Saturday, March 25, 2006

You might be from a small town if:

1. You can name everyone you graduated with
2. You get a whiff of manure and think of home
3. You know what 4-H is
4. You ever went to "headlight parties"
5. You used to drag "main"
6. You said the 'f' word and your parents knew within the hour
7. You schedule parties around the schedule of different police officers, since you know which ones will bust you and which ones won't
8. You ever went cow-tipping
9. You have ever partied with a guy who is 25, has no job, but is the 'buyer' for all of the best parties
10. You have parties at the same guy's house
12. School gets cancelled for state sporting events
13. The town social events are their children's
14. You could never buy cigarettes because all the store clerks knew how old you were (and, if you were old enough, they'd tell your parents, anyhow)
15. When you did find someone old enough and brave enough to buy smokes, you still had to go out to the country and drive on back roads to smoke them
16. Social acceptance in town depended on the approval of the five old (but rich) hags that met each morning at the donut shop for the latest smut
17. You were ever in the Homecoming parade
18. You have ever gone home for Homecoming
19. You fix up to go buy milk lest anyone starts the rumor that
you have gained weight or quit taking care of youself
20. No place sells gas on Sunday
21. Friday nights fun consisted of standing in line for the one screen theater and since it was sold out, watching truckers and drinking coffee at the truck stop (the only place open after
22. You have to drive an hour to buy a pair of socks
23. It was cool to date someone from the neighboring town
24. You have ever gone for a walk in the cemetery, on a date
25. You ordered your waredrobe out of a catalog
26. You had senior skip day
27. The whole school went to the same party after graduation
28. The only 'clique' that nobody would be nice to was the skurves across the street
30. You don't give directions by street names or house numbers, but you give directions by references (turn by Armstrongs' Liquor, go two blocks past Andersons', and it's four houses
left of the track field)

Word Of The Day

con·nip·tion n. Informal

A fit of violent emotion, such as anger or panic. Also called conniption fit.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

A man was on his first business trip to Japan, and he decided
to check out the local Whore House. He walked in and was
assigned a young girl with a body that got him "up"
immediately. As soon as they reached the room, he started
ripping her clothes off and going to town.

Moaning and grunting, the girl was screaming in Japanese,
"Wasukima! Wasukima!" He was sure that she was praising him for
his good job, so he kept going harder than ever.

Later, he went golfing with his boss and a few clients.

As the clients were Japanese, he decided to impress them with
his new knowledge of their language. When one of them got a
hole in one, he raised his arms and shouted "Wasukima!".

All of the men looked at him quizzically, and one of them
asked, "Why are you shouting 'wrong hole'?"

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

My St. Patty's Day

Well I had an interesting St. Patty's day. Wasn't too interesting. More than anything it was just...uhm...well. Yeah...

What did I do anyways? I went out to JB's w/ Dani, Darcy, Theresa, Tanya. I ran into Skurvy and Jimmy there. It was kind of fun lol. Jimmy was fucking wasted, and started dancing with me, badly, and then tried to drag me into the bar. It was hillarious. Christopher Strobe started rubbing his ass against my leg like a puppy, lmao, and then promptly vanished into the bar saying "I'm sorry darling, I'm too sober for this."

Hung out at Mike's house with his roomates until he was off work. That was amusing. Skurvy and I were teaching Josh how to dance. We're supposed to be taking him to JB's this Friday and making him dance there, lol. It should be fun. He has no rythym. He's like a goddamned board. Then I ended up coming home in the AM because my heart was really fucked up. I've been tired for 3 days. It sucks. A lot.
Monkeys. The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought this was odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth so I bought 200 of them. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one of them drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in the genitals. I laughed. They punched me in the genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech and hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive; they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sort of dropped dead. Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Goddamn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room; on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs. I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.

I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for awhile, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad. I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in my toilet and I didn't want to call a plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortuantely there was only enough room for two at a time, so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't go bad. I tried to burn them, but little did I know that my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and one hundred ninety-seven dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed, The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of the dead monkeys and I really had to use the bathroom. So I went and severely beat one of the monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said the city was not allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him I had a wet one. He couldn't take it either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't quite know what to say. They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

Monday, March 20, 2006

this made me laugh

There was a Pope who was greatly loved by all of his followers, a man who led with gentleness, faith and wisdom. His passing was grieved by the entire world, Catholic or not.

As the Pope approached the gates of heaven, it was Saint Peter who greeted him in a firm embrace.

"Welcome your holiness, your dedication and unselfishness in serving your fellow man during your life has earned you great stature in heaven. You may pass through the gates without delay and are granted free access to all parts of heaven."

"You are also granted an open door policy and may at your own discretion meet with any heavenly leader, including the Father without prior appointment."

"Is there anything which your holiness desires?"

"Well, yes," the Pope replied. "I have often pondered some of the mysteries which have puzzled and confounded theologians through the ages. Are there perhaps any transcripts which recorded the actual conversations between God and the prophets of old? I would love to see what was actually said, with-out the dimming of memories over time."

Saint Peter immediately ushered the Pope to the heavenly library and explained how to retrieve the various documents. The Pope was thrilled and settled down to review the History of man's relationship with God.

Two years later a scream of anguish pierced the stacks of the library. Immediately several of the Saints and Angels came running. There they found the Pope pointing to a single word on a parchment, repeating over and over, "There's an 'R', there's an 'R' -- it's celibRate!"

First day of spring

I'm so incredibly tired of feeling this way. I feel generally worthless because of my heart problem. I feel miserable, and worthless. It hurts people around me. It sucks to deal with, but I can deal with it. It's seeing everybody else worry about me, and fret over me that makes it so difficult.

I've spent so many years just feeling awful and worthless. I can't even remember how many times I was told I am worthless because I can't even go out and get a "real job" because of my heart condition. I hate not being able to walk upstairs without blacking out. I don't even tell people half the time my heart hurts because I don't want them worrying. I only tell them when it gets worse than usual. When it's really bad is when I go to the hospital. I am so tired of being weak because of this...I'm so tired of causing pain to other people because of this. I just want it to go away. Or for me to go away. If I were a stronger person, I could just suck up and deal. I know I could. But I'm not that strong...I'm weak. Especially phsycially, and this is just reaffirming that.

I had a long talk w/ Mike as I said....I'm not a burden according to him...but it's so hard to remind myself of this when I have been hurting people for years because of my fucking heart.

At least if I get this operation done, I'll be fixed. I'll be better. I'll be, to put it in Frank terms, Liz 2.0.

And furthermore, I'm entirely too nice and entirely too conflicted over assholes who don't deserve a moment of my attention. I need to seriously be strong. I need to stop being massochistic and block the people that make me feel horrible and weak. I really do. I feel guilty for the way I've treated said people, and this is not how I prefer things to work out. I'd rather be nicer, and just drift apart. I hate being guilt ridden for being a bitch. I hear voices saying not to be guilty, but at the same time, I have a really short fuse lately and almost zero tolerance for bullshit. If the way I feel talking to someone makes me feel badly for whatever reason, I shouldn't talk to them. I know this...I need to start acting on this.

Flesh Into Gear by CKY

I can’t expect you to see
Me when I’m not around
And my voice is destroyed
By confinement of sound
I’m a human machine
Laced with hidden disease
If the future looks bleak
Then you’re connected to me

Flesh into gear
Myself appears dissected and pretentious
A simple sound a heavy side
You’ll win the whole world over
You’ll live in fear of being someone that you didn’t want to
I realize your insecurities will get the best of you

A traitor’s embrace
How foolish how wrong
Contained in one place
Anxiety spawns
Unopened reowned
What’s needed upscaled
Digested inhaled
Unwilling unwound

Flesh into gear
Myself appears dissected and pretentious
A simple sound a heavy side
You’ll win the whole world over
You’ll live in fear of being someone that you didn’t want to
I realize your insecurities will get the best of you

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Last day of winter

My operation is in 2 weeks. The closer it gets the more nervous I become. Most of you will say this is normal, but not that kind of nervous. I don't really care so much about having it done. I'm used to my heart problem. But I am really tired of being a burden to my loved ones. I've been troubling my family and friends for nearly 20 years with this heart problem and I am tired of it.

As far as my nervousness is concerned, I am worried that my heart will only become a bigger problem if the operation doesn't work out and makes my condition worse. Then I will become an even bigger burden. I'm not worried about the proceedure itself. I'll be out cold. It'll be harder on my mom, and Mike than it will be on me. They'll be waiting for me. Should I die, it won't really bother me. I mean, really. I'm dead. How will I know? My loved ones will be crushed, and I'm terrified of hurting the people I care about even more than I already have.

I had a talk with Mike about this the other day. He told me how I'm not a burden, and not to feel bad. It was good to hear that. I needed to hear that. I'm so terrified of making everybody elses life harder.