more impressed or more disturbed that someone managed to force their apron string entwined arm down far enough to remove the thumb from their mouth long enough to emit a high pitched shreek of a complaint against an imagined slight against their delusionally comfy pretend world.
<rant over with a sneer of disgust>
(Afterthoughts)
Why I cling to my last tattered shreads of humanity like a limpet to a wet rock is a very sad and wobbly thought which is extremely disturbing to contemplate.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Bring on thee pain royale
I have been sick a lot lately. My mom thinks that it goes back to February this year when I caught pneumonia, while I was moving from my house to an apartment, doing the majority of packing and loading my car and carrying everything by myself, in the cold nighttime, after work in the wee hours of the morning (1-4 am). Plus I had the stress of working at a new job which I figured that I would not last long at if I even managed to make it all the way through the 8 weeks of training. I could barely talk, coughed constantly, ran a cold shivering fever constantly, suffered through hot flashes, and could barely stay awake in my exhaustion. I seriously should have been in the hospital, but that would have meant that I would not get to keep the job I doubted I would keep anyway. So I plugged away night after night, staggering with box load after box load as I sweated in the freezing cold all while wondering if the new neighbors would find my nearly lifeless body the next morning lying on my doorway when I blacked out. Luckily that did not happen, my immune system fought tooth and nail to keep me alive without medicine, and I even stayed at that job regardless of how little affection I honestly feel towards it.
I was feeling better after my latest bout until last night. I was already exhausted from trying to work a couple 12 hour days to work off some of the points I have accumulated from being sick and missing work and was slowing regaining some strength back into my voice as the broken glass which I swear was buried somewhere within my throat started to work it's way loose. Then I turned into a broken toy.
We stopped and snagged some food to take home after work, and I ate about twice as much as I should have but I blame that on it being tasty. I mixed a drink and sat down at my computer to play a couple simple videogames to amuse myself as I winded down and prepared to catch a bit of very needed sleep. Too bad, so sad, I got a single hour of intensely bloody nightmare soaked rest while I lay curled up in a ball on my bed in so much pain that I couldn't even cry. But you can bet that I did whimper pitifully quite a bit. Once again I got to enjoy, and actually still am, the suffering of food poisoning.
There was no way for me to get comfortable enough to manage any rest all night long. When the pain became unbearable I would roll off my bed onto the floor and stagger into the bathroom in an attempt to purge my stomach enough that the pain would lower enough to allow me a brief, yet still very painful and brief respite. The bad thing was that my stomach had no desire to listen to logic and purge itself to allow the both of us to feel better. It fought me on that every single time.
My cycle for several hours was:
1) crying on my bed curled up in as tight of a ball as I could manage
2) falling to the floor
3) sticking my finger so far down my throat that I could feel my spine
4) waiting for about a minute as I cried about keeping that same finger poking the very back of my tongue wondering why it wasn't making me sick
5) coughing and gagging up a small amount of orangish slime which tasted even worse than it looked
6) repeating steps 3 and 4 several times
7) staggering back to bed with eyes blurry from tears to start again at step 1
This process occurred about every half hour for about 8 straight hours. It is not often that I cry and has been a few months since I have but last night and today I have cried more than I probably have over the past few years added up together and wrapped up in fancy paper and ribbon. Finally I managed to start gagging up clear liquid and the pain stayed at a constant, and barely bearable level. Of course all the cramps and pain in my stomach, along with the forced vomiting, caused my back to strain several muscles in it as well.
Luckily, this story could not get any worse, as long as you leave out how I was supposed to work today and although I could barely stand up straight still had to run my roommate to work since he was unable to get ahold of anyone to pick him up. Or when he called me after I had gotten back home and collapsed to inform me that my boss told him that I was required to come in today regardless of the shape I was in and had to manage to last a couple of hours because the company we contract for needs more billable hours and is threatening to make overtime mandatory (regardless of the fact that they will lose countless hours when a significant portion of the call center gets fired for not being able to comply with an additional 3 hours per day per person for 2 months straight).
So already weak from the first car ride I had to make another one to the other side of town. I almost fell climbing out of my car and shuffled my way slowly across the parking lot with one arm tightly wrapped around my tummy. About one minute after collapsing into a chair (and almost missing and half hanging off the edge) while I was very shakily setting up my desk to start taking calls, my boss walks over and asks if I am OK. Of course my natural sarcasm kicks in and I smile at her through eyes on the verge of tears and say that, "I am fine, why do you ask?" Of course she rolls her eyes and tells me that I look horrible and what is wrong. "No, no, I really am fine, other than the severe food poisoning which kept me curled up in ball without sleep all night while I cried and cursed my virtual nonexistent gag reflex as I shoved a finger down my throat about 30 times or so to little effect." So she sent me home since I was obviously going to be more worthless than normal on the phones (my evaluation, not hers). As I slowly shuffled my way towards the door, I got chased down by a couple of guys who insisted that they walk me to my car to keep me from falling down in the parking lot because I looked about ready to black out.
Fortunately it is a rare occurrence for my physical pain to come close to matching the emotional and psychological kind that I live with daily. At least the mental kind has worn itself into a sort of numbness over the past 30 years.
(Afterthoughts)
The fact that I 'sucked' so bad at "finger down my throat bulimia" has got to be either horrifying or extremely erotic. Sadly, this was not a situation where no gag reflex was any type of advantage.
I was feeling better after my latest bout until last night. I was already exhausted from trying to work a couple 12 hour days to work off some of the points I have accumulated from being sick and missing work and was slowing regaining some strength back into my voice as the broken glass which I swear was buried somewhere within my throat started to work it's way loose. Then I turned into a broken toy.
We stopped and snagged some food to take home after work, and I ate about twice as much as I should have but I blame that on it being tasty. I mixed a drink and sat down at my computer to play a couple simple videogames to amuse myself as I winded down and prepared to catch a bit of very needed sleep. Too bad, so sad, I got a single hour of intensely bloody nightmare soaked rest while I lay curled up in a ball on my bed in so much pain that I couldn't even cry. But you can bet that I did whimper pitifully quite a bit. Once again I got to enjoy, and actually still am, the suffering of food poisoning.
There was no way for me to get comfortable enough to manage any rest all night long. When the pain became unbearable I would roll off my bed onto the floor and stagger into the bathroom in an attempt to purge my stomach enough that the pain would lower enough to allow me a brief, yet still very painful and brief respite. The bad thing was that my stomach had no desire to listen to logic and purge itself to allow the both of us to feel better. It fought me on that every single time.
My cycle for several hours was:
1) crying on my bed curled up in as tight of a ball as I could manage
2) falling to the floor
3) sticking my finger so far down my throat that I could feel my spine
4) waiting for about a minute as I cried about keeping that same finger poking the very back of my tongue wondering why it wasn't making me sick
5) coughing and gagging up a small amount of orangish slime which tasted even worse than it looked
6) repeating steps 3 and 4 several times
7) staggering back to bed with eyes blurry from tears to start again at step 1
This process occurred about every half hour for about 8 straight hours. It is not often that I cry and has been a few months since I have but last night and today I have cried more than I probably have over the past few years added up together and wrapped up in fancy paper and ribbon. Finally I managed to start gagging up clear liquid and the pain stayed at a constant, and barely bearable level. Of course all the cramps and pain in my stomach, along with the forced vomiting, caused my back to strain several muscles in it as well.
Luckily, this story could not get any worse, as long as you leave out how I was supposed to work today and although I could barely stand up straight still had to run my roommate to work since he was unable to get ahold of anyone to pick him up. Or when he called me after I had gotten back home and collapsed to inform me that my boss told him that I was required to come in today regardless of the shape I was in and had to manage to last a couple of hours because the company we contract for needs more billable hours and is threatening to make overtime mandatory (regardless of the fact that they will lose countless hours when a significant portion of the call center gets fired for not being able to comply with an additional 3 hours per day per person for 2 months straight).
So already weak from the first car ride I had to make another one to the other side of town. I almost fell climbing out of my car and shuffled my way slowly across the parking lot with one arm tightly wrapped around my tummy. About one minute after collapsing into a chair (and almost missing and half hanging off the edge) while I was very shakily setting up my desk to start taking calls, my boss walks over and asks if I am OK. Of course my natural sarcasm kicks in and I smile at her through eyes on the verge of tears and say that, "I am fine, why do you ask?" Of course she rolls her eyes and tells me that I look horrible and what is wrong. "No, no, I really am fine, other than the severe food poisoning which kept me curled up in ball without sleep all night while I cried and cursed my virtual nonexistent gag reflex as I shoved a finger down my throat about 30 times or so to little effect." So she sent me home since I was obviously going to be more worthless than normal on the phones (my evaluation, not hers). As I slowly shuffled my way towards the door, I got chased down by a couple of guys who insisted that they walk me to my car to keep me from falling down in the parking lot because I looked about ready to black out.
Fortunately it is a rare occurrence for my physical pain to come close to matching the emotional and psychological kind that I live with daily. At least the mental kind has worn itself into a sort of numbness over the past 30 years.
(Afterthoughts)
The fact that I 'sucked' so bad at "finger down my throat bulimia" has got to be either horrifying or extremely erotic. Sadly, this was not a situation where no gag reflex was any type of advantage.
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