hahahahaha

This week

Later today I go to get blood drawn for my surgery. It's a pregnancy test and all that. Just a precaution, I understand. I hate having blood drawn, but I dislike it a lot less than I used to. I suppose that's what you get when your blood is drawn frequently. You get used to it. You adjust to having needles stuck into your arms, and then kept in your arms in the form of an IV. The last woman woman who drew blood from me in the lab left my arm bruised for days. Then another woman did a really good job, surprisingly, as she was a total and complete bitch. I still have the mark from where I was stuck last time, so I am going to suggest they just use the same hole.

I had a good night all things considered. I'm fucking tired though and should be in bed right now as opposed to writing, but eh, fuck it. I need to write. I also need to be up in 5 hours, so this has to be brief.

The Maple Fest is this weekend. My brother asked me to take Mike on Saturday, and Mom on Sunday, provided she wants to go. My father will be there as well, so that should be an interesting time seeing as how the two of them (Mom & Dad) do not get along.

I found out the operation I'm about to have a woman I know had it nearly 10 years ago when it was still experimental. That makes me very happy to know she's had it and has been alright. It could only have gotten better and more efficiant and it pleases to me that it will probably be a success and I will probably be happier for it in the end.

I leave sometime Sunday for the operation. Mom and I are staying over night at the Raddison in Rochester and then I'm going to the hospital in the morning. I'm sure I've already said this. It's just kind of hard not to talk about when it's the biggest thing going on in my life right now.

Mike doesn't believe I'm going to die during the procedure, or anytime soon for that matter. He believes that God hates me too much to kill me, and will instead force me to spend eternity with him. lmao. What a horrible punishment. Although, I suppose that is Mike's punishment for killing Jesus pre-salamander. He has to spend 4,000 life times working at A+. Hahahaha.

Someone I was speaking with last night...someone who is a prick but believes otherwise, felt it to be his right to take such a low shot at not only myself, but at Mike as well. "You've been in college for 7 years and you don't have a fucking degree yet." and went on to imply that I'm worthless because of this. "You could have gotten this degree done yet, but you haven't. You've had 7 fucking years to work on this." I reminded him that I stopped going to school when I moved in with him because I could either work or go to school, but not both. "You could have done it before." Uhm, yeah, if I had enough money to do it all in one shot, I probably would have you fucker. And THEN he had the audacity to say "And look at Mike. He works at a fucking store." My take on that, yeah, it may be a shit job, but at least it is a job. He's doing what he has to do to pay the bills and pay off his student loans. That is very respectful. So where the hell does this fucker get off devaluing any of that? This is the same guy that got fired and refused to get a new job because he didn't "feel like working." So instead he just became in debt to his parents as they were paying his bills, and providing him with a place to live. Personally, I'd rather work a shit job.

I really need to get this asshole out of my life. I'm working on it. I really am. I impressed myself. I got him 100% completely blocked online. This is a step in the right direction. Now I just need to get rid of this ring, and we'll be good. I like this ring. I really do. That's why I still have it. But it's gotten to the point where I don't want to be wearing this anymore. He gave this to me when I was his girlfriend, and I'm not now, and furthermore, I dislike him so much I want him gone. Wearing a ring he gave to me as his girlfriend only seems to remind me that he's not really out of my life. It's symbolic, I know. But it is hard just the same. It's something he gave me when I thought we were happy and in love only to find out the complete opposite.

The most interesting part, I'm sure most of you know of which asshole I speak, is that he doesn't believe he is a prick, or an asshole, or anything like that. He thinks he's a good person. . . . Yeah, you read that correctly. He thinks he's a good person. He doesn't think he's an asshole. He doesn't understand why I'm always upset with him. He doesn't understand why I hold a grudge. In fact, he thinks I look for reasons to dislike him, but I don't. I don't need to look for reasons, nor invent them. They're right there. "I've let everything that happened between us go. Why can't you? Why can't you move on?" Well it'd be a lot easier to move on if I didn't have to deal with him, ya know? I know this may sound superficial, immature, and undeveloped, but fuck. It could sound like I'm just avoiding my problems, but look at it, seriously. The biggest cause of misery in my life is him. All my unhappiness and all my self doubt stem from conversations with him. So it only seems logical to get rid of him, correct? Well I've even told him this and he believes that doing so is just running from my problems and not dealing with them. When my problem is the way talking to someone makes me feel, isn't it logical that I stop talking to him? Consequentially my problem would be gone. Does anybody agree with me and see my logic, or am I just insane?

So uhm, an interesting fact according to an article I found tonight...

Not everyone nods off after sex. The survey found 48 per cent of men had actually fallen asleep during the act itself.

So uhm, yeah. That's kind of good to know.

ting a ling you son of a bitch

I've been reading Timequake by Vonnegut. This is by far the funniest reference to "ting a ling" I've ever encountered in my entire life.

"He was insane," said Trout. "How insane? He came into my bedroom at midnight. He woke me up. He said he had something important to tell me. It was nothing but a dirty joke, but this poor, sick man had come to believe it a parable about the awful blows that life had dealt him. It was about a fugitive who sought shelter from the police in the home of a woman he knew.

"Her living room had a cathedral ceiling, which is to say it went all the way up to the roof peak, with rustic rafters spanning the air space below." Trout paused. It was as though he were as caught up in the tale as his father must have been.

He went on, there in the suite named in honor of the suicide Ernest Hemingway: "She was a widow, and he stripped himself naked while she went to fetch some of her husband's clothes. But before he could put them on, the police were hammering on the front door with their billy clubs. So the fugitive hid on top of a rafter. When the woman let in the police, though, his oversize testicles hung down in full view."

Trout paused again.

"The police asked the woman where the guy was. The woman said she didn't know what guy they were talking about," said Trout. "One of the cops saw the testicles hanging down from a rafter and asked what they were. She said they were Chinese temple bells. He believed her. He said he 'd always wanted to hear Chinese temple bells.

"He gave them a whack with his billy club, but there was no sound. So he hit them again, a lot harder, a whole lot harder. Do you know what the guy on the rafter shrieked?" Trout asked me.

I said I didn't.

"He shrieked, 'TING-A-LING, YOU SON OF A BITCH!' "

Bank Robbers

I'm affeared I'm getting a cold. Or maybe the flu. This bites. I really don't want to be sick. I go in for my operation in a week, and they won't do it if I'm sick.

Shopping and the such

Okay, so. People. I hate them. This one woman. Total stupid cunt. I could have fucking murdered the bitch. In essence, I was visiting Mike @ work, and this bitch is in there. My heart was fucked up. Kinda hurt. And this bitch starts saying how I don't really have anything wrong with me, but rather I am just an attention whore.

Goddamn cunt. I seriously have been thinking about arranging for a pack of wild and convicted serial killers to be turned loose on the cunts entire fucking family.

Is it wrong to get satisfaction and a sense of calm out of the idea of bringing death and mayham to someone else's family?

Joe and I went shopping with Dad today. I got 2 pairs of pants and 2 bras. The bras, Oh My God. This one bra is fucking amazing. It really is. It's blue with pink stripes on the side, and it is SO soft. I was standing there in the store and I said "wow, this bra is really soft. I can't stop feeling it." and I told Joe to touch it and he is like "nah it can't be that soft" and he leans over, feels it and goes "Wow, this is really soft."

Yeah. I love it. I've been having a hard time not feeling myself up. I told Mike that he *has* to feel this bra. He just has to. It's amazing. Even Joe thought so. He took it out of the bag and was playing with it on the way home.

I taught him how to undo a front clasp bra cause he couldn't figure it out. He kept playing with the bra and was so confused. I showed him and Dad gets in the car and says that it's better I tell him then he gets there with a girl and doesn't know how. I told him he could find out from someone else and that'd probably be worse. "You could find out from Gran! OH MY GOD! YOU SHOULD ASK GRAN!"

That'd be awesome. I'd totally pay him $1,000 to do that if I had the money floating around.