A Blog By Me

You won’t get high as good as your first, but feel free to die trying. For those of you who are up for the challenge, here’s a brief blow by blow (no blow, just dope) of how to achieve your goal, and what to expect in the meantime.

Getting started.

Loved ones

You know those people who you love and cherish? I think that you may call them friends and family…. yea, fuck em. They will only hold you back. They will try to convince you to go to rehab, get help, and they may even try to lock you in a bathroom and steal your debit card so you want withdraw money from your already over drawn account. Lose ‘em. Find a nice, isolated room in which no one will bother you. Stay there for a few days, get yourself good an high and then, only then shall you emerge a new, and improved life form. We call this being, a “junkie”.

Finances.
Also something you should forget about keeping in your life. Your new mission in life will not only take up a vast majority of your time (depending on your commitment and dependency, and you will become dependent) but it will also eat away at your bank account. To keep up with the rising costs of self indulgence and self destruction, might I suggest the following jobs:

Stripping

Hooking

Robbing Banks

Stealing Cars

The occasional temp job as a telemarketer

(A word from the wise, strung out strippers don’t make good money)

You may spend anywhere between 150-300 dollars a day. Depending. Also, take 150 to 200 Mg’s and divide that by three. That’s how much you may end up using. A day. Depending.

Your New Body on Dope

If your going to be a junkie, the you gotta do it right. Fuck snorting that shit, go straight for the mainline.

These are called “track marks”

Pretty lil suckers, no?

Now, the best way to hide your tracks, no pun intended, is just to wear long sleeves. Make up just makes them look worse, and can get into the sores and cause an infection. (Aloe Vera and vitamin e may help reduce scarring) There is a good chance you will develop collapsed veins from jamming a syringe into them on a daily basis, and you may develop nasty infection’s the heart lining and valves (due to bacteria). Don’t forget about abscesses (see the image above). Excessive sweating, severe stomach cramps, and nausea and vomiting is also something to look forward to. There are also respiratory issues you may want to consider prior to this lifestyle. Because of the depressing effects heroin has on the brain, lung infections such as TB and pneumonia may become prevalent. Wear a mask.

Your Mental Status.

Oh here’s the fun part. Once you get hooked you may be able to last about 4-6 hours between highs, your tolerance is going to shoot through the roof, which is going to increase your need for larger and stronger doses. Your life is going to revolve around this. Be warned. Anxiety, and panic attacks are something you are just going to have to live with. Night terrors will be a blessing in disguise, when you wake up, cold from sweating, and shaking, it will give you a nice excuse to shoot up. Oh yea, and you may get seizures too.

Overdose

Not limited and may include the following symptoms:

• muscle spasticity
• slow and labored breathing
• shallow breathing
• stopped breathing (sometimes fatal within 2-4 hours)
• pinpoint pupils
• dry mouth
• cold and clammy skin
• tongue discoloration
• bluish colored fingernails and lips
• spasms of the stomach and/or intestinal tract
• constipation
• weak pulse
• low blood pressure
• drowsiness
• disorientation
• coma
• delirium

Addiction isn’t a joking matter. Heroin isn’t a joking matter. My best friend Kyle died a year ago today of a heroin overdose. Losing a loved one to addiction is much akin to slamming ones fingers in a door. Over and over and over again. And then they die. And you ask yourself. “Why didn’t I do anything?”
I wear my heart on my sleeve when it comes to topics like this. I’ve been though is, and I know how hard it is. Just think, what you may be going through as the person on the outside looking in, watching that person you love and cherish hit rock bottom, it’s a hundred times worse than being the person in a dark room, alone. People may think that it isn’t their place to get involved with another who is suffering from a life threatening addiction. They don’t want to deal with the drama, they don’t want to be set up to be hurt again when their loved one relapses. But what if you don’t? How will you feel about the if’s ands or but’s? I know it sounds really fuckin’ cliche, but if you know someone who has a problem, don’t leave them. Stick by them. Sometimes it’s the best you can do.

Playing the field is a delicate art. Actually, its pretty much about getting laid, who the fuck am I kidding. The thing is, most people, from what I have seen first hand, have no idea how to go about it in a mature tactful manner. I learned from a rather painful experience, that you have to be pretty up front and honest about what you want, and how you want it. With that lesson in mind (Don’t hit people who hit back, or throw shit, like cell phones and car keys) here are a few simple rules which I try to abide by to keep things easy and breezy….

1. Honestly is the best policy. If and when you get involved with someone, feel out what they want, do they want sex or something more, etc. If you find that they want to make you their personal little love slave (also known as a significant other) let them know what your interested in. Don’t lead them on. It’s not fucking cool. There is a very fucking fine line between “ironic” and “bullshit”. Don’t make promises you can’t or won’t keep, and don’t make comments that can be misconstrued to lead the other person on.

2. Have a safe zone. If you have a particular bar (or in my case, a coffee shop) where you enjoy just being alone and what not, don’t make that your hunting ground. Its awkward when your in the middle of a deep conversation with a friend and the person you have recently been tied to sits down next to you and starts a conversation. Think like a serial killer, don’t kill in your comfort zone. I have made this mistake more times than I care to count. For the most part, I avoid said coffee shop until I feel the awkwardness is gone, and then go about my business.

3. Don’t. Meet. Their. Family. Period. If you meet their immediate family, then you have ties, and that’s not what you want. Same goes for you, do not, under any circumstances, intentionally introduce them to your close friends and family. If you want an emotional attachment, then fine, get a fucking puppy….. Boyfriend Number 1 met my mom on accident a few weeks ago, which is fine, we randomly ran into her at the store, and luckily there was no “Oh so your so and so” type shit going on. But still, I wanted to blow my fucking brains out.

4. This is slightly in regards to Rule Number One. Should you have more than one errr…”Boyfriend” or “Girlfriend” make sure they are cool with it. Most people are not, but the one’s you find that are, those are the ones that are worth keeping. The Former Boyfriend Number 1 didn’t know about the Current Boyfriend Number 2, and I paid dearly for it. Don’t just say something stupid along the lines of “Yea I’m fucking this guy/chick in Harwich aside from you….” Make it known in a tactful manner that you are seeing other people. If their not cool with it, that’s fine. Respect that. People have feelings, don’t tread on them. What is that rule? The Golden One? “Do unto others as they would do unto you” either that or “Dear Lord, don’t let me fuck up”. Should they have the same thing going on, don’t get all pissy an jealous. What makes you special? What makes them special? That’s right, nothing. Oh yea, and use condoms, nothing can ruin a good thing like unprotected 3rd party sex. And an abortion.

5. Should you find that your feelings have gone beyond “I just wanna fuck” to “I just wanna fuck you” Take a moment to step back and survey the situation. Are there any others involved? Yes? How will it end with them? No? Then go for it. There is no reason to be alone in this world. Life is too short to be lonely.

I try not to have any illusions about what I just wrote about. After a while it does get taxing. Then you date an drunken pissant who’s a manic depressive and get burned. Then you sit around for a week a bitch and moan to your friends about how fucked up shit is, and then you move the fuck on. (Please see the rules of breaking up) BUT! Remember ladies and gents, herpes, like AIDS, will put a damper on your sex life, be smart, be safe, and wrap it the fuck up. Now, that being said, I need to make a phone call.

My god there were a whole lotta links in there.

I was at work today, doing the inevitable self check and I came to a horrible, terrible conclusion. I have lost too much weight. I have no ass. I am too thin. Oh. Fuck. No self respecting Italian woman should ever let her curves go, regardless of the teensy weensy itsy bitys polka dot bikini she plans to spend the summer in. So, mulling upon this sad discovery, I went about my day of pissing off Boss Man and waited until I could go see a flick with my good friend Jake, Square Bear ( adorable) and her hubby Alex. We had intended to see Hot Fuzz, but since the Cape totally sucks donkey dick when it comes to any good movies, we settled on 28 Weeks Later. Let it be known I don’t “do” slasher flicks, zombie flicks, horror or the like. I like piss your pants humor. Whatever.

Dude, I don’t know if I have been taking too much of my own dieting advice or what, but this movie made my hungry as fuck. (For the record, the movie was pretty good) Driving home I could feel my stomach cramping up, and spent the half an hour ride home eye balling Jake’s bicep and pondering how pissed he would be if I decided to start gnawing on it while we were cruising at about 60 mph on Rt. 6. Upon deciding that he a) would get the wrong idea about what I wanted, and b) realized that human skin is rather tasteless and gamy, I resigned myself to wait until I got home to gorge on cantaloupe. And grapes, which I pretended were the eye balls of the Jihad-cock-sucking-shit-for-brains cowards who shot my Ex. I’m thinking the next time I want to either reek havoc on myself or the world I’ll just watch a movie with lots of viscera and blood. Mmmmm, now I want some sausage. (Opening for dick sucking comment goes HERE, pun intended)

There’s nothing like frank blood to get those hunger pangs going. I wonder how many anorexics were in the movie theater just chewing on their hands in starvation. God knows I was. Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Monday Night needs to be chewed on.

I was not planning on posting again until the mid week, but I spent most of the weekend with a lump caught in my throat over Ex. To the following reality and otherwise, thanks for your kind words and e-mails, it means a lot.

War is an ugly little dog, and people will always die in them. It’s something I had accepted when I said “I do” and chose to serve, and it’s something Ex had always acknowledged. It’s a job. I know this, he knows this, and everyone in the fucking armed services knows. But it never makes it any easier. I don’t watch the news, and whenever I read the paper, I always flip away from the articles referring to Iraq. It’s just a reminder that I should be over there, and made a choice to leave. Ex made a choice, as did the thousands who commit their lives to this country. It scares the shit out of me knowing how close he came to dying. And how he is never going to be the same. And it pisses me off. I can’t be pissed, knowing what I just wrote about. I have no right to bitch and moan about our troops when I deliberately chose my path. The last time I saw Ex we spoke at length at what he was going to do when he came home. He’s about to start a family within a few months, and was reconsidering his career in the Marines. Now he has to. I can’t help but think that a part of him is going to die when he realizes how much his life is going to change because of “a job”. There is a saying “Once a Marine, always a Marine.” I can only hope that he never loses that part of himself that makes him who he is, and not a Marine.

Thank you to those who have lost their lives, limbs and sanity in both past and present wars and occupations.

Josh, l’amo, e farò sempre. Mantenere il suo mento.



Semper Fidelis

I’ve had my share of stalkers, and creeps when I was dancing. It’s what you call an occupational hazard. I dealt with it in stride, but you know what? I work in fucking retail now, and personally I don’t think that I should have to be walked out to my car just because some 45 year old prick can’t take a fucking hint. So, in light, I would like to thank the following:

The Barnstable P.D (thanks, but you didn’t do enough)

The stand in FedEx guy (too bad your married)

The random goth dude who was hanging out in front of the public bathrooms (if I find out who you are, I’ll send you a fruit basket)

Thanks for taking care of this dipshit for me.

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

1. Don’t stalk someone with a temper

2. DO NOT TOUCH MY FUCKING CAR

3. Take a fucking hint, when the chick your stalking mentions the words “T-Cell count” “Cocktail” in the same sentence, that’s your cue to back the fuck off.

I don’t have time for this shit, nor the energy.

When I was younger I taught myself how to tie noose, and have since been a little rusty at it. (For the record, nooses are dangerous, and should not be played with unless you really want to hurt yourself, and in that case, I am not going to give you advice, your on your own, or you could simply keep reading and click on the following link. Either way, I refuse to take any responsibility to what you read and how you interpret it). Anywho, I googled the term “nooses” and this site came up.
Now, to be honest, I personally think that this site is not only a total and complete waste of time, if not only because of the fact that it is over informative. For example, this site gives direction on how to commit suicide by lighting.

“How to Die by Lightning

• Be aware of weather forecasts during the thunderstorm season (generally May through September, in the US).
• Because lightning often precedes rain, preparations to attract potential lightning strikes should begin before the rain begins.
• When thunder is heard, avoid enclosed places. If possible, stand or sit near trees or tall objects because electricity may be conducted from that object to other nearby objects or persons.
• Other good places to be are high ground, water, and open spaces.
• Metal objects (e.g., golf clubs, umbrellas, fences, and tools) will also increase your chances.”

I don’t know about anyone else, but if I was going to commit suicide, I’d just stick my head in a fucking oven and be done with it. (Not that I am going to, I assure you this blog is entirely tongue in cheek) . Like, what the hell ever happened to downing a bottle of fucking Tylenol and chasing it with a bottle of Vodka? Did I fall asleep for like ten years and wake up in a time where your known for how you died and not how you lived?

“Oh yea that Jessie man, he has the best suicide I have ever seen, he tied his dick to a rope and jumped off the roof of the IRS. Man I haven’t seen someone skinned like that since ‘Nam” Come the fuck on man.

Slightly off topic, but kinda related, but not really. But who gives a flying fuck because I’m flying high on about four cups of coffee and three Red Bulls…….To give meaning to the term “Pro Choice” coins a new idea here. Apparently if you support euthanasia, it means your have no respect for life or anything you hold dear. And I’m not talking about some 16 year old emo idiot, I’m talking from the point of view where I watched my mother die from the combination of chemo and cancer. Would I have gladly taken my mothers life to end her suffering instead of just waiting it out? Fuck yea. I would have also gladly given my own so she wouldn’t have to.

People die. It’s a fact of life. That what we do. We are very fucking good at it. However, I in no way shape or form condone suicide. It’s the ultimate ‘fuck you’, it’s totally selfish, there are better things to do with one’s time than to kill oneself. (Unless we are talking about Evil Spock, in which I’ll gladly hand him the rope and kick the chair out from underneath him.) And no, I am not talking from a point of view who doesn’t know what it is like to deal with depression, so please don’t jump on that band wagon. A person is not meant to accept defeat at their own hands . That’s not how shit is suppose to work. There is really no point in living in pain, or delaying the inevitable, opposition to euthanasia needs see that they are being selfish by wasting tax dollars on people who have lived their lives and are now on borrowed time. It’s more than a gut wrenching experience to watch someone you love wither away and die.

All and all the aforementioned site wasn’t exactly “work friendly” if you get my drift, but it was a rather amusing waste of my time. For instance I was able to get tips on how to cover my tracks should I decide to end it all by simply ingesting something I shouldn’t. Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I see some emo shit heads who need to be taught a lesson on how to cut oneself. Ladies and gents, please remember, nothing looks worse than a poorly executed act of self mutilation, YOU GO WITH THE FUCKING VEINS YA JACKASSES.

Which came first, the chicken, the egg, or the fact that I hate birds?

Aiight, so NEFTY tagged me. Makes for an easy blog, so here are the rules: Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.* People who are tagged need to write posts in their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.* At the end of your post, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. **I have no one to tag, so who ever wants to take this up, be my guest.** This is my old tag

1. Even though I am dyslexic, I read very quickly. Unfortunately, it usually doesn’t stick, so I have to reread everything at least three times. And it has to be an odd number, I can’t read things twice.

2. Despite the fact that I am a recovering addict, I have little or no sympathy for those who are actively using. I also have little patience for alcoholics, and refuse to help those who won’t make the first move to help themselves. For all I care, they can rot. And it’s not like I don’t know how fucking hard it is either to get out of that pit.

3. I have never watched Desperate Housewives. And I never will.

4. I wanted to be a Navy SEAL when I was a little girl. I was also in the military for a short time.

5. I can slow down my heartbeat.

6. I haven’t slept a whole 8 hours in over a year and a half. I function on 3-5 hours of sleep a night.

7. I hate to spend money. (I’m lucky I work where I work, I get shoes either at cost, or for free.)

8. When I get in one of my moods I drive. A lot. There is something about driving as fast as my mind goes that makes everything in the world ok.

Dear Mr. Bush,
Has this ever happened to you?
It finally happened.

“Baby Blue, this is [Sgt?] Leroux of the USMC. There has been an accident.”
Details details details. No details. This is how it goes. Make your calls now. Friends, a few family members, and the new girlfriend. Listen to the screams in the background while you scream back hes not dead. Honey get out of the house, it’s too small here. Go for a drive.

Maybe if you drive fast enough you can go back in time and take back all those things you two said to each other. Maybe if you drive fast enough you can bring it back to you. He’s coming home if he’s lucky. If not, back to work after reoup leave. Maybe if you slam the car through it’s gears hard enough it will make it all go away.

Mr. Bush, this is your fault. There has to be someone to blame.
Has this ever happened to you? Does the hair on the back of your neck stand up when you see an unfamiliar car pull up in your drive way? Do you hesitate picking up the phone when you don’t know the number calling in? Do you know what it’s like to have this feeling in the back of your head everyday? That the last time you spoke was forever? Do you? Your an ass, get your stings cut you silly little puppet, and bring our loved ones home. Oh and one more thing. While out on her little drive, Baby Blue got pulled over. She would like you to pay for the ticket. She would also like to know if your going to drop your spoiled little daughters off in the shits of Detroit this weekend so maybe, just maybe they can feel the pain Baby Blue feels.

Io fottere l’odia.